tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28943464687283413812024-03-12T20:22:13.069-07:00erica's dagboek Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comBlogger628125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-12996254822351827892018-11-07T07:43:00.001-08:002018-11-07T07:43:09.067-08:00<h2>
<u>Sociale) dienstplicht</u></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Een paar jaar geleden, toen de uitkeringen van
mensen weer gevaar liepen heb ik de gemeente hier eens een brief geschreven
over Sociale Dienstplicht. Ik ben er een voorstander van dat zéker jonge
mensen, niet meer schoolgaand, toch wel de maatschappij en wat daarin gebeurt,
leren kennen. De militaire dienstplicht is afgeschaft.....en hoewel ik altijd
een verklaard antimilitarist ben geweest vind ik nog steeds de sociale skills
en de sociale vaardigheden die men daar kon opdoen, van groot belang. Ik denk
daarbij aan Israël, het IDF dus. Vooral in deze tijd, waarin je ziet en leest
hoe jonge mensen als ze niet meer studeren, geen werk hebben en hun leerschool
op straat moeten vinden, te vaak een kant opgaan die we geen van allen willen,
ook zijzelf niet. Bij al dan niet verplicht sociaal en maatschappelijk bezig
moeten zijn tegen een redelijke vergoeding wordt de uitkering werkelijk
VERDIEND, hebben mensen het goede gevoel nuttig bezig te zijn voor de
maatschappij en wordt toch voor een deel voorkomen dat jonge mensen
afglijden... Het is niet de bedoeling dat ze werkplekken innemen die voor
gewoon werkende mensen bedoeld zouden zijn maar daar waar bij voorbeeld niet
genoeg vrijwilligers voor te vinden zijn. Mensen die in een uitkering zitten, maar
al half- of fulltime vrijwilligerswerk doen, zouden daarvoor toestemming moeten
hebben, niet alleen een kleine extra beloning moeten krijgen, maar ook de
STATUS moeten krijgen van Vrijwilliger, die ze dan verdienen. Zulke mensen
VERDIENEN HUN UITKERING DAN. Die moet je niet meer gaan dwingen om bij een baas
werk te gaan zoeken. Dan blijft het zeer noodzakelijke werk dat ze (willen)
doen, ongedaan, mensen verliezen het gevoel echt nuttig te zijn voor de
maatschappij, zijn werkloos afhankelijk van hun uitkering en gedwongen werk te
aanvaarden, dat ze eigenlijk niét willen doen. Mijn smeekschrift ging dus echt
over werken en niet over een hobby uitoefenen.<br />
Maar de gemeente wees het af. En de woordvoerder in een vergadering van een
politieke partij waar ik daarover wilde praten, brak me af met een hard 'nee'.<br />
Nu zijn we een aantal jaren verder en tot mijn grote genoegen komt het
onderwerp Sociale Dienstplicht toch weer op tafel. Ik hoop dat het goed wordt
uitgewerkt.<br />
Ik heb zelf jarenlang 'in een uitkering gezeten'. Arbeidsongeschikt verklaard,
vanwege de oorlog en alles wat daarmee voor mij samenhing. Maar ik heb alle
jaren vrijwilligerswerkmogen en kunnen doen. Onbetaald, maar IK VERDIENDE
MIJN UITKERING EN VOELDE EN WIST ME EEN NUTTIG LID VAN DE MAATSCHAPPIJ. Ja, dat
mocht ik wel in die tijd. Valt ook uit te leggen. Als ik instortte, stortte ik
in Als het beter met me ging deed ik weer vrijwilligerswerk. Tegenwoordig gaat
dat geloof ik niet zo gemakkelijk. En jammer genoeg heb ik niet meer de
leeftijd en de conditie om dat te kunnen. Maar daar leer je je ook goed bij
neer te leggen als je oud wordt. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: NL; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
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</v:imagedata></v:shape></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">;-) Alleen, dat gevoel van 'nuttig te
moeten zijn' en te moeten klaarstaan als iemand je nodig heeft... dat zal nog
moeilijk worden om af te leren. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: NL; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape id="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 12pt; visibility: visible; width: 12pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
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</v:imagedata></v:shape></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">:-)<br />
© Erica van Beek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Dit is wat ik in de betreffende
gemeentelijke Commissie bracht en wat zonder discussie werd afgewezen. Ik hoop
dat de Partij van de Arbeid er een werkend verkiezingsonderwerp van kan en wil
maken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Geachte dames en heren,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">In mijn krant las ik dat Amsterdam van plan is
mensen die geen baan aanvaarden, geen uitkering ook te geven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Mag ik u mijn eigen verhaal vertellen?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ik heb heel veel jaren een WAO-uitkering
gehad. Niet omdat ik lichamelijk ziek was, maar omdat ik door ‘ de
oorlog’ niet in staat was een gewone baan te nemen. Dat was te vaak
mislukt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Dat ging in de jaren 80 wat gemakkelijker dan
nu. Ik was 75 maar ben nu 83 jaar en heb nog steeds het gevoel heel
nuttig te zijn geweest voor de maatschappij.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Al die jaren en nog tot na mijn 65<sup>ste</sup>
jaar heb ik mijn uitkering dik en dik verdiend door vrijwilligerswerk te doen,
werk dat door geen gewoon werkende mensen gedaan kon worden. O.a. WAO-ers
begeleid,WAO- groepjes opgezet en begeleid …en nog veel meer. U kunt me
googlen en zult dan zien dat er bij het Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale
Geschiedenis een dossier van mijn werk ligt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Kortom, ik was 24 uur per dag vrijwilliger en
altijd oproepbaar. In die jaren heb ik een vurig pleidooi gehouden voor
burgerlijke ( Socale) dienstplicht. Een zaak die toen niet goed begrepen
werd door links en rechts…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Nu kom ik weer met dat pleidooi. Er blijft zo
verschrikkelijk veel noodzakelijk vrijwilligerswerk liggen als iedereen een
betaalde baan moet aanvaarden. Of anders, en dat wil toch niemand,, nog verder
dan nu met een uitkering het geval is, de uitzichtloze armoede
inzakken. Er IS gewoon geen betaald werk voor iedereen, dat weet u toch ook.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Laat mensen die half- of fulltime nuttig werk
doen, dat onbetaald is en blijft, alsjeblieft in die vrijwilligersbaan zitten.
En in hun uitkering blijven. Eigenlijk verdienen deze mensen een hogere
uitkering dan de uitkeringen tegenwoordig zijn…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Het werk dat zij doen, en met volle
overtuiging en vaak met plezier, wordt door geen betaalde krachten gedaan……<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">U kunt dit zelfs stimuleren. Met een beroep op
de veiligheid van de uitkering kunnen talloze mensen aan het werk blijven
of (als burgerplicht) aan het werk gezet worden bij projecten die passend
zijn. En die mensen plezier in hun werk kunnen geven. Het schept de mogelijkheid
sociaal en maatschappelijk actief te blijven<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ik hoop dat u deze brief niet onbesproken
opzij zult leggen, maar in uw fracties en in de Commissies en Raad ter sprake
zult brengen. En dat U Den Haag kunt overtuigen van de noodzaak ervan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Met beleefde groet,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Erica van Beek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u></u></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-61776262753752698312018-10-26T08:03:00.001-07:002018-10-26T08:03:04.550-07:00<div class="ox-2cbb5b5147-msonormal">
De visite is weer weg, de katten hebben zich
zoals gewoonlijk bij bezoek, keurig gedragen... lagen lief samen op mijn
bankbed. Af en toe als er eentje wakker genoeg was kreeg de ander een haaltje,
maar over het algemeen houden ze zich netjes en rustig zolang er bezoek is.
Maar ik was nog niet alleen, of Piepie was helemaal wakker, sprong op de tafel,
gooide het stapeltje tijdschriften en boeken op de grond en ging lekker
uitgebreid verder slapen op de krant. Kijkt me nog even aan om
stilzwijgend te zeggen: Ja hoor, ruim het maar op... Vanmiddag had ik zo iets
ook met Piepie. Meneer wilde op het toetsenbord klimmen, ik haal hem even aan
om hem zachtzinnig terug te schuiven op zijn kussentje naast mij... en wat doet
hij? Eén grote haal naar mijn koffiebeker op het computer-warmhoudplaatje en
mijn koffie vliegt overal heen. Wat doet hij nu? Hij kijkt me onschuldig als
hij is, aan en trekt zich netjes terug op zijn kussentje en gaat liggen, één
oog op mij gericht. Hij weet wanneer hij iets doet waar ik boos om word, maar
wacht rustig mijn reacties af, Piepie is veel sneller dan ik. Eer ik opgestaan
ben op mijn pijnlijke pootjes heeft hij al de benen genomen, weg door het luik,
waar hij wel, maar Maumau en ik niet doorheen kunnen. Dat wéét hij, het
mormel... Maar hij kan zo lief zijn, zo aanhalig... ik kan niet boos op hem
blijven. Ook dat weet het mormel, want zodra hij het merkt komt hij me kopjes
geven en zijn pootje op mijn arm leggen. Wijs dat dan maar eens af. Dan moet je
toch wel een harde zijn. Toch?<br />
© Erica van Beek<br />
okt. 2018 <o:p></o:p></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-79023743556085613902018-10-26T07:57:00.006-07:002018-10-26T07:57:56.127-07:00<br />
WE NADEREN NOVEMBER WEER<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Ik droomde vanaf het strand naar een
kilometerslange brug te kijken, die vol stond met mensen. Die keken, zag ik,
toen ik er ineens bij stond, naar een enorme onderzeeboot. Gevolgd door een
kleinere. Die grote, zeiden de mensen, moest wel een Turkse zijn.. We keken een
poosje naar die net onder het wateroppervlak varende boten en toen stond ik
weer op het natte deel van het strand, zeewater naderde mijn voeten. Ineens
voelde ik hoeveel pijn mijn voeten weer deden en ik trok mijn schoenen en
sokken uit. En liet het water erover spoelen. Daarna verliet ik, op blote
voeten, het strand en de mensen en liep over de boulevard <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>naar Utrecht. Een urenlange wandeling in mijn
droom, waar ik op enig moment het overdekte winkelcentrum Hoog Catherijne
binnenliep. Maar dat zag er niet uit zoals ik het kende. Ik strompelde
inmiddels met pijn en grote moeite maar ik moest vooruit. En liep door de
catacomben (?) van het winkelcentrum. Smalle gangen die de achterkanten van de
winkels met elkaar verbonden. Of het in de dagelijkse werkelijkheid ook zo is
weet ik niet. Geen daglicht, amper kunstlicht. Een soort voorgeborchte, waarin
mijn zoon indertijd ‘geleefd’ moet hebben, toen hij daar als verslaafde in
gezelschap van zijn zombi-achtige medeverslaafden leefde en sliep. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ik smeekte om er een eind aan te maken, ik was
zo moe en mijn blote voeten deden zoveel pijn.. Een niet te horen antwoord, dat
ik wel begreep: nog even volhouden, je bent er bijna. Toen werd ik langzaam
wakker… en mijn voeten brandden alsof ik inderdaad tientallen kilometers had
afgelegd. Nouja, in 83 jaar kun je veel kilometers afleggen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Tegen wil en dank zocht ik, vanwege die droom,
de film ‘Andere Tijden’ nog eens op. De film uit 1990 over het Utrechtse Hoog Catharijne
en zijn <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>winkelende mensen en zijn verslaafden.</span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><a href="https://www.anderetijden.nl/aflevering/689/De-Hel-van-Hoog-Catharijne">https://www.anderetijden.nl/aflevering/689/De-Hel-van-Hoog-Catharijne</a>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1990, mijn zoon leefde toen al vier jaar
niet meer. En was daar al meer dan 6 jaar weg. Maar toch… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">De tijd is er blijkbaar weer rijp voor… Al is
het meer dan 30 jaar geleden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">© Erica van Beek<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Oktober 2018.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /> Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-68003469846560911552018-10-09T08:08:00.001-07:002018-10-09T08:24:59.642-07:00<br />
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">OMA
ZONDER OOGJES</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ik zat even te kijken naar de zender ONS, (Ziggo
kan.50) MISS Marple. Even ontspannen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In de film klonk een klok. Zo'n staartklok...
Grrr.tik...tik...tik... twaalf keer en dan weer grrr... De aflopende ketting. In in
een mum van tijd , minder dan een seconde, was ik 60 jaar jonger, in de
twintig... En daar zat ik in een donker kamertje, in Amsterdam Centrum, een
grachtenhuis, op drie hoog achter. Een doorrookte, donkere kamer, met een klein
pitje boven de eiken tafel, belegdmet een zwaar kelimkleed en twee volle
asbakken. Aan de ene kant zat in haar crapaud 'Oma zonder oogjes', een blinde,
indrukwekkende dame met een sterk Duits accent, die me behandelde als een eigen
onvolwassen kleindochter, met haar vinger steeds de rand van de asbak volgend
en haar as feilloos op zijn plek wist te krijgen. Aan de muren hingen even
doorrookte schilderijen, alle muren vol. Ze was weduwe van een schilder. Zelf
was ze tientallen jaren chefkok geweest in het Kurhaus in Scheveningen. Aan de
andere kant van de tafel zat mijn vader, ook zwaar te roken. De bruine
kameelharen gordijnen waren gesloten; tussen de gordijnen hing de Friese
staartklok met zijn koperen kettingen en ballen, die elke avond door mijn vader
werden trrrrrt aangetrokken, de klok op die manier opgewonden. Boven in de klok
ging een maantje met een scheepje heen en weer, fascinerend ja... En ik zat op
het logeerbed in datzelfde kamertje. Er was geen ruimte voor nog een stoel. Ik
sliep op dat logeerbed. Weer eens weggevlucht..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">'s Nachts was het donker, de kamer bleef naar tabak
ruiken ondanks dat 's nachts de ramen op de pin en dus open stonden. Dat kon op
drie hoog achter op de Amstel. Maar elk uur klonk de klok... en het geluid van
die staartklok zit er letterlijk zó geheid in- geplakt dat ik telkens als ik
zo'n klok hoor slaan in een splitsecond in dat kamertje zit. Boem... en ik ben
er weer. Een paar weken... en dan kon ik weer terug. Mijn vader was daar 'in de
kost' , zij was zijn hospita, Hij had zijn eigen kamers maar ze aten samen en
dronken samen koffie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mijn kinderen had ik toen nog niet, ik was nog niet
getrouwd. En ik had niemand anders dan mijn vader. En als het oorlogskind weer
eens in moeilijkheden zat ging ik dus naar mijn vader. Of ik welkom was of niet
wist ik niet. Maar er bestond niemand anders...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">En elke keer als ik zo'n oude klok hoor slaan zit ik
er wéér....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /> Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-18331296080806257172017-10-07T03:15:00.002-07:002017-10-07T03:15:16.614-07:00Een poos geleden al werd ik uitgedaagd om mijn mening te geven over onderstaand onderwerp. Met mijn gedegen christelijke opvoeding, door de oorlog als Joods onderduikkind opgenomen in een zeer christelijk tehuis, lag de aandacht, behalve op de profeet Jezus, vooral op het onderstaande onderwerp. En aangezien ik nu oud ben heb ik alle tijd gekregen om mij een beeld en idee te vormen over de laatste persoon. Hier is de neerslag daarvan:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"> </span><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Paulus in mijn ogen.</span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Om mee te beginnen… Ik ben maar een leek. Ik heb een degelijke
Christelijk-Gereformeerd opvoeding gekregen. Onderduik was zeer
christelijk kindertehuis (dat tussen haakjes zeer slecht uit het
onderzoek van de pas genoemde commissie zal komen, de Commisie die onderzoek
moet doen naar mishandeling en misbruik van kinderen in kindertehuizen vanaf
1945)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ik was een door de oorlog heel erg getraumatiseerd kind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Mijn Christelijke opvoeding bestond uit bijbelverhalen uit je
hoofd leren, elke week een psalm, elke week een bepaalde tekst….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ik leerde hoe Saulus als ambtenaar de mantel mòcht vasthouden van het
Sanhedrinlid, die met veel plezier Stafanus stenigde. (wat is er veranderd in
de wereld sindsdien?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ik leerde hoe diezelfde Saulus met vuur de eerste Christenen bestreed,
ze aangaf, ze liet martelen en doden. Ik leerde ook hoe hij van een slijmerige,
nederige ambtenaar verwerd tot een Jodenjager. Zelf had hij de Romeinse
nationaliteit.. gekocht of gekregen .. en hij deed niets liever dan die Joden
opjagen en gevangennemen. Met hun rare talen op wat nu Pinksteren genoemd
wordt, waren ze vast geen echte Israëlieten…. Ze verstopten zich, doken onder
toen de vervolging in Jeruzalem en omstreken hen daartoe dwongen en
konden rekenen op opvang en verzorging en onderduik bij geloofsgenoten. Iets
waarvan Saulus geen idee had… waar ging het over, wat betekende het, hoe
gevaarlijk was het… Maar als trouw ambtenaar deed hij (meer) dan er van hem
gevraagd werd. En hij leerde haten, wat hij moest haten en meer dan dat.
Dat ging heel ver toen hij mensen moest gaan opzoeken en gevangen nemen die
buiten de stad en zelfs buiten de streek onderdak gevonden hadden. Zijn
combinatie van persoonlijk minderwaardigheidsgevoelen vanwege zijn uiterlijk,
zijn onderdanigheid aan wie hij maar als zijn meerdere beschouwde dreef hem van
stad naar stad om zoveel mogelijk mensen op te pakken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Tot hij op de weg naar Damascus ‘het licht ziet’… Het bijbelboek maakt
er een mooi verhaal van over een blikseminslag waardoor hij hulpeloos bij zo’n
Jezusvolger terecht zou komen…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Mijn lezing hierover is anders. Als een blikseminslag besefte hij, dat
hij die hele Jezus en zijn volgelingen onschadelijk kon maken door hun rollen
te minimaliseren en zelf de rol zó over te nemen dat het niet meer schadelijk
was voor de Romeinse Keizer. Het zou hem roem geven bij zowel de Romeinen als
het Sanhedrin en de ambtenaren van het rijk……. Dus rijdt hij door naar
Damascus, naar Ananias. Hij doet zich voor als een begerige bekeerling,
hij wil alles weten, hij wil alles begrijpen en de taal der oude
christenen leren. Als hij denkt zover te zijn gaat hij terug, spreekt in het
geheim met ambtenaren van het Sanhedrin en mengt zich dan onder de volgelingen
van Jezus, wier vertrouwen hij moet zien te winnen. Want ze zijn niet vergeten
dat hij enthousiast bij de steniging van Stefanus aanwezig was. En even
enthousiast de volgelingen van Jezus vervolgde en gevangen naar Jeruzalems’
gevangenissen bracht.. Men was ook niet vergeten dat hij, als zoon van een
belangrijke Farizeeër, toch, net als de NSB’ers van onze tijd Duitsers werden….
Hij Romeins Staatsburger werd. Door zijn jeugd, als zoon van een
Farizeeër, heeft hij een zeer Joods-Orthodoxe (als je het zo noemen mag)
opvoeding gekregen. Hij kende de geschiedenis, de verwachtingen mbt de
wetten…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Nu kom ik eigenlijk al bij de essence van wat ik wil beweren…
Paulus/Saulus heeft een plan om de leer van Jezus, mede door zijn eigen
achtergrond, ongevaarlijk, onschadelijk, te maken. Hij zal zelf met een
paar jonge, naïeve maar enthousiaste discipelen gaan bekeren, op reis gaan en
stad en land mensen bijeen brengen... in de naam van Jezus…. Voorlopig nog..
maar met een prediking die in niets meer lijkt op de gevaarlijke beweringen van
Jezus. De zeven zaligsprekingen, het losmaken van de Wetten, de
persoonlijke liefde en dus de binding aan de persoon Jezus,…. Het wordt
allemaal veranderd. Hij gaat reizen met Barnabas naar verre steden en stelt
daar aan de mensen een nieuw samenstel van wetten en voorschriften voor,
dat, zij het soms met tranen, wel aanvaard wordt. Hiervoor heeft hij de
toestemming van Jeruzalem nodig gehad. Tenslotte was hij een hoge ambtenaar. Hij,
en het is niet onbelangrijk dat te vermelden, was een bijzonder onaantrekkelijk
man, niet alleen was hij bepaald niet knap, zijn figuur en benen hadden de
typische misvormde vormen van wat we nu Engelse ziekte noemen (zoiets vertelde
hij zelf ook ergens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Jezus verkondigde liefde in vrijheid, had het nooit over de gehuwde
staat of zoiets. De vrouw bij Samaria was (net als ik trouwens) twee keer
getrouwd geweest: hij berispte haar niet eens. Zondaars in Jezus’ omgeving werd
zonder meer vergeven of werden genezen. Hij was een leraar, geen leider.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Wat paulus betreft: zijn leven heeft in dienst gestaan van preken, van
voorschriften geven, van verbieden en van raad geven hoe mensen zouden moeten
leven….. Hoe leidt dat terug naar de vrijheid van Jezus, die niet gekomen was
om mensen aan de wetten te binden, maar hen vrij te maken van wetten. En in
liefde met elkaar te leven. Paulus geeft daarentegen zelfs voorwaarden aan de
manieren waarop men van elkaar mocht houden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Hij mag dan wel nooit een Jezus zijn geworden, het is hem gelukt de
discipelen van Jezus uit elkaar te werken en volkomen onbelangrijk te maken
voor de geschiedenis. Op de vier losse verhalen na van de Mattheus, Marcus,
Lucas (de dokter) en Johannes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Het is hem door zijn houding ook niet gelukt het christendom
onschadelijk te doen lijken voor de Romeinse heersers. Waarschijnlijk door zijn
drammerige houding. Hij is toch vermoord in Rome. En ik kan me levendig
voorstellen dat er in de Mediene een zucht van verlichting opging toen het
bericht van zijn dood hen bereikte. Ze zullen op goed Joodse manier getreurd
hebben en gebeden gezegd… Maar Paulus wist dat hij niet geliefd was…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Een heleboel verhalen uit die tijd zijn sagen geworden. Maar
Christenen beschouwen ze nog steeds woord voor woord als heilige waarheid. Zo
is het gezegd, zo moeten we doen…. Arme nonnen en paters, voor die de
seksualiteit, één van de belangrijkste dingen in het bestaan, liefde, troost,
intimiteit, geluk in het gezin en daarbuiten…ontzegd werd, Omdat ze zich zouden
moeten wijden aan de dienst van G’d……terwijl Jezus ze juist had vrijgemaakt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ach, zo kan ik nog lang doorgaan… Want er valt nog veel over te
zeggen. Niet dat ik de inhoud van de boeken van het N.T. nog goed ken… Maar
deze man is me altijd bijgebleven. Een vechtscheiding, want de invloed van je
jeugd op dat gebied is moeilijk af te schudden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">De mening van Erica van Beek over de zich apostel noemende ambtenaar
paulus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Saulus was zijn Joodse naam. Maar die heeft hij nooit verdiend en
hooguit gebruikt als hij in een goed blaadje moest komen bij Joden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">© Erica, juni 2016<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-2625130021948740722017-09-19T04:12:00.002-07:002017-09-19T04:12:21.221-07:00<br />
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VRIJDAG 31 DECEMBER 2010 IN WEBLOG ERICA’S DAGBOEK.<o:p></o:p></div>
<h3>
Een infarct dat een leven lang meegaat.<br /><o:p> </o:p>ziekenhuisopname oktober-november 1995.</h3>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dit schreef ik nog in het ziekenhuis:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Weet je dat je, in een half bewuste toestand, kunt houden
van een infusomat FM, een soort regelding voor infusen. Die van mij maakte het
vertrouwde snor- snurkgeluidje van mijn kat, met een zuchtje er achteraan. Het was me dierbaar geworden, dat machientje. Een miniem stukje thuis in de grote
machinerie van een afdeling hartbewaking.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Het personeel hier in het Anthoniusziekenhuis in Nieuwegein? Dat verdient de Grote Ericaprijs voor
menslievend gedrag en Wonderbare resultaten. Of een soortgelijke prijs of
diploma.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Zo de kop is eraf. Morgen vertel ik wat ik hier doe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Iiiiiiiiiie” gilt mijn ziel die stukje bij beetje door mijn
neusgaten naar buiten geperst wordt. Een enorm gedreun, het heelal dat
implodeert en explodeert en alle cellen van mijn lijf tot atomen uiteen doet
vallen. Vanwaar die pijn, waar ben IK. Laat me toch gaan láát me toch, smeek
ik. Het wordt genegeerd. Steeds weer voel ik stukjes mij verdwijnen. “Daar ga
ik weer”, kan ik uitbrengen; één keer? Twee keer? Dan, met een allerlaatste
dreun verdwijnt in een letterlijk ondraaglijke pijn mijn lijf en mijn ziel en
ik brul het uit voor ik, mijn ziel dus, voor de allerlaatste keer deformeer,
volledig desintegreer, atomen die in het heelal, het zwarte niets opgaan. Wat
overblijft is een zwakkloppend hart, dat met tedere zorg omgeven wordt en
ondanks zijn A-ritmiek in een paar dagen gebracht kan worden tot een zwak, maar
meestal regelmatig en ritmisch kloppend hart. Maar waar ben IK? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ik weet dat mijn lijf het bed benat, ik heb er geen macht
over. Het wordt gekoppeld aan machines die de ademhaling en de hartkloppingen
volgen en aan infusen die het leven terug moeten brengen. Ik weet dat het
allemaal gebeurt. Maar mijn ziel (?) zwerft nog in stukjes rond en kan zichzelf
niet vinden. Een dienstdoende vrouwelijke dokter zegt véél later, dat ze me
niet heeft kùnnen laten gaan, omdat ik op dat moment in de hel zat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Achteraf kan ik zeggen dat ik me al een tijd niet helemaal
mezelf voelde. De actieve vrolijke ik werd een beetje een amechtige, veel te
gauw moeie vrouw, die weinig zin meer in liefde en leven had.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Die ochtend “valt” het kopje koffie met shaggie niet goed.
Pijn op mijn borst, een soort kaasschaaf die er aan de binnenkant over gehaald
werd. Pijn in mijn armen, niet te beschrijven. Kan nog nèt de dokter bellen, de
deur openzetten en op bed gaan liggen. Heel erg ziek laat ik me onderzoeken,
een spray onder de tong geven (ik heb verdorie homeopathie voor dit soort
gevallen in huis) en de ambulance bellen. Terwijl de broeders me op de brancard
tillen en inriemen voel ik mijn geest vrijkomen. Van de rit naar beneden of met
de sirene naar het ziekenhuis weet ik niks. Vloog ik mee naast de wagen? Ik
wordt pas weer lichaam + ziel als er mensen over me gebogen staan en direct
daarop de eerste inslag van een kernraket in mijn hele wezen. ‘BOEM’ en
‘iiiiiiiie’ gilt mijn ziel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tijdens het reanimeren ben ik bij kennis. Blijkbaar is er
geen tijd geweest voor anesthesie. Mijn ‘ziel’ is alleen bewustzijn. Een
bewustzijn dat tijdens het reanimeren terechtkomt in een letterlijk pikzwarte
duisternis, bestaande uit angst!<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
ANGST! </span><b><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ANGST!!</span></b> Die ziel van me expodeert, implodeert, valt
uiteen in atomen die in het niets verdwijnen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ik zal niet letterlijk gebruld hebben, dat kan ook haast niet in die toestand. Ik schreef
dit 2,5 jaar na het hartinfarcten het duurt nu ook al 2,5 jaar dat ik het
gevoel heb niet meer helemaal compleet te zijn.
Mijn lijf is compleet Mijn hart is voor een groot deel genezen, Althans,
de verwachting is dat dat ik zo’n 60 – 70% restcapaciteit heb. Vanwaar komt
toch dit gevoel iets essentieels kwijtgeraakt te zijn in die reanimatie?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Zeven ”klappen” heb ik gekregen voor ik weer terug was en
mijn bewustzijn niets anders bleek dan
het me bewust zijn alleen een zwak kloppend hart te ‘zijn’. Vier dagen die volgden ben ik slapend
gehouden, in een morfineslaap, zeg maar. Dagen die achteraf medebepalend voor de rest van mijn leven blijken te zijn geweest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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De morfine deed me bijzondere dromen dromen. Af en toe, als
de verpleger me kwam wakker maken voor een prik of een beker
drinken of zo iets.. en me uitvroeg wat ik dan meemaakte, bezwoer hij me die
dromen te onthouden. Beetje moeilijk in zo’n toestand, maar een paar heb ik wel
onthouden en later opgeschreven. Een van die droompjes heeft mijn leven totaal
veranderd. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dat droompje was zo: <o:p></o:p></div>
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Een zonovergoten Israel-landschap, één heel grote brede
olijfboom. In de schaduw daarvan zitten 12 chassidiem, met bonthoeden op.
Twee rijen van zes. Een schilderij waar ik lang naar lag te kijken. En van
genoot en alles in mijn hoofd opsloeg. Er gebeurde niets, het was een levend
schilderij. Ik zóóg het bijna op in mijn geheugen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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-----Na die ervaringen hoefde ik niets meer, kòn ik ook
niets meer. Alleen proberen weer sterker te worden. Al het (vrijwilligers)werk
werd noodgedwongen opgegeven. Ik was altijd een politiek en maatschappelijk
actieve vrouw. Ik schreef artikelen en columns voor een paar blaadjes die
plaatselijk uitkwamen. Was lid van een literaire club, want ik had ook een
boek geschreven. ”Twee Vrouwen en een jas”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Het duurde nog tot
1998, toen ik lichamelijk weer sterk genoeg was, dat ik naar Amsterdam
terugverhuisde. Mijn moeder- en vaderstad. De stad waar ik op zoek kon gaan
naar mijn verleden als Joods onderduikkind, waarover ik in mijn boek geschreven
had. De stad waar ik eindelijk thuisgekomen ben.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Amsterdam… De stad waar ik geboren ben, waar mijn vader en
moeder geleefd hadden. Alles heb ik opgegeven, mijn vrijwilligerswerk van 24/7
altijd druk voor anderen… , mijn meubels en meer had ik opgegeven voor mijn terugkeer naar huis waar ik mijn zoektocht
naar mijn verleden verder kon afmaken. Maar het bloed kruipt echt waar het niet
gaan kan…. Ik ging voorzichtig weer vrijwilligerswerk op me nemen. Kon niet
langer werkloos toezien. Dit keer anders… Koffiegroepen met oudere Joodse
mensen leiden, me bemoeien met het huis en zijn bewoners waar ik terechtgekomen
was. Een zusterhuis met een geschiedenis van oorlog en het wegvoeren van alle bewoners.
Het ziekenhuis ernaast op de gracht was helemaal leeggehaald door de Duitsers.
Zieken, geesteszieken, kraamvrouwen en barende vrouwen en kindertjes, oude mensen vaak ziek en dement, alles was
op een ochtend met veel geweld en lawaai weggehaald. Van het ziekenhuis is
niemand levend teruggekomen. Het vroegere zusterhuis waar ik een appartementje
had kunnen krijgen, kende wel een paar teruggekeerden die weer in het huis
trokken. Maar vraag niet hoe. Het werd
een speculatieobject voor woninginvesteerders en –corporaties voor het besluit
viel er kleine appartementjes te bouwen voor oudere (55+) Joodse mensen. Later
50% niet Joodse en 50% wel Joodse mensen. Wel altijd alles met plezier gedaan maar
niet meer met de tomeloze energie van vroeger. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wie de andere ervaring ook gelezen heeft moet wel tot de
conclusie komen dat, wat voor mij een soort B.D.E. is geweest, aanleiding is
geworden tot een volkomen omslag in mijn leven Een thuiskomen. Een rustig leven
van een oudere vrouw. Ik mag zijn die ik ben, na zoveel jaar te hebben moeten
bewijzen dat ik mocht bestaan. – Onderduikkind – Joodse overlevende… Al die
jaren dat ik me bewust was dat te zijn, leefde ik toch om te bewijzen dat ik
mocht bestaan…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maar de oude enthousiasmerende, inspirerende en
geïnspireerde Erica bestaat echt niet meer. En er zijn nog steeds dagen dat ik
me afvraag waar die oude Erica is gebleven. Kan dat deel echt door dat
hartinfarct voorgoed verdwenen zijn? Of
misschien hebben de mensen gelijk die zeggen, dat het toch een echte
hersenbeschadiging veroorzaakt heeft, die niet zozeer mijn intellect, alswel
mijn literaire zeggingskracht verloren heeft doen gaan. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Als ik me lichamelijk redelijk voel ben ik me dat bewust en kan ik niet zeggen dat
ik er ongelukkiger door ben geworden. Alles wat ik zelf bereiken wilde, is
bereikt en klaar. Er is een zekere rust en gelatenheid voor in de plaats
gekomen die ik niet eerder kende. Mijn geestelijke Inspirator, die ik Vogeltje noemde, is niet
meer echt teruggekomen. Het gevoel dat er iemand op mijn schouder zat die me
woorden influisterde…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Toch, ik kan het niet laten om te hopen dat deze weg die ik
heb moeten gaan…. Ergens een doel heeft. En dat deze weg niet alléén als doel
heeft hem te lopen…. Tot het einde.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ook heb ik de moed
vaak verloren. Gedacht dat ik beter kon opgeven. Het heeft heel lang geduurd voor
er weer een lichamelijk en geestelijk evenwicht gevonden was… Dat kon van
kleine dingen afhankelijk zijn. Bij voorbeeld het weer, de luchtdruk, de wind. Een vriendelijk, of een onvriendelijk woord. Het leven bleef lang grijs, zoals de
wintermaanden in Nederland vaak zijn. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Soms kon ik nog een gedicht maken. Dan dacht ik:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Winter, binnen en buiten.</b></div>
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Mist en duisternis. Het is zó stil dat ik de<o:p></o:p></div>
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mistdruppeltjes hoor vallen als zilveren kraaltjes<o:p></o:p></div>
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op een ijskristallen watervlak.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kies ik voor leven in deze dodelijke kilheid die<o:p></o:p></div>
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al bijna zelf de dood is?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Ook in mijn hoofd slaan mist en moedeloosheid,<o:p></o:p></div>
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doodsverlangen en duisternis toe. <o:p></o:p></div>
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En als een derwish draait mijn geest om haar eigen as.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Geen leven, geen leven. Niet zó, niet zó.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Laat me in godsnaam gaan. Laat me gáán.</div>
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<br /></div>
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(GEPLAATST DOOR ERICA OP VRIJDAG, DECEMBER 31, 2010</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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DONDERDAG 30 DECEMBER 2010<o:p></o:p></div>
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En is grotendeels geschreven november 1996.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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-------------------------<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>De afgelopen jaren hebben een ander mens van me
gemaakt, de verwerking van het verleden, met zijn apotheose in Yad Vashem
(zie Impressies van Israël) en een zoektocht naar het verleden in Wenen heeft ervoor gezorgd, dat ik dat verleden voor een groot deel
achter me heb kunnen laten en een ander mens ben geworden. De lange maanden van
thuiszitten na het hartinfarct hebben de rust gebracht, die ik zo nodig had om
me weer met een toekomst bezig te kunnen houden. Een niet zo lange toekomst maar toch....</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
Een aantal keren herlezen, herschreven en herplaatst, ik denk er nu mee klaar te zijn.<br />
<br />
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© Erica van Beek september 2017.<o:p></o:p></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-35454617155867817862017-08-30T16:08:00.002-07:002017-08-30T16:08:22.866-07:00<h4 abp="1157">
Als het verleden herleeft</h4>
<div abp="1157">
</div>
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Het is over een half uur alweer de allerlaatste dag van
augustus 2017.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hier zitten en pogen mijn aandacht te houden bij het schrijven van een blogje,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>valt momenteel niet mee. Het is een lange dag
geweest. En moe is behoorlijk moe, want moe heeft geen middagslaapje kunnen
doen. En ja, als je 82 bent, heb je dat wel nodig.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Mijn hulpe was vandaag weer hier en mijn huisje is weer
schoon. Dat is fijn. De was hangt en dat is ook fijn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Op zo’n dag zit ik meestal aan de computer.
Maar vandaag zag ik een stapel losse papieren en kaarten liggen en die wilde ik
opgeruimd hebben. Dus ging ik ermee aan tafel zitten. De kaarten waren gauw
apart gelegd, die spaar ik voor wie ze wil hebben of nodig heeft. Net als
allerlei soorten bonnetjes <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>van alles wat
maar bonnetjes heeft. Voor wie het nodig heeft of wil hebben. Lies wilde de
bonnetjes wel voor iemand <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>meenemen. Maar
de kaarten…Die moet ik nog even bij elkaar zoeken. Zij weet ook daarvoor wel
iemand… die raak ik dan ook netjes kwijt.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Het volgende dat door mijn handen gleed waren tot mijn grote
verrassing oude rapporten en getuigschriften. Die had ik een tijd geleden wel
gezien, maar niet zo bewust stuk voor stuk bekeken. Sjonge… <o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Ik vond een lok haar van mijn dochter in een enveloppe, toen
was ze 10 jaar… dat is dus heel wat jaartjes geleden. Net als het stuk
peperkoek, dat ik 32 jaar geleden kreeg toen ik Sara werd, 50 jaar dus. Het is
keurig bewaard gebleven, alleen de enveloppe waarin het stuk koek bewaard is
gebleven, ziet er niét uit. En officiële papieren voor de aanvraag van
tegemoetkomingen in de studiekosten 1985/1986 voor mijn dochter…<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Mijn examenlijst van de MULO MET DEN BIJBEL uit Alphen aan
de Rijn uit 1953. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alleen een zesje voor
schrijven, alle andere cijfers hoger.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Mijn diploma Stenografie en Machineschrijven met vier tienen
en drie negens. Eén zeventje voor cijferwerk… was ik nooit zo goed mee…. Een
snelheid van 180 aanslagen per minuut. Op een gewone ouderwetse schrijfmachine
dus.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Mijn examenlijst voor Practijkexamens ( ja, met een c, echt
waar) Nederlandse Handelscorrespondentie <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ook uit 1953 met 7, 9, 7 als eindcijfers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Brieven van de Detam (die bestaat niet meer) en een
dreigement van de toenmalige ziekteverzekering dat als ik niet aan hun
onderzoek zou meedoen…. Het was indertijd het Regionaal Ziekenfonds
Midden-Nederland. Was ik nog vergeten mee te nemen in mijn stukje over de economische
groei van klein <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rooms Katholiek
Ziekenfondsje <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>naar Zilveren Kruis-Achmea…een
snel gegroeide Cholem. En een stapeltje mooie getuigschriften, waarvan de
laatste <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>maar 6 weken heeft geduurd. Na <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>september 1975 werd ik arbeidsongeschikt
verklaard. Naweeën van de oorlog zullen we maar zeggen. Begin jaren 80 werd ik,
zij het op een andere manier, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>weer
actief. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that is another story…<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Ik vond ook nog iets leuks. Een deel van de correspondentie,
die ik gehad heb met de overleden schrijver Olaf J. de Landell, uit 1973 . <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span>
Ik genoot van de lichte toon die hij aan zware onderwerpen wist te geven. En
van zijn humor. <o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Nu ik dit alles zo bewust weer bekeken heb komen er weer
veel herinneringen boven. Niet altijd leuke herinneringen. Het waren zware
jaren. Maar <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>er waren ook mooie en warme
tijden, jaren waaraan ik met ontroering terug kan denken.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Inmiddels is het 31 augustus 2017, 0.33 uur.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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© Erica van Beek<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-16298593793104159162017-08-03T07:13:00.003-07:002017-08-03T07:13:52.300-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Dit verhaal schreef ik al vele jaren geleden, maar ik geloof niet dat het in de blog terecht is gekomen. Het is allemaal letterlijk zo gebeurd, ik heb dus alleen alles opgeschreven wat er die dag gebeurd is. Niet meer en niet minder. </span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De Wet van
Murphy in de praktijk.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op 29 maart 1998 werd bij de JOA(Joodse Ouderen
Amsterdam) 50 jaar Israel gevierd. En ik was uitgenodigd. En zou er ook heengaan:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Alles liep, vanaf het begin, al mis. Ik was wel op
tijd(!) wakker, maar bleek vergeten te hebben de wekker voor de zomertijd
vooruit te zetten. . . . De avond
tevoren had ik al uitgebreid moeten zoeken naar de officiële
uitnodiging. Ik moest hem wel met het oud papier hebben weggegooid. Gelukkig
(!) vond ik in de NIW een klein persbericht, anders had ik niet eens geweten
hoe laat ik wáár moest zijn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik miste de bus die ééns per half uur komt. Dat was
het volgende. Lopend door het winkelcentrum op weg naar de sneltram realiseerde
ik me dat ik de boekenmarkt die dezelfde dag gehouden zou worden, moest missen.
En bij de brvriende bloemenboer, waar ik langs moest lopen, bleek ingebroken te zijn. Nou hoef je een
bloemenman geen troostbloemetje te geven, dus werd ik nog meer opgehouden door
het kopen van een zakje mooi verpakte en van gekrulde lintjes voorziene
paaseitjes. Voor hem en zijn vrouw. Een ‘troostje’, waar ontroerd op gereageerd
werd. Dat wel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op het tramstation zag ik de volgende bus, die ik had
moeten hebben, komen aanrijden. Al
gebarend kwam ik tot vier meter voor de bus. De chauffeur zag me wel, maar gaf
vol gas en reed weg. In de commotie bleek ook de tram voorbijgereden te zijn.
Wachten dus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De trein naar Amsterdam stond halverwege een kwartier
stil. Een storing. De metro in Amsterdam (vond ik toen nog doodeng, vanwege
sommige figuren) kreeg halverwege ook een storing en we moesten overstappen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De middag bij JOA sla ik over. Maar ik gaf te veel
geld aan leuke dingen uit. Achteraf toch maar goed anders had ik het aan andere
dingen (zie verderop) toch moeten uitgeven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Teruggaande liep ik (natuurlijk ik weer) de verkeerde
kant op en kwam daar na zo’n 1,5 km pas achter. Want het was mooi weer en warm.
En Buitenveldert is dan een mooie wijk. Helemaal teruglopen dus. Het was een
lange wandeling voor ik weer bij de tram was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De trein naar Heerlen, die ik had moeten hebben,
hoorde ik onder aan de roltrap staande, wegrijden. De volgende trein, de trein
naar Arnhem, dus maar genomen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En daar kwam controle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nou had ik in Buitenveldert mijn jaszakken
leeggemaakt, voor ik mijn jas aan de kapstok hing. En alles in mijn tas gedaan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In steeds grotere paniek zocht ik voor die controleur
alles af naar mijn treinkaartje. Maar nebbish, niks gevonden. Dus tot overmaat
van ramp kreeg ik in een volle trein een reprimande (ik had mijn kaartje bij de
hand moeten hebben) en een bon uitgeschreven (zie boven over geld uitgeven),
die ik over twee dagen moest betalen, anders kwam er f. 60,- boete bij. Dat
treinreisje Utrecht-Amsterdam v.v. heeft me alleen al f. 19,90 + f. 37,-
(boete) = f. 56,90 gekost dus. Waar is mijn kaartje gebleven??? Ergens uit mijn
zak gevallen, maar wáár dan?? Hartbonkend van woede met een brok in de keel,
naar de bus, die me thuis moest brengen. - Was drie minuten geleden, ja dus,
vertrokken. Dan de sneltram maar, die juist kwam aangereden. De hele reis zat
ik schuin tegenover een agressief soort ‘sport’-jongen, die zijn walkman kei-
en keihard had aanstaan. Die is doof voor zijn dertigste, maar valt er nu al
anderen mee lastig dus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Enfin, eindelijk thuisgekomen. . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mijn overburen in de laan die parallel loopt met mijn
flat (zo’n tweehonderd meter ver) vinden het ook mooi weer. Die zijn daar net
komen wonen en zitten nu in hun blootje
met zijn allen bier te drinken op hun balkon. Keiharde housemuziek aan. Je
reinste Aso-show. Daar kijkt de politie straks wel naar om, denk ik nog. Maar
ondertussen is mijn stemming niet bepaald opgeklaard, als ik eindelijk de
sleutel in het stopcontact kan steken. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> En meteen hoor
ik een raar geluid uit de ‘natte cel’ komen en ontdek dat ik een grote
overstroming vanuit mijn badkamer heb, komend van de bovenburen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De chinese buren naast me die ik voor eerste hulp per telefoon tracht te bereiken, zijn niet
thuis en hun oppas begint bij het horen van mijn naam als een idioot te
giechelen en legt, tot twee keer toe, de telefoon weer op de haak. Zij heeft
nog geen woord Nederlands geleerd en ik weet eerlijk gezegd niet wat mijn naam in het Chinees kan
betekenen, dat ze zo reageert.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Uiteindelijk gaat de Irakese buurman van de andere
kant, mee om haar van boven duidelijk te maken dat ze de badkamer niet meer mag
gebruiken vóór morgen de loodgieter is geweest. Zij van boven had wanhopig en
met allerlei middelen geprobeerd een verstopping ongedaan te maken. Waarmee ze
dus wel een gat in de afvoer in mijn badkamer veroorzaakt heeft. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Een beetje van alles bekomen wil ik een paar uur later
iets voor mezelf en mijn kat te eten maken Visje koken voor poes en
aardappeltjes bakken voor mezelf.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En ontdek dat mijn dure koelvrieskast het vandaag, op de eerste mooie warme dag van
dit jaar, heeft begeven. Ik kan alle verse waar weggooien. . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Hoezo, onzin, die Wet van Murphy?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">©Erica van Beek<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span>
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Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-79341862297457252892017-08-02T14:24:00.002-07:002017-08-02T14:24:45.722-07:00<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Teruggevonden dromen</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Vandaag zaterdag 1 november 2014.
Allerheiligen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Na de brunch ben ik weer omgevallen, geslapen
van half drie tot 6 uur. Het is alweer donker. En ik wil mijn droom opschrijven
voor hij weg is. Twee kleine blonde jongetjes met warrig onverzorgd te lang
haar. De grootste hield de kleinste bij de hand. Beiden huilden om hun moeder
en niemand keek naar ze om. Een huis vol hulpverleners die het te druk hadden
om aan twee kleine huilende eenzame broertjes aandacht te schenken. Ik sloeg
mijn armen om die twee heen en vroeg waarom ze daar stonden. Onze moeder is dood,
zeiden ze. Ze is weg en nou hebben we geen moeder meer.. Ik vroeg om hulp en
aandacht voor de kinderen maar niemand luisterde. De directeur van het huis
kwam aanlopen met een bord vol heerlijke dingetjes. Maar hij ging zitten en
ging het allemaal zelf en alleen opeten. Een vrouw volgde en ging met een bord
vol heerlijke hapjes naast hem zitten. Ik was kwaad en vroeg of ze die kinderen
helemaal niets gaven en honger lieten lijden.
Toen gooiden ze af en toe zo’n lekker hapje naar mij en ik voerde de kinderen
één voor één. Waar komen jullie vandaan? Uit (ze noemden een zuid Amerikaans
land) Cayenne hoewel het zo te zien kaaskoppetjes waren met een lekker plat
accent. Ze kregen die paar hapjes uit irritatie vanwege mijn vragen. Lang niet
genoeg. Ik vroeg wie ze meenam en waar ze heen moesten, één kleintje op mijn
knie, de andere met mijn arm om hem heen. Niemand reageerde en zelf wisten we
ook niet waar ze heen moesten. Zo zaten we daar stilletjes, midden in die grote
zaal met hulpverleners die deden of ze doof en blind waren. Toen werd ik
langzaam wakker maar de droom bleef nog een hele tijd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">22-11-14<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Droomde in mijn middagslaapje dat ik op stap
was en herinneringen opnieuw beleefde. Door de foto’s die ik in mijn lange
leven had opgespaard. 77 jaar foto’s…. en er waren goede herinneringen die ik
in ontmoetingen opnieuw beleefde. Maar toen moest ik met de (volle) bus naar
een andere opnieuw te beleven herinnering. Ik had nog een grote tas met foto’s
met herinneringen bij me. En de bus
stopte omdat de chauffeur tot die herinneringen behoorde. Hij parkeerde de bus
tussen een auto en de waterkant van een groot water (Het IJ). Ik waarschuwde
dat het een gevaarlijke plek was en dat de bus zou kunnen omrollen. De
chauffeur vond dat het wel kon. Maar zodra hij uit de bus stapte rolde de bus
op zijn kant het water in. Iedereen kwam in het water terecht. Ik greep iemand
in zijn kraag en trok hem zwemmend naar de kant, waar hij verdween. Mijn tas
met herinneringen/ foto’s van 77 jaren was inmiddels gezonken en niet meer te
redden. Ik was zielsverdrietig, kon niets meer doen. Maar, zoals iemand
opmerkte, ik moest dan maar zonder die herinneringen verder……… en toen werd ik
wakker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Een andere droom was juist het tegengestelde:
Een middagslaapje.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Het was een slaapje om nooit meer te vergeten.
Ik werd letterlijk omgeven door zóveel liefde, niet-menselijke liefde, die me
omarmde en troostte en vasthield en toch weer niet, die me omgaf als een warme
deken waarin ik kon wegkruipen… en ik was zo intens gelukkig dat er geen woorden
voor te vinden zijn. Dat gevoel is, ook toen ik wakker werd, heel lang blijven
hangen. En nu, na drie dagen, kan ik het nog oproepen en zó intens
voelen….alsof het in een andere wereld gebeurde. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Of deze: ik droomde dat Maumau bij me kwam
jengelen. Ik mocht dit keer niet aan zijn pootjes komen Zijn nageltjes bleken
grotendeels verdwenen,zijn voetkussens
open wonden. Ik kon eigenlijk niet weg, Jessica lag te slapen, was een
peutertje. Toch besloot ik weg te gaan met de kat, om iemand te vinden die de pootjes
kon verzorgen. En Jessica, dacht ik, zou nog wel even doorslapen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Ik kwam plots in Rotterdam terecht en kon
de dierenarts niet vinden. Omdat ik haar al een tijdje heb ken ik ook geen
anderen. Mijn eigen dierenarts kon niet gevonden worden. Het werd avond, het
werd nacht en het wachten bij de bus- of tramhalte leverde zoveel angst op voor
wat er thuis gebeurd kon zijn intussen.Maar ik kòn niet naar huis. De anderen
die daar wachtten bleken allemaal homofiel, relnichten te zijn ;-)
.Ik werd achternagezeten door een bende die broodjes wilde…..En ik had er maar
ééntje. Die ik toch maar verdeelde.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Er kwam geen trein of bus. De kat was weg en ik
zat met die medicijnen voor hem. En ik beefde in sidderende angst voor wat
er met Jessica gebeurd kon zijn terwijl ik met die kat zo ver weg was. Ik
overweeg nog even naar huis te gaan lopen……. Maar dat was dus ook geen optie.
Ik moest, om erger te voorkomen, zelf de zieke en dode stompjes nagels van de
kat uittrekken. En dat kon ik niet en liet Kat ook niet toe. Hij kwam op zijn
dooie gemak aanlopen alsof er niets aan de hand was... en zei alleen:
hallo:.....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Eindelijk kwam ik in een vreemd gebouw met
gecapitonneerde vloer en wanden en meer niet. Dat waren de slaapkamers voor het
getrouwde stel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Er hoorde een kippenhok bij en nu klonken die
kippen gezond en legden achter elkaar eieren. Kat was nog steeds niet geholpen.
Het huis waarin ik - alleen –
terechtkwam was helemaal gecapituleerd, Ik
werd niet opgesloten en kon in en uitlopen. In een lange gecapitonneerde gang,
heel lang en er kwam een man die liet een mooie kistje zien.zei hij.
Eerst alle deuren voorbij.
Toen liep ik alleen, er was nergens iemand in de aangrenzende
kamers en . En kwam Jessica tegen die er erg blij mee was.Maar ze had
haar tijd zelf nodig zei ze....zucht...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In een droom kan alles, kan je zelfs een
peutertje in Amsterdam achterlaten en diezelfde nacht in Rotterdam als
bloeiende jonge vrouw weer tegenkomen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Maar teruglopend ontdekte ik dat er toch
veel meer mannen waren Ik zag weer niets, alleen de gevolgen van hun
aanwezigheid. .Poes liep te jammeren, kon niet meer lopen. Die
pootjes rotten steeds verder weg...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Nee, was niet leuk wakker worden hè...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Ik droomde dat er ongenood via voor- en
achterdeur bezoekers binnenkwamen, terwijl ikzelf bij anderen op bezoek was.
Mijn bezoekers zochten zich een plekje en wachtten de dingen die komen gingen
af. Ik ging maar thee en koffie voor ze zetten, zocht in mijn boekenkast naar
dingen om ze bezig te houden, maakte een praatje, besloot wat afstandelijk te
doen tegen een mij onbekende buurman die zich wel erg thuisvoelde... kortom,
voelde me geen baas in eigen huis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Tot slot kwamen er nog vier zigeuner- of
anderszins oost-europese jongeren binnen, in grijze dure maar niet erg
smaakvolle pakken. Die keken brutaalweg om zich heen of er iets te halen viel
en met heel veel moeite kreeg ik ze door de tuindeuren naar buiten waar
ze met elkaar bleven overleggen...... eng hoor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Mijn bezoekers waren me onbekend, zouden nieuwe
bewoners worden in dit huis.. Maar zover ik wist was hier niemand weggegaan...
Mannen, vrouwen, een echtpaar, allemaal vonden ze hier een plek en wachtten af
wat ik voor ze zou doen....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">3-4 mei. Ik droomde dat ik te maken had met
vluchtelingen in dit land. Die zo bang waren dat ze onbereikbaar waren. Ik zat
samen met een een arts, een mwer en een psychiater om de tafel en probeerde
wanhopig duidelijk te maken dt er hulp nodig was. Dat zij wisten hoe ik kon
helpen maar niets deden. Dat die mensen vaak te bang waren om hun oude korsten
brood buiten aan de vogels te voeren, laat staan dat ze zonder hulp konden
inburgeren. Mijn pleidooi om gecoördineerde hulp werd tamelijk koel
ontvangen. maar bij het afscheid gaf die psychiater me een hand en schoof
me daarbij wat kleingeld toe. Mijn verontwaardige :'wat doet u nu?!' werd
beantwoord met :neem nou maar aan je kunt het nog gebruiken'. Ik keerde terug
naar mijn armoedige straat maar durfde het fooitje zelfs niet aan een
asielzoeker te geven. Want dat zou hem ook niet helpen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">5 mei. Vannacht ongelooflijk verdrietig en boos
gedroomd. Iedereen liep maar in en uit bij me. Sleutels hielpen niet. Vreemde
kinderen, verpleegkundigen, dokters, ik moest ze af en toe met geweld buiten de
deur zetten, maar het hielp niet. Mijn kind liep in en uit, at en dronk, maar
zag me niet. De asperges die ik voor mijzelf kookte werden door andere
opgegeten. De zee kwam op. En al mijn boeken en mijn geliefde papieren en
spullen kwamen steeds dieper in het water te staan. Twee jongemannen sleepten
ze van de ene kant naar de andere kant. Ik kwam meubels tegen die ooit van me
geweest waren, een heel oud dressoir o.a. Ik heb wanhopig gehuild, maar er was
niets meer te redden van alle mooie boeken en verzamelde papieren en andere
dingen en het water steeg maar.....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Ik droomde dat ik een lieve rijke gul gevende
Joodse vriend had. De prins op het witte paard dus en we waren heel gelukkig.
Ik had veel liefde te geven, hij ook maar
hij gaf me ongevraagd veel mooie geschenken. Niet alles had ik nodig,
maar ik was al gelukkig met zijn gulheid zelf. Bijna gulzig bleef hij geven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Op zeker ogenblik moesten we weg en hij had
alles 'even' afgegeven. Dat moest opgehaald worden en bleek in twee
vuilniszakken te passen en verpakt te zijn. Mijn mantel konden we niet
terugvinden. Hij zou die zakken even naar zijn auto brengen en me dan oppikken.
De stad was al donker.... Ik dacht hem tegemoet te gaan, maar verdwaalde.....
Ik kon hem nergens terugvinden, kwam in vreemde dorpse wijken terecht en in een
soort tehuis, waar een oudere Joodse vrouw zich over me ontfermde. En me
vertelde dat het een belangrijke Joodse feestdag was. We moesten dan ook Joodse
liederen zingen. Ik miste mijn vriend zo verschrikkelijk maar wist dat ik hem
nooit meer terug zou zien als ik niet weer de straat opging. En dwaalde eenzaam
verder, mijn hart boordevol verdriet en schuldgevoel omdat ik niet gewacht had
tot hij me kwam ophalen. Nu was ik letterlijk alles kwijt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Waar het op slaat weet ik nog niet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Ik droomde dat ik naar Amsterdam Noord,
Vogeldorp, ging. Onderweg was een rotjongetje midden op de straat
bezig zijn spullen uit te stallen en ik droeg hem uit veiligheid op dat weg te
halen. Hij haalde naar mij uit met een stok...... nou, dat kon ik ook. ;-) en
toen deed hij wat ik hem gevraagd had. De boel op de stoep zetten. Dit stukje
vergroot of toont mijn zelfvertrouwen... ik kan het aan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Maar toen kwam ik in ons oude huisje. En daar
zat neef Coenie aan een tafeltje in een hoekje van de kamer voor het
gangetje naar de keuken. Op het tafeltje lagen wat oude tijdschriften. Hij
bleef zitten. Ik vroeg of ik na mijn lange reis een kop koffie kon krijgen. Hij
ging weg en kwam wat later terug met een
beker koffie die hij zelf leegdronk. Toen ik er naar vroeg zei hij wat
geïrriteerd dat hij water bijgeschonken had voor een tweede kop koffie. Ik
besefte dat hij niet meer tot de 'gezonde' mensen behoorde. Op tafel vond
ik een prentenboekje dat op school gebruikt was. En waarin ik geschreven had
over mijzelf in Wenen: 'En plotseling was het feest afgelopen en moesten we
vluchten' . En verder plaatjes van Wenen en van een rivier en vluchten. Ik had
er een hoog cijfer voor gekregen van de juf of de meester.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Ik was heel blij dat boekje/schriftje terug te
hebben en danste een beetje de kamer rond. Waarop een tot dan onzichtbare
buurvrouw zei dat ik er blijkbaar ook niet zonder kleerscheuren doorgekomen
was, wijzend op neef Coenie, die weer
helemaal in zichzelf teruggetrokken op zijn stoel zat met de beker voor zijn
mond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Eigenlijk was ik daar in huis vanwege een
afspraakje met mijn vader. Maar die was er niet. Toen ik er Coenie naar vroeg
zei die dat mijn vader later kwam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Maar mijn vader kwam niet…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Ik zag ons oude huisje daar en rook het zelfs.
Heimwee…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Het eerste deel van de nacht is onrustig. Ik
droom dat er iets is met de diepvries. Ik had iets in e diepvries moeten doen
of moet er rekening mee houden dat er iets ' is' met de diepvries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Het tweede deel speelt in en om het huis. Door
een sociale instantie wordt het huis helemaal opgeknapt. De muren krijgen een
verfje, er worden mooie bloemen op geschilderd ook. Een beetje art
decoachtig. Heel mooi en licht. De kinderen zijn nog klein en ontroeren
de ambtenaren die bij ons over de vloer komen. Ik heb iets lekkers gemaakt voor
de kinderen. En die mensen willen mee-eten. Op zeker ogenblik word ik het huis
uitgejaagd, ik moet maar wachten tot alles klaar is. En naast een brug eet ik
mijn bord spinaziestamp met draadjesvlees. Dan komen er die ambtenaren en
andere mensen bij staan, en ik deel mijn vlees uit. Raar genoeg door ze
van mijn vork te laten happen. Dan wil ik terug naar huis, maar ik ben
verdwaald en heb geen idee waar ik heen moet. Ik weet maar ongeveer waar het
huis ligt. Bij een man in een hokje dat hij fanatiek schoon houdt staat een
stoel. Daar leg ik mijn spullen op en ik zoek daartussen, behalve mijn kleren
(ik loop in nachtgoed), ook mijn dagboek. Niet te vinden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Buiten is sneeuw, maar ook overstroming. Toch
moet ik naar huis. Die drang is te groot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Maar de kat maakt me wakker met haar gedram om
naar buiten te kunnen. En het verlangen blijft hangen....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"> © Erica van Beek</span></div>
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Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-29027212047939644232017-07-15T02:09:00.002-07:002017-07-15T02:37:24.609-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>Mensen van tegenwoordig...</u></b><br />
Dit is al een eerder geplaatst artikel, maar ik kan het niet terugvinden. Dus nog eens geplaatst.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pagina 38-39 (Katern Jong) van de Volkskrant van dinsdag 15
juni jl. bevatte een artikel: 'één miljoen heeft gemixte ouders'...... Is het
anderen dus ook opgevallen dat mensen van nu mooier geworden
zijn de laatste generaties? Natuurlijk, zoals er ook bij geschreven wordt,
hebben de jonge mensen van tegenwoordig veel meer mogelijkheden, vooral voor
wat betreft educatie. Als ik jonge mensen zie moet ik onweerstaanbaar denken
aan één van de oude socialistische strijdliederen, m.n. 'het lied der Strijders':
de laatste regels van elk couplet luiden als volgt: 'Van de verre verre
kusten stroomt een nieuw en schoon geslacht'. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jammer dat deze liederen niet meer van deze
tijd zijn en bijna in de ban zijn gedaan. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Het koor dat deze liederen zong, De Stem Des Volks, is
opgeheven. Bij gebrek aan jonge aanwas, maar ook omdat ze hun liederen nog
eigenlijk alleen op de eerste mei in verzorgings- en verpleeghuizen
konden zingen. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Wie ze nog eens wil horen kan naar de site<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://home.versatel.nl/vdwiel/">http://home.versatel.nl/vdwiel/</a> .
Deze Van der Wiel schrijft op zijn site: <b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Vandaar
de teksten van de <span style="color: red;">VARA</span>gram LP "<span style="color: red;">de Rooden Roepen</span>" op deze site gezet.
Ter lering ende (ook wel een beetje nostalgisch) vermaeck.</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Laten we het dan maar zo beschouwen.
Maar wie ook maar een beetje uit een 'rood' nest komt kan ik de site
aanbevelen. De melodieën zijn nog steeds even mooi. En wie ze niet kent zal er
met heel andere ogen naar kijken. Maar ze misschien ook met ontroering
lezen.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In elk geval blijft de melodie van 'Van de
verre verre kusten' in mijn hoofd rondzingen. Het zijn bijna psalmen en
zeker als ze zo langzaam gezongen worden als in de biblebelt gebeurt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Heel bijzonder ook om te bedenken dat er zoveel mensen
van gemengde bloede zijn. Ik ben, eigenlijk ook van gemengde bloede,
hoewel uiterlijk een gewone witte... Inmiddels is zelfs mijn
haar wit. Mijn grootouders van vaders' kant kwamen uit Amsterdam, echte
gauwe arme Jordaners. Mijn grootmoeder zou afstammeling van een
lage Duitse landadel zijn. Mijn vader was dus ook een Amsterdammer,
maar woonde later met mijn grootvader in Vogeldorp in Amsterdam-Noord. Aan de
overkant van het IJ. Dat was een dorp dat amper bij Amsterdam hoorde,
alleen in naam. Het (Ing.) Vliegenbos was naast de deur.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maar mijn grootouders van moeders' kant kwamen uit een
streek die soms bij Slowakije, soms bij Polen, maar ten lange leste bij
Oostenrijk hoorde. Die familie is later naar Wenen verhuisd. En daar komt dus
mijn moeder vandaan. Het was een Joodse familie en op één enkele
tante en één nicht na is iedereen uit die familie vermoord.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Behalve ikzelf heeft hebben de kinderen van mijn
tante de moordmachine overleefd. Wij waren overlevenden, de eersten
van 'een nieuw en schoon geslacht'.... Wil niet zeggen dat we zelf zulke mooie
vrouwen zijn, maar schoon heeft hier ook de betekenis van . mooi' van
binnen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
En dan kijk ik weer naar de krant. Mooie zwarte mannen met
mooie witte vrouwen leveren mooie kinderen. En ook de kinderen van immigranten
met Nederlandse vrouwen leveren mooie kinderen op. Die betekenis betreft
ook de buitenkant. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Idealiter zouden de cultuurverschillen de jonge mensen
mateloos kunnen ontwikkelen door bewuste nieuwsgierigheid
naar de wederzijdse achtergronden aan te vuren. Zowel op cultureel
als godsdienstig gebied. Jammer genoeg gebeurt dat te weinig. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
De meesten zijn normale knappe jonge mensen die
het soms ver geschopt hebben of het nog ver kunnen scheppen. Zij
hebben de innerlijke beschaving en de intelligentie van tenminste één van de
ouders meegekregen. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Natuurlijk blijft de andere mogelijkheid ook open en
die is even negatief als de andere kant positief is. Dat uit twee
volkomen onontwikkelde ouders kinderen voortkomen, die niét zien
waar ze vandaan komen. Die niet uit die benauwde concentrische
cirkel weten te ontsnappen. Maar onbewust wel zien waar ze niet in deze
maatschappij passen, maar aanpassing aan de heersende dominante normen en waarden niet meekrijgen van thuis. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Zij blijven zich, met alle gevolgen vandien, tegen alles en
iedereen afzetten. Overschrijden bepaalde grenzen, vaak door
onmachtige ouders, soms door zelf ontwikkelde groepsculturen die in
volkomen tegenstelling staan tot de heersende godsdienstige normen. Angry
young men... ze zouden, al dan niet gedwongen, genoeg educatie en
discipline moeten krijgen, om zichzelf te bevrijden. En te leren zien waar
ze wèl heen willen. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maar goed, dat is mijn persoonlijke mening.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iets waarmee ik ook worstel is de eeuwig durende
strijd tussen de grote godsdiensten. Joden, Christenen, Moslims, Hindoestanen
en nog meer.... allemaal leren ze uit hun Heilige Boeken dat ze G'd lief moeten
hebben boven alles. En hun naasten als zichzelf.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ik zie bij strijdlustige (?) vromen van alle
godsdiensten het tegendeel. Uiterlijke vroomheid ja. Alle regels worden
nageleefd. De riten en de gebeden heel nauwkeurig gevolgd.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maar blijkt die boven alles gestelde liefde voor G'd uit het
doden van zijn schepselen? Blijkt het 'de naasten liefhebben als jezelf'
uit het voorgaande? Of uit het uitsluiten van mensen die op een andere manier
diezelfde G'd willen dienen? Blijkt die liefde voor G'd en medemensen uit het
door vrome ouders leren aan kinderen om andersdenkende vrome mensen in
elkaar te slaan, te vernederen, te martelen, te vermoorden?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Die verschrikkelijke zelfmoordacties, hoe
worden die door hun G'd zelf beoordeeld, denken ze? Vindt hun en onze G'd
dat ze zichzelf, een door G'd geschapene, moeten vernietigen, alleen
maar om zoveel mogelijk andere mensen mee de dood in te kunnen nemen...
Medemensen, die op een andere manier dezelfde G'd willen dienen. Ook
geschapen door diezelfde G'd...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ik weet het, al eeuwen wordt op deze manier geschreven en
gesproken. En ik voeg er alleen een leesteken bij.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maar liever zou ik zien dat dit moeizaam geschreven blogje
een totaal overbodig stuk zou zijn.........<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Geloven die mensen echt dat ze daarvoor tot in de eeuwigheid
beloond zullen worden? Of zullen ze daar tot in de eeuwigheid voor moeten
boeten???<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hoe zeker moet je zijn van eeuwig leven trouwens, zonder
enige twijfel aan de mogelijkheid dat het leven ophoudt… als het aardse leven
eindigt…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Naschrift uit een ander blogje: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miljoenen mensen hangen nou eenmaal één religie aan, omdat
ze denken dat die ene (deel)religie de WAARHEID is en de ENIGE WAARHEID is en
NIETS DAN DE WAARHEID IS...Alle andere religies (honderden, misschien duizenden
versplinterd en wel) hebben dus NIET de WAARHEID IN PACHT, zijn dus fout en de
g'd van die gelovigen schijnt te willen
dat zijn schepselen en schepping vernietigd worden.. Klaarblijkelijk geen g'd
van liefde en erbarmen dus...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
© Erica van Beek<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-5545906066757797232017-01-22T11:48:00.002-08:002017-01-22T11:51:26.461-08:00<h3>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">TWEE VROUWEN EN EEN JAS</span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(in Engels)</span></h3>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Twee vrouwen
en een jas<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dedicated
to the
Jewish social work ,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine de
Gruyter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">in memory of<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga, my
mother<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And with
thanks to Paul Groenendaal and to Elma Verhey,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> without whom this book would not have come
about<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Foreword<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On the 1<sup>st</sup>
September 1992 <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica writes
hesitantly in a nice small, silk-bound booklet, "was very cozy ..."
and she ponders further on the title of the diary that she wants to track the
reporting of the quest which it has decided.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The reason is
threefold<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">An inner need
which has become increasingly stronger in recent years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> All the chaos of her childhood surfaced.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">she sits at
her kitchen table looking out over the gallery railing over Nieuwegein. In this
house she lives satisfied. Now is time to dare.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And she
begins to write and muses. The title….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They could
not have suspected in the summer of 1994, at the same kitchen table but much
happier, with a sigh of relief and glad to work on her book with friends, the
manuscript would shut and satisfyingly say, "Right, now we can eat. I have
a beetroot salad. Jewish recipe. Do you
like it? "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They would
certainly not have suspected two years ago, that her book would be in the shop
windows in 1994.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet that is
so. In August 1994 she was eating beetroot salad with two editors. Twice
repeated she had to go through exhausting the entire confrontation with its own
past, word for word, to make a diary into
a book. Popular portions, clarify things that diarists always perceived
as historic.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was one of
the editors and I can assure you that the whole process from September 1992
until now, two years later was a hellish emotional period for Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Paul Groenendaal<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leiden, 1 september 1994<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">September<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">15.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have made a
decision. I will ask Dorine to help me-finally- to go back to the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have told
that to my friends Piet S. and Corrie van R. Corrie is an old girlfriend that I
know from the anti -racism work and Piet is chairman of the club where I am a
secretary. I have told them that if I continue to function that I will need
their help. That is why you are my friends? Through difficult times to help
each other?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With Corrie I
had a good talk, among other things, the power that comes from daring to
continue to be vulnerable. She is currently in a difficult period and suffering
physically and mentally.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I gave her
calcium and magnesium, herbs and vitamins. In her family I am “the herb lady”
not completely unjustly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Piet gave me
as an answer a mountain of work that by tomorrow morning had to be done.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for the first
time I realized that my teeth bit together when I heard my own keys rattle
while I opened the door to the deadbolt. Memories of the Martha foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later that
evening. The memories become clearer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The leader, Ilsa Love, had the compassionate
habit of using her keys, if she wanted to "admonish" children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1943
-Nieuwersluis?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We stood in
line one behind the other, naked, with a towel and a washcloth. Forty children.
Two at a time we were washed in a cold bath. Now again I smell the scent of it.
And in the dorms, there were many bed
wetter’s. Beds which were, roughly forty centimeters apart.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">16.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Woe betides you if you have not said or sang
well before bed your prayers. God's love also expressed itself as
"they" heard children still whispering : then they made you stand
before your bed, cold feet on the ground, and wait and see how long they let
you stand. Sometimes for hours. And you dared not to go to bed or to say
anything. I was always picked out. If I had not knitted well , I had to knit at
night sitting on the marble stairs. If she was back on time and not pleased,
you got there "seams" in. And sometimes she forgot me. I sat there
half naked, until she had to go to the toilet and just saw me sitting there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Stopping
blows. Every time going up and down the line. I
could never do it good and flee enough. When it was my turn , it was
time for slaps, until I was half unconscious. What made her even angrier was
that I could not respond. From fear, or also pride?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then you had
to eat on the penalty bench, the “biekenbank” and you were not allowed to play.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In was proud
of my father , who could get on with her. Who brought so many sweets that all
the children, also those that had visitors could eat sweets too. What was left
over was taken away by Miss Geert Knoet. She searched me to make sure that I
did not hide any. All the children called him Papa and loved him.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Emmie Veldkamp- as snow white so beautiful. Red
cheeks, pitch-black eyes and hair. She sat behind me in school and kept
pricking me in my back with a pin. Finally I had enough; I turned around slowly
and dropped solemnly my ink pot over her head empty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That day was
I beaten so much with the walking stick of Mr. van de Berg that I had to be
taken to the hospital. The children bullied me so much, because I never said or
did anything back. After the ink pot scene was that over for good. They saw
that I "just" only responded when it suited me. Nevertheless Geert
Knoete still saw me as a good victim, was why?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">17.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 september
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The name of Margaret G. Van der H. was
Greetje. She studied with me the Bible sitting in Alphen aan den Rhijn and
comes from the Martha charity. She made contact with me and we made an
appointment. Today at Central station in Den Haag. Neutral territory. We arranged to meet at the
third desk in the hall, at three o'clock and because we did not know each other
she would recognize me by a bright pink umbrella that I was carrying.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My train
arrived at a quarter to three , right on time. And while I stepped off the
platform and walked to the hall, I looked around to see if I could recognize
her. She should be wearing a red jacket. I did not see her so I waited <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And as time
passed, the passengers around me were together at the counter and rushed to
their trains and I saw homeless and drug addicts. I became despondent and more
despondent .What could have gone wrong?
After waiting an hour I took the train home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Money thrown
away, that journey and now I am skint. I can’t travel until I have money again.
Preparations for the municipal platform Global Awareness, where I among others
with Piet work, has so far cost nearly 100 euros on shipments, letters and the
like. It is voluntary work, therefore I have to see if I will get it back, and
if so when. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> So I have just called Margaret: It was my
fault that the appointment did not go according to plan. I had Thursday in my
diary and she as teacher could only get Wednesday free. Therefore she waited
for an hour on Wednesday for nothing. We have now an appointment for next
Sunday, 7 September. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then she
comes to me, not on neutral territory!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She told me,
via telephone, things about the Martha foundation that I did not Know any more.
About farmer Kwakernaak for example whose farm next to the home, whose calves I
could take care of. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh yes , I still remember
that .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ik doopte de kalfjes zelfs , en voor
de stier , die altijd in zijn hok zat en die vreselijk hard kon loeien, was ik
erg bang.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I baptized
even the calves, and the bull, which was always in his kennel and who could
howl terribly hard, I was very scared of. Margaret told of the shoe maker of the charity , over
the subsequent build-up of the group of children. And I told him about the
injustice that I, because I was allowed to study, was held responsible for the
behavior of the younger children in my group. We talked for a long time , but I
can not visualize her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There are a
lot of people of my age searching their
past. Rien G. is one of them. I know him only from the telephone. He too
is searching and has stories that for an “normal” man come across as
unreal. Rien is grown up in a Christian family and no one could explain to him
over his (orthodox ) circumcision. He has lived in Alpha aan de Rijn and later
in Boskoop. He remembered groups of children that rode bicycles in the Martha
foundation. I remember the kilometers long marches that we did in lines of
three ,to and through villages around Alphen. Very recognizable as asylum
children ,but bicycling ? I don’t remember that . The only bicycle that I
remember , I got from my father and that was stolen within two weeks! the
leadership will have had fun with that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Family Cote.
Father was vice president, mother was a woman that every child wanted. We were
children , without parents, without family ,without backgrounds. They were very loved by us girls
that were growing up .I studied with
Mieke their daughter and I still have a photo of her that she is in with other
friends from school.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Memories. Nieuwersluis. White, Sunday sleeved aprons,
black worsted stockings, clogs. White metal crib and curtains with lots of lace. Was that toys or
did babies lie in them? A very large house ,a park around about with a large
grass field.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">19.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Upstairs was
a hall: The toilets flooded over, stink
and filth everywhere. No memories of the layout of the house or the daily
affairs .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Later, after 1946, Alphen aan den
Rijn. </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The group
where I first sat , was right of the building. That was of the leader (of day of night) Geert Knoet. Later on I sat
above in the group M2… the electric cables hung loose out the wall. I got a
shock and was unconscious for a while.
on a bench in a small alcove in the hall I came around. In the hall of
M2 I learned other children songs and dances. I made a dance from “ zeg
kwezelken wildet gij dansen?” I still
remember that dance and in bed I told
the kids always (horror) stories , where
the others always huddled
together in bed. That could then apparently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Was it there
that I first got my menstruation? I was eleven years old and no longer in the
group of Geert Knoet. I must have been in panick when I found blood in my bed
in the morning. Scared to get punishment- or that I had a fatal illness. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But the
leader ( I don’t know which one) told me that I was now a Big Girl and no
longer could I play with the boys. She gave me clean sheets and strange-looking
terry "canvases" with a hole on each side and a waist belt. That was
that, that was my sexual information sessions and that of the girls of my
generation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The school
attic, which stood on the site. What I did there? I was there sometimes for
drawing lessons? There were antique busts and heads of plaster and marble and
it smelled and was very dusty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mr. Van Dijk
from the third class sat with his hand in my pants . If I reacted he told me to
“shut up” and pinched me hard.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These are
memories that come up. I don’t remember any of the other leaders except the
sadistic women Geert Knoet and Ida de Liefde
( the corpse if compassion , “so as we called her) she got later an eye
sickness , literally fire red eyes and according to tradition would go blind.
We called that the punishment of God. There were also good leaders , such as
the one Margaret called : Leny Zwaal.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Margreet
found it unlikely that I was made
responsible for twelve young people from my group ....I was studying and was
the only one that had a small room for myself- a former kitchen- where I could
do my homework. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“But” said
the former leader ( who?) “then you should make sure that the youngsters stay
sweet” or words to that effect. That I do not remember names! The result was
that I could not do my homework in the afternoon or evenings. I taught myself
from the clock tower that I could see out my window , to sleep and wake up ,
sometimes at four in the morning to do my homework. I had to be a good example
.Even now is six hours sleep enough! I had to go to bed at the same time as
the others and was controlled if my
light was out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That ”
privilege “lasted less than a year. Then I had to go back to the “dorm “ and my
room became a kitchen again. At least in my memory. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Slak van
Beek. That was me. That is what they called me. Slow, clumsy, always the last
in the line, whatever line. In the line by Geert Knoet , for every run in the
black stockings or knitting on Sunday gray hosiery. How often did I have to
take my work back and start again? And how often did I get beaten because I was
the last in the line?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">5 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Zij van Vlink
, a girl in my class, whose brother had a sort of animal magnetism for me. It
depended on her if I may walk with her brother over the school grounds. It cost
me my best books. Pure blackmail!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Rieke and
Liesje Olie and their brother , who suddenly after the war were called Olij.
The choir of Jo Toet , partner of Daniel Waayenberg, and the songs that we
sang:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The heavens
remains gloomy hung down <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A dead
silence reigns supreme<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Creation
grieves, she has no songs<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the organ
tone of the forest is stupid ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That has
always stayed with me. And now comes a thought to me and a singing game over
spring from princess Irene that we learned:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We are the
hares out of the woooods<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The small
hares out of the woooods<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and eating a
hazelnut….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I read
the Nieuwe Israelitisch Weekblad (NIW)from 28 August that was sent to me from
the telephonist from the Jewish social work . The tears are in my eyes as I
read the column from G. Philip Mok: “Am Jisraeel Chai.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am a Jew in
heart and soul. I realize this especially , because, even though
my past was by the Martha charity
very Christian and baffling , is very
agitated by the reading of the NIW and this column.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will anybody
ever bring my soul to her right place?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">22.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Margreet was
here. With a photo album full of photos of children from the buildings of the
Martha foundation. Truly also a picture of Geert Knoet! Margreet stayed till
five o’clock. I only recognized her when I saw her childhood photos. She is now
a grown up lady and a teacher. And I have been stated as being incapable to
work.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Although I am
particularly strained, there are still no emotions that come up with the
looking, talking about and recognizing of pictures from this time. Strange ,
actually. Names , names of people and places it was not more than that. Or not
yet? Just scents come back. And the tinkle of the many chains of Miss Corvase
the German teacher <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the face
of the pathetic spinster of needlework,-who
was also bullied by me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We talked
about the family Cote, also for Margreet a very loved family. It was a shame that Mieke had so little
attention , because her parents were caring for more than four hundred
and fifty children. And hospitality and love, that the children received from
no one else.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still 7
September , evening<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
asked Paul, my dear friend from the past
and still, whether he wants to read my
writings. And if it may ever be a book ,
would he be my editor?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the years
past I've never been able to tell him anything from my childhood. And
when I tried it sounded confusing and
incomprehensible to him . And still I
panicked , as he practically forced me to go into the past, how lovingly
and patiently he tried. It caused unbearable tension between us. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My strange
reactions to his innocent remarks, my off-track anxiety and panic attacks , and
I crawled into my shell when he became irritated. His bohemian - like attitude
toward my need for security. Love and security, very civil, are synonymous with safety for me. For him it means trouble, curtailing his
freedom. Doubly, as a clipped bird in a
cage. That can not continue to go well. And therefore did not go well.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After two
years of silence I made contact with him. This is also the way to tell him
about my youth, all those things, all those fears that surface. Will I persevere to the end? And will Dorine
, my friend from the Jewish social work , and Paul , my old friend , able to
provide enough support for it?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Paul also has
his stories. Stories from his childhood, how he experienced the
war. And the years after. His life is a continuous line, with peaks of course,
like an ECG., But his Memories are a common thread running through his life.
And me? I have the feeling that my life only halfway in my adulthood begins.
The way back from there is not even visible, but it must be there. I'm finally
not come into the world as an adult, or without background or parents.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The memories
keep coming. There is now no stopping them. When I was fourteen , in 1949, I
could stay whenever I wanted to at my uncle Bart and aunt Marie and their two
daughters ( Marie is the one that arranged for me to be taken from my father
and placed in the Martha foundation , But I had not realized that yet). After
staying there a few times they told me , that I May leave the Martha foundation
and come and live with them, if I promised never more to have contact with my
father! I did not realize that she therefore would experience the ultimate
triumph, by taking my father’s only child away- for good - after years
before, my father had me taken away from her. He told me once how he
accidentally had witnessed how they mistreated me and how he then took me, but
that's another story. Aunt Marie thought she’d
have cheap household help from
me? Until that point I knew no more about housekeeping than drying up .
After a short period of reflection I refused to give up my father. I had to
return to the Martha charity and I never stayed there again! They cried with
anger and disappointment but I never regretted my decision. Even though I was
thus in the Martha Foundation, and even though I was not yet aware of the
purpose and background. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet I was
then, just as unconsciously, an arrogant weight. I must have been nineteen
years and I just started working in the council office in the town of Woerden.
I had left the Martha foundation and was free to visit my father. With him in
Amsterdam, also lived uncle Coen (his brother) and his wife Aunt Cor. Uncle
Coen was a park worker and I worked in an office. I suggested that he was a
staff member and I officer. Absurd and ridiculous. We had words, it was not fun
anymore. Maybe I wantedto offend them by punishing them for leaving me in the
Martha foundation. In my childhood I stayed
with my father and with them?
Then they had to stay together in a house and were busy trying to get my father
, who was alone out, because they had a family. Grandpa was already dead….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">25.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Grandpa !
That small house that I can still smell. Grandpa , whom I passionately loved,
who sat me on his lap , read and played with me, who cut all the cartoons out
of the newspaper and pasted them in a big book for me and upstairs there was
more big books and cartoons and other things were I was allowed to play . I
realized that in later years my grandpa and my father , played a smaller role
in my life , among other reasons , because, they both did more for the
youngsters of number 88( grandpa lived at number 90 on the Plaatijzerweg) and
for their mother, auntie Ella. I felt that I did could not come between or be
involved there .But the short time that I lived with my father and grandfather
and came to auntie Ella’s and played with the youngsters , Henk and Erich ( it
was not longer than a half a year), was the only rally happy time of my youth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back to the
Martha Foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's the
feeling. No conscious memory. It must have been dark, cold and wet. Rain and
wind, when I arrived in Nieuwersluis.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have the
same feeling when I think of how I was brought
from one hiding place to another
to a person's hand, with maybe a briefcase or a bag in the other hand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Actually I
can’t remember real memories out of that period. It is like a thin black veil
which is located over the entire past. You see it and know that there is something behind, but to see
through it is so difficult. There is nothing, even for only a moment,
illuminated, allowing you to see everything clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was there,
at Serreschans, in Nieuwersluis. It stank and was noisy and humid. In the
evening we folded our clothes on our shoes ,
some wore wooden shoes - so that we could flee if necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">26.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I had nightmares, others banged evening and
night with their heads rhythmically against the headboard of their bed. I know
of at least one time I'm sleepwalking into the dining room to sit and sat there all night, with my arms folded. Until the group came for
breakfast and woke me up. That is how it was told to me later on. Geert Knoet had to – with cold water- wash and
dress me completely.I seem to have come far away.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">During every
air raid, all attacks on or near the railway line Amsterdam - Utrecht, we dove
at night under the beds. Or during the day, under the tables or in the ditch.
And when we gathered wood in the forest across the street, we looked panicked
for a tree to stand against.Their was a farm in the forest. If we were there in
the area we pushed in and stood against the wall. One child from the group once
stole something there. For that , later on all of us got one at a time , a beating. Geet Knoet knew how to give a
beating. And I never had the impression that she did so reluctantly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Two
dormitories. Hepatitis broke out, jaundice, diarrhea and vomiting. Then we got
punishment. If you had to throw up everything was shoveled back on the board,
different food put over it and you had to eat it .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For days you
were given the same plate of food . That really happened.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On Friday
afternoon we went for a bath. Very soapy water, probably there was no real soap
anymore .All forty children went into the same bath water at least that is how
I remember it. I definitely remember on a Friday after the bath , leading
everybody to their knees beside the bed
. There we were in our our nightdresses or pyjamas , and I spoke facing where I believed East to
be out a prayer. Where did I get that from! Even Geert Knoet later on knelt and prayed with me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">27.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In that time
, I had also knowledge of everything that was eatable, and there was a lot edible
in the big garden around the grounds of Sterrenschans. I seemed to know
what wild rye and wheat were, which fruit was edible, which mushrooms were
poisonous. There was a bush with bright red fruits that we definitely had to
stay away from .But somehow or another I knew that the fruits were definitely
not poisonous. And they were really tasty. Since I had eaten it, they had ,
probably with fear and trembling, waited a day and then the bushes were looted.
What was left over was made into jam. The strange thing is that I lost some of
that knowledge after the war and was only returned in my high school years. How
could I, a city kid from Amsterdam and Wenen , know all those things and use it
too?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Cold ,
wetness, stink and fear. The feelings prevail over the war violence.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why, dammit,
do I not remember how and by we I was
taken away from my father? Or how I was taken away from my mother ? I feel
darkness. Screaming and shouting from every side?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The panic of
then is again totally back. Bugger up all! Leave me alone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The past
won’t leave me alone. Now I have started voluntary work in abundance. I speak to a lot of people who want to talk
about the flash that one has seen in me in early news. That was at the
conference ”The hiding child” . That lasted three days , but the first day I
could not handle it, and I left in the afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now their
stories are coming out. …. The stories from people that can’t forget how their
friends, and their classmates disappeared. How the rumors about treason and
hiding of teachers and teachers who disappeared and aunts and uncles and so on. Me they had never associated
therewith.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">28.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">18 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's hard to
get hold of this book.I don’t feel physically fit and the doctor won’t allow me
to give blood for the red cross before he has his self-done an examination.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still I want
to go back. Not to the time of hiding, but to the time before that. What do I
really remember from the time with my mother? Blank memories come up, real
memories!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We lived in
the Vrolikstraat in Amsterdam. I am in the living room playing with my dolls
house with real lights. My father made that. The curtains are closed, the
lights are burning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the back
room there is singing with guitar and mandolin en…violin? Austrian (mountain)
songs, Dutch hiking songs, operetta songs. I feel good about it, even though
I'm alone, but with Kareltje- Karlchen will have mentioned him- my big wooden
doll out of Wenen, whose legs moved back and forward when you moved his legs.
When we went for walks he walked beside me, then Mutti or someone else held his
other hand and we waved them back and forth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jetje my
neighbor .We play in the garden .Jetjes mother is with my mother. We ran on the
veranda , into the kitchen. But Jetje stepped in the wooden veranda onto a big
nail. I feel sick, because she had so much pain . Typical, such a reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We play at
Jetjes in her house. She has a grandpa, who lives in the back room. One day
grandpa does something “dirty” . He takes his willy out and hold it against me
and Jetje. We were not allowed to talk about it. We found it so interesting,
that straight away we tell it to Jetjes mother…..The next day grandpa is gone
and Mutti wont talk about it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Auntie Hilda,
Mutti and me walk in the Leidsestraat. Mutti has a yellow dress on with small
blue roses. I am playing hopscotch , pavement on , pavement off and sprain my
ankle. That hurts so much that I nearly faint. Mutti takes me in her arms .
Then I pee on her beautiful new dress and from shock I begin to cry really
hard.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have warts
under my foot and was with her at the doctor. He burns them away and I
scream out. When that is done , is Mutti
talking with the doctor and I walk around and stand on something that is glass
that cuts my foot open. Mutti was upset and apologized extensively with the
doctor, but does not look at my foot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With a lot of
kids at the same time we are at a clinic. In the entrance of the door stands a
doctor,who will cut out our tonsils. He gives a speech, where the mothers are.
He promises the kids (I think he overlooks me) a scooter with square wheels, if
they are very sweet.I am furious. I also want a scooter with square wheels, but
he has not promised me anything and I don’t want to go with them in. Without
mother , all doctors and nurses and strange big stools….And PAIN! With force
they opened my mouth, there is pain and blood in my throat. Panic!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Later on I got a present from Mutti, but not a
scooter with square wheels.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The front
room is the children’s room. The curtains, the cushions on the home made
plywood stools, the tablecloth, the curtain for the home made cupboard- everything
is covered in thin light blue material with small yellow and pink flowers. I
have a lot of toys, more than other children. My father makes a lot . I think
that he also made the furniture and the lamp.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But I am
rather at my auntie Jo, who lives behind us and has eight children. There it is
always busy and cozyThat is where I would rather eat, not at home, sometimes
Mutti eats there too.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Looking back,
it seems like I come from far away. Another time, different atmosphere. The noise outside
overwhelms me here. Then the reassuring noise
of the refrigerator takes over.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back. Other
memories.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Across the
street is a sweet shop. Sometimes I get a whole penny to buy sweets.Then I go
with Jetje or with a girlfriend to look for what I want.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We always go
with a group of children, with a grown up , to the Frobel school. Then we pass
by a wasserete . Mutti is so beautiful, I am so proud when she comes with us.
Or if we go somewhere else. We go out a lot, also on visits. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Memories of
scenery, stage curtains, hollow-sounding voices and ballet practice rooms with
piano music.I am in a ballet group with other little ones But Mutti is
also very musical: she can sing and
dance and loves the theatre…<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">( Years later
I went with my father on a visit to a family Schubert. They came out Wenen and
knew my mother. And me as a small girl. Their home was a revelation, so
well-known and familiar to me. But the people, Mr. and Mrs. Schubert, I did not
remember.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti is
proud to make me beautiful. I remember a pink and white woolen skirt with very
nice buttons. A tartan dress of silk with a white lace apron, white silk socks
and black patent leather shoes.I feel the material now as I think about it…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Images… They
keep coming, tumbling over each other in their haste to reveal their self to
me. I write key words in order not to forget them, not one can escape now, how
they whirl together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">31.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Argument
between my parents. The swing hangs from the doors to the veranda in the back.
They sit together around the table, maybe playing a game- and so I try
to swing that I can catch my father out. That poor sweet man.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
vision. I am in a holiday camp in Petten on the sea. Specially set up for the
sickly. I get there a sickness, perhaps nostalgia. It must be winter, a hard
winter. My beautiful Mutti is brought in with bloody legs and lies beside me in
the hospital ward. She has walked
far through deep snow and the hard top
layer has broken her silk stockings and rubbed her legs broken
.But she is with me again. She has to stay in bed longer than me. I don’t
remember any more, apart from that I don’t want to lose sight of her again.
Except when I go to the Frobel school. I made so many nice things and have
brought them home for her: a doily for the tea chest (with the coffee set) made by folding a countless number of times silk paper; and beautiful
things made of wire and colored
beads, such as a swing with side posts and a doll ( with a picture) on it. The
picture I made again in the Martha Foundation , I now remember.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
Frobel school , I remember a party. I have to run with a young boy to win a
glass of lemonade .There is two glasses: In one of them is real orangeade, the
other is colored on the inside. I win! And I pick the good glass too. He is
very mad. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A warm spring
morning. The sun has just risen. I stand with Mutti by the Bata. My father
works there. Airplanes fly overhead. Noise , bomb craters .My mother falls to
her knees , throws her hands before her face and begins to scream and cry.
War “Oh no, My God no!” Everywhere
people, everywhere panic. My father? I don’t know. My sweet , beautiful Mutti
is bleeding and crying. In my memory I am completely rigid and only see the
image and hear noise. horrible noise.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">32.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Swimming in
th e sports fund bathson the Heiligeweg. I heard later that as a baby I could
swim. But there is panic, as I a toddler climb to the top of the diving board
and was suddenly discovered on the edge
of the shelf.UI was caught by a man. Mutti cried from shock.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We sleep in
the alcove ,the room in between . Beside
the back (living) room frosted glass sliding doors, which could make the
living room bigger ; beside the front
room with a wooden door .On both sides
was a bed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti often
wears a brooch from the Stefan Church in Vienna, where we must have lived. I
see the colors now before me. I find that the most beautiful thing and I climb
up on her lap often , just to see it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Vienna. From
Vienna I remember little or nothing. A large, gray, barrack- like building
where all voices sound very hard. A big garden like a park. Or is it a park?
There I also have an Omama, that in my
memory is very big and stately, Many and very big stairs and very high. You
still see that in old films.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As I dive
into the past again without clear memories, at least without images.The feeling
of very fine porcelain The scents, the
scent of earl grey tea ,bergamot, roses, the under scent of certain perfumes, from
freesia’s: That was the scents of Mutti.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I must have
been a smart child. Bilingual, with a large vocabulary in both Dutch as East
German. And with only a faint notion of the dramas that took place around me
and the tension of the impending war. Then it was just very lucky.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">33.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And suddenly
it was over.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One of the
last things I remember from the Vrolikstraat, the bomb crater is nearby, at the
corner of Van Woustraat. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">19 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After all
these years, is now (of course completely unjustified, I realize that though)
great anger towards my niece Ilse, her half brother Kurt and half sister
Inge (my cousins ), not even a little
time to share with me .After Vienna- and from there I only have a photograph- I
never saw them again. Anyway Ilse has regular contact with Inge .Or is Hilda, her
mother and my aunt ( Muttis sister) responsible for that? Ilse has stayed in
England at Inge’s and sometimes Inge comes to Amsterdam. Ilse has worked on a
kibbutz. Ilse has kept her mother. Ilse is not to balame , no one is to blame.
These things just happen like that. But she has kept a whole family. I lost
everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">34.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Would
her mother not be responsible for the only child of her
sister? She survived, my mother was
killed. Maybe I was not really happy at hers , but I had family. Family in Amsterdam, in ,England, Austria( Vienna) and
Israel . Ilse kept those contacts. I never had them. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bitterness is
not necessary and not good .But I still have to get rid of it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight I
read on teletext about the first really
anti-Semitic demonstration in Eastern Europe. And the decision by the Arab
countries to engage in a "holy war" against Serbia (for the Muslims
in Bosnia).<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fear strikes,
Nostradamus was right? Literally, also was the misery in Iraq predicted by him.
In 1994, Europe would be at war with Islam, and warnings would not help.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Wait and watch as Europe and Israel will
perish and America will get involved too late? So then we get World War III.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Teletext ,
Page 312. Budapest. Tens of thousands of demonstrators against the president
and against the management of the Hungarian television. The Democratic Front
had warned against Jewish power.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Teletext,
page 313.If this "holy war" would continue - there is Iran an army
ready, says teletext- and if only if Saudi Arabia is against, what's going to
happen here? All those tens of thousands of young, rudderless Muslims who are
aware to be Muslims if they want nothing "to do", they will find a
purpose in this so-called holy war? A purpose to live for, an ideal? Ah heaven, then Europe will indeed be
overwhelmed by Islam, but other than
Nostradamus meant . Who predicted that the threat would come from Iran.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">35.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There is an
enormous depression coming. I have to see . But what is the usefulness of the past, if there is nothing good to expect from the
future? I wrote that in a poem in 1956, when there was an uprising in Hungary.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Perhaps there is no future to live in<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">So we almost stand still naturally.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">It seems to me, it is
far better to stay<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Than to perish in the future.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I'm just here to do something else. Read Paul's
letters. He has everything I write on
the computers , and sends me the prints with a letter. Memories and things that
happen to him now, that never were related to me. About how he and his friends,
shortly after the war, were driven by nerves and panic to cause a massive blow to the garden of the Jewish family of Juultje .How much he regretted it later. How easily
he rolled over the war, his memories are
colored by his awakened wanderers
spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the newspaper Het Parool from 27 August ( why have
I not read that before now?) writes Chawwa Wijnberg: “The feeling of sadness,
anger and despair, which we (the children) as it were victimized ...)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">She forgot to mention the fear and fundamental
loneliness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I dreamed of a shindig in someone’s room. There was a
beaten up bed.Nobody danced with me, I desperately did my best to look as happy
as the others that were available.I suggested to them that we sit on the bed ,
but they did not want to do that. On leaving, someone showed me out and I just walked outside in the darkness.
Left the others behind me, and they went the other way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">36.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> And I woke up
afraid. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And last night I dreamed of earthquakes and noise and
trapped between the people and I could
not go anywhere. I realized in the dream that that was the safest place
to be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I have written to Ilse , and told her what I can
remember, or thought I could. I have asked her if she can tell me more. Maybe
her mother Hilda has told her things about my mother, my grandparents , about
Vienna. Maybe that will help me to remember things again. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">21 September 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I want to try to continue. I have yet to discover a wide no man's land between
Mutti and the Martha foundation.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I
find it very scary and it's all very murky. If I cannot find it, I must use violence. It wears me out, but also makes me stubborn.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">At the beginning of this week I close this book and
send it to Dorine to read. Then after we have spoken about it , I take it back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">24 September 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Dorine agreed to once again pick up the image of my
mother. Like that , that is potentially imposed by my father and my family.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And try to find an answer to the question to what
extent it has affected my self-imposed image. And so my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Where I'm going and where I come from?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">37.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Despite sleeping pills I have not slept in two nights.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I'm too busy with voluntary work and
obligations thereabouts, then again, I also feel the desire to let that go and
come to myself. Does not work. Tired,
muscle and bone pain. I get up again at
05:15 and have put on coffee.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Pondered
about errors and heartlessness present in others, about shortcomings in my
work. I talk too much. I've never been this way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">39. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">October<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">41.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">1 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I have fallen
into a massive depression and have layed everything (temporarily) down.
And I again feel guilty about that .... I was yesterday during a meeting
sitting at home so nervous that it was not fun anymore.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">It is necessary to prepare an event for
17 and 18 October, but I stuttered, could not get my words out, belittled
myself and understood little.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I
feel spiritually paralyzed me and have pain all over my body. Why? What is
happening to me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Jessica, my daughter has read the memories to Mutti.
She was happy , she said .It has given
her more information over her unknown grandma and more understanding for me. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">4 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I could not do
anything the last few days. There was actually
so much work to do that I was
torn to continue, between my
desire with this book and my "love and devotion to duty" for the work
that must end 17 December, when the
municipal Platform Global Awareness is installed.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">All preparations for this swallowed my
time, my energy and my money.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> I had already given up the trade union work in
the past month, as well as my contacts
with council and commission.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Jessica had warned me that my dive in the past would
take my energy. She seems to have been right. It is still scary and it is still
not known if it is really worth it all:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I, the Jewish middle aged daughter, grew up in a
"Christian" environment, have come during this quest at a point where
I am searching for my Jewish roots. But precisely because of my past I hear,
and I feel, no longer at home in the Jewish community. What the latter may be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">42. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Anyway, here we go: the image I have of my mother. A
real image I have not so clear. A small, muscular woman, slim.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And quite striking, very large eyes,
well dressed, sometimes chic.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Sometimes happy, sometimes aloof.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I don’t remember hug parties, nor things we did together.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">However, we were inseparable, which is
pretty normal for a single mother with a child.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Yet there must be, outside of the described memory, an
image that appeals to reality.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Though
the knowledge from the past (not the
Memories), the fleeing and the fears of
the rising anti-Semitism before the war, persecutions, bring back real memories that I'm mentally
maimed by them. The image stays the same: My beautiful , sweet Mutti.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">My father has told me about the fleeing to and from Vienna . He told me
about Hilda , whom we went together to
visit.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And
he also told me that, years after the divorce, when he was long
just friends with
"mother" that he still loved
Olga . Her eyes, he could not forget them. At the same time, he really gave me
the picture with a woman, who was immensely irritated by his lack of willpower,
Only in 1963 I was, here, facing my past. I received from the Red Cross proof
of her death.perseverance and ambition.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">She herself had, after all, despite social opposition,
won gold medals at the Workers' Olympics in Budapest.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That were immediately snatched away at
the border control in Germany, was another matter. He, my father had on his
marriage abandoned his studies in state economy to support his family. He could
not find any work in the crisis. For the support he worked in the DUW (social service’s)., but I don’t know if his
marriage was already over or not. That was the picture my father gave. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">43.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Although he was a sweet, gentle man, he did not make
it with Olga, who must indeed have possessed so much more perseverance and
rationality. This is clear from what she has achieved in athletics, her
survival instinct, but also from the circles in which she must have been. Artists, theatre, musicians and the likes
of did not fit at all with the soft,
pliant and pure leftist worker boy who was my father.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I actually believe that from Olgas side, that it was a
marriage of rational considerations. However, he was lost from the moment he
saw her.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That
he called her “hard” afterwards, I can understand now but it does not change
the image I have of her. That has something of defenselessness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">So far as I remember , we never talked about her in
our family. She is hushed and I was “the
poor small child” . Literally hushed .When I was at my first hiding place , at
the aunt from my father’s side, I must have asked when Mutti was coming back.”</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Do not complain, we'll see when she
comes back. be quiet, now it should be
over. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">No proof of her existence ever after.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A little understandable when one remembers how it was
at the time. At each address it must
look as if I belonged. And a child who complains about when Mutti was returning, was a danger
for her surroundings. The questions and even the memory was so very
quickly suppressed and eliminated by the mental and physical coercion from
outside.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And
the multitude of impressions, all relocations and new environments and the
induced fears, the memories indeed disappeared. Nobody, apart from my father ,
had ever talked with me about my mother. Also after the war. It was- suddenly-
aborted. Only in 1963 was I, suddenly, confronted with my past. I
received from the Red Cross proof of her death. .A “Wiedergutmachungsgeld” from
Germany, which I can use to benefit my family.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Only in that time, when I had received that relatively
small amount, I was wondering if there is somewhere maybe someone still alive
who my mother was.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Despite
the obituary. Because I had two small children and a million
questions. I looked at every Jewish looking woman – Maybe she was the one? I
wrote to Israel, when I saw on television a woman that I thought looked like
Olga.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">44.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">As I got older, my feelings denied this
understanding of this.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">There is bullying children's game in which the
children stand in a circle with a child in the middle.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That one child with a hard push is
hurled to another. After such a shove you try to regain equilibrium, but before
you succeed in it, you get pushed again by another child. When you
think you are standing well
, you
are pushed before you can regain balance. That is the image I
have from my childhood.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Once
I was with someone, I could hold someone. That brings a new memory in the
light. Me holding Mutti’s hand, always.
In the tram on her lap,</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">me
doing most of the talking. I belonged
with her, I held on to her. The image I have of myself from earlier years,
after the disappearance of Mutti , is of
that child in the center of the circle.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Here in this falt in Nieuwengein, where I live from
1981, there has been change.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Divorced from my second husband, the children grown
up,I</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">left
my soul in ” prayer” in charity work.
That is also a way of hiding from myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> But I am
myself, Erica van Beek.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A
woman for whom I could respect, despite her bouts of depression, crazy
reactions, and panic states.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">There Paul and Dorine have played a big part in. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">45.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">9 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Yesterday I started with Dorine the
processing, and we agreed
that they would inquire about my mother
at the State Archives. The next time we will discuss when we will look for Olga
in barracks 41/0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A picture of me as a toddler with a hat
on, has on the back the year 1939 .I was then four years old and back in
Amsterdam.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A
fact that raises no recollection .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">46. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Erica in 1939<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">47. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">From Olgas letter from Westerbork to Aunt Hilda, I
took it that they had to report to the prison at the Amstelveensweg, because
she had not sewn but had pinned her star.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">From there, they should be sent directly to Westerbork
and Auschwitz.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">When
Olgas sister, my aunt Hilda died, I received from her daughter Ilse, out of her
legacy, a letter and a telegram written from Westerbrok. It was thus that I
finally collapsed and could do nothing
with the feelings that arose.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The telegram from Olga from Westerbrok<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The facts as I know them now at a glance:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">8 September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Letter that she is transported to Westerbrok:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">10 September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Telegram from Westerbrok;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">14September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Official date of death in Auschwitz.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">48.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The first hiding place:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Bestevaerstraat 19 -high. Before that I was for a time
in the Bellamy- straat, anyway on the 11 August 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Mutti must have disappeared around about my seventh
birthday.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Since that birthday fell on a Saturday (found on the
perpetual calendar) there is to think of a family member , in this case
certainly, that took me in because Olga had to report on Monday, 3 August 1942
at the Amstelveenseweg.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then, on September 8, she writes that
she's " deported" to Westerbrok.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That was a
"Wednesday". The telegram of September 10 was in vain. The next following day that the
train left to Auschwitz was Tuesday 14 September, the same date as her official
date of death!</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Indeed,
the trains always left on Tuesday?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That can mean two things. The first is that she did
not survive the journey . The second , that she indeed was “murdered” directly
when she arrived. However, it could mean , that she never arrived in Auschwitz
dead or alive….or never even left….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Help. I don’t understand!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then in the
Bellamystraat…. Was I there for a short time by Hilda and did I
arrive on 11 August 1942 in the
Bestevaerstraat by Marie and Bart? Or at her parents?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the Simon Sttevinstraat, in my memory a street
behind, I was by Marie and Bart.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Between 11 August 1942 and 15 December 1942, there is
a series of addresses. After the Simon Stevinstraat the Keizergracht. By whom?
After that the Prinsengracht, I also can’t remember . De Eerste
Leliedwarsstraat, in the middle of the Jordaan. A crooked house with sloping
floors.It stood under construction for many years.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I remember that I must have been at a
cousin of my father.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That
the sloping floor was broken and the furniture too and smelly. Wooden floor and
a damp stinking kitchen. The people there could not do anything about it : The
houses were not maintained. In a room lay a pile of patches or blankets, that
is where I slept. In another room there was a window that looked upon a house,
where Chinese people lived. Sometimes if I look outside and
saw the boys with their beautiful white shirts and their black trousers. I
found them soooo beautiful!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">49.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">After that in Hoorn , Keern number 32 or 24. A sister
of my father, aunt Bets, married with Aart den Ouden, three children. That was
a real family.I slept with their daughter in one bed.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">We went after the harvest searching
opium poppy. That was in the Kennemerland. The stubble in the country
short mowed grass caused bleeding legs and feet. How was
the reaction to that? I don’t know anymore. All that we
could find we put in the pants with
elastic in the legs and was given at
“home". Sometimes we kept apples or pears for ourselves and we eat them in
bed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the town center was a peacock cage and the school
was nearby.I went to the school with a neighbor boy, whose parents were
informants. This is less of a memory than what I was told later. The Germans
marched by our house, singing ”Auf der Heide bluht ein kleines Blumelein und
dass heisst Erika…” And me, with my
Austrian background pulled on the trouser leg of the sergeant and said: “Ikch
heiss auch Erika.”</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">However,
on the shoulders of the Germans I've been several times to school. Then I was
soon gone from Hoorn.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then I again ended up with Marie and Bart. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In Amsterdam North, Vijfde
Vogelstraat 17. </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Marie
was hard. Father said that he had fled
from the “Arbeitseinsatz” and came home.
He lived a distance of twenty five meters away and came to visit me, and caught
Marie , just as she was giving me a beating. It must have been a hard quarrel
before he retrieved me and took me to grandpas. I was not allowed to see Marie
again. That was not necessary; I now had grandpa and the two neighbor boys Henk
and Erich. And I had the only happy half a year of my youth, since my mother’s
disappearance.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Marie took revenge and reported me.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Probably at the Council for Child
Protection. On the 15 December 1943, a cold, wet, dark day, I was again removed
and brought to the Martha Foundation, then in Nieuwersluis. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, there
is a very clear result. That Rivka (Ella) has informed several times to me.
That I have interested! Family, only it never was told me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What remained
was a lie. And denial. In this case, two different things. But that’s another
story.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
immediately written back to Ilse and told her that I have received a letter
from Olly. I hesitate to send her a copy of it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> 6 November 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Ilse,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am writing
back straight away. Thank you very much for your letter. Now I can write back
to Schachter. I had already written
evidence about mother's death, but now I can explain to him how it is.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the meantime
I have received a letter from aunt Olly. I will send you a copy, but hesitate
because she did not- how shall I say this- write so friendly about your mother.
Let me know if you wish to receive the letter-and you can.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As for me, I
want to find the truth. Olly is not so young anymore and it was a hectic time
then. But I must do it with hypotheses. These are often 'ouch'. Would I
however, be reconciled with the past, then I will have to continue for the time
being to write. A journalist friend wants to make a book of my quest. And the
KRO wants to dedicate a radio show to it.
This came about because of ads I've posted in the hope that there are
still people alive who knew Olga .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, nil comma
zero reactions. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the book
that I am writing, about the hiding, the Martha Foundation, and the like
are discussed, but mainly my search for
Olga.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Meanwhile I
have, thanks to you, a past back that is mine. A kind of wholeness, whereas
before my life began only in my early adulthood and all that had happened to
"another child named Erica '. You understand? Thanks again.
Wholeheartedly. We are getting closer, you notice that too?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Very cordial
greetings and until the next letter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">77.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Indeed, I am
aware that, where this story began as a personal process, it is now my mother's story. I think it is about the
fact that I want to know these things, she could have told me if she not- so
young - had been killed. Others, including Jessica, hear the stories of home
and about the past. That is the most normal thing in the world!! ouch- in this
paradise, that is called the
Netherlands.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's very
selfish and I have never felt so self-centered and prepared. But I consciously
try the pain, the anguish, the misery and the flights and keep fleeing from day
to day all those millions.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Because I
have to live in my life. And so far it has not been. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tomorrow
firstly I will write back to Schachter
and aunt Olly. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">11 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The anniversary of Jacobs’s death. I am thinking back to that hopeless, terrible
day, six years ago. Looking for the poem that I wrote. And another, that I
wrote as I was mourning for Jacob in 1986.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">78. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jacob<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have known
you- and not known you my child <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- I have a
picture of you, that is called Jacob;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And image of
rebellion, fury and suffering<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That binds
you to my past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I have built a picture of you, my child,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That put his
arms around me and held my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not the boy
who destroyed his life<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> But
one who finds life fearful and unlivable.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That scared
and angry and on the run<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> in life never found a shelter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and disbanded
from his fear by his death<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I loved you,
my child that we knew.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
powerless, I watched how you<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">have wounded
yourself so deadly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Nieuwegein, 1986<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">79.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who wants to
hear<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">how trumpeter
grief<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who will not
run away<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my
nocturnal crying….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hear how the
land<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">shakes under
my feet thumping<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">looking
crying<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Screaming for
my children....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">their hunters<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">continue to
be injured<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And flee<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my
boundless grief ...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">About him and
his name<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">can turn
around<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Flights as I
approach<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">come seeking
solace…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want their
names<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">not know him
forget<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Never love
again no more<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">do not be
complicit….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do not come
closer<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I liked you
even trust<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Again
memories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">should be to
what was….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And who wants
to hear….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">80.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">11 November,
later<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I still have
written the letter to Schachter. With "urgent" on the envelope.
Because in the mailbox was a letter from the 'Division for Personal
Commemoration,' say 'the department Commemoration of Persons ":<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">"We
propose to inform that one page witness statement to commemorate your loved
ones, family and friends, who lost their lives in the Holocaust, are added.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Pages of
Testimony will be included in the computer and stored in the Hall of Names at
Yad Vashem. A second notice with the names registered shall be sent to you next
month. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, hasty
and erroneous data<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If I have
ever had the illusion that humanity has become wiser and better, it is now
absolutely over. At the time of Gorbachev, I still had hope. Ethnic and
nationalist wars that since robbery and especially in the 'civilized' Europe
have broken make me realize that humanity has learned nothing. I have always
expressed the opinion that the "masses" consists of individuals, who
each have their responsibilities with respect to themselves and their fellow
men. I take the view back without extreme bitterness, but with the sad
realization that it was an illusion. The "dumb masses indeed. The masses
seem to have a need for a negative individual, projecting above ground level,
head and shoulders. His pursuit the ideals of the global village? The only
thing that still exists thereof is the data of the news distributionA message
from the newspaper yesterday, a headline: 'Bosnia Muslims are actually
threatened with extinction. ‘<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the world
is watching.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
passed the pieces from my tray from the town hall. And immediately an alarm
bell was raised. For the new municipal
identitieskaart is a counterpart of what the (jew) got on the Ausweiss: an
asterisk with a number (eg * 76 468.) For Moluccans!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">'Moluccans'
indeed have a 'special status' in the Netherlands. But the name and picture
together should be sufficient recognition? Along with the smear campaign
against so-called illegal immigrants gives me the conviction that the
"Ausweiss bitte," mandating us of wearing - and showing-
identification at any request is only a matter of time. And then the shift to the
right and nationalism also struck here. Because only 'real' Dutch have a
municipal identification.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course I
have taken the necessary steps. Also to get this publicity, but you have to
wait and see how it is picked up and whether one sees the danger.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Below the letter in translation I wrote to
Rabbi Schachter enclosing a copy of Olgas note, her telegram and the evidence
of her death.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
11 November1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Rabbi
Schachter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My heartfelt thanks
for your letter of 16-10-'92, but above all for your loving attention.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As you can
understand it for me indeed a shock to have read and found out that there is
already a Page. I needed a few days to get over the shock and to discover that
the story in the Page was wrong with the reality.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This morning
I received a note from the 'Division for Personal Commemoration,’ my mother is
registered on the basis of your story. Please, undo, it was too fast, too
hasty. I do not blame you, you were full of good intentions and truly believed
in what you found.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Truth is, I
send you:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 An almost
illegible note, which my mother wrote on the way to Westerbrok on Wednesday 8
September 1942, to her sister Hilda. The original can be found in the
Resistance Museum in Amsterdam;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2 A copy of a
telegram that my mother sent to her sister from Westerbrok on September 10,
1942. The original of this is found in the Resistance Museum in Amsterdam;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 An excerpt
from the municipality of Amsterdam, which shows that my mother, Olga Bock, was murdered in
Oswiecim (Auschwitz) in Poland, and that she was the daughter of Jozefa Karpfen
and Armin Bock. Also showing that she had been married to Jacob van Beek, my
father;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4 Finally, a
letter from the Dutch Red Cross information office.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last two
letters I received, as you can see, already in 1963, when I was married with my first husband. They were the only
evidence, then, that I had, that she had ever lived. Many years later, when my
mother's sister died, I received that note and that telegram. And that was
that. Make from it your own story...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now, after
receiving your last letter, I tried to get in touch with Ilse, the daughter of
my mother's sister. That sister survived and died about ten years ago. I
translate for you part of the letter I received:*.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Until there
the letter I received from my cousin.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When I
received your letter, I thought that I was crazy or had a wrong picture in my
mind of the past. It took a while before I realized that that was not the case
and that no second Olga Bock existed with the same background. One possibility
was then, that the Israeli cousin had her own story about my mother, which I
discovered, was true, as you see. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> As for my father is the following. He was not
a Jew, but he did not get me after the war to take care of me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*see page 74.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">83.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda would
not do that *, as I have discovered. So I had to stay in that very Christian
orphanage until I was 19 years old. And I had to forget everything (had
forgotten all) of my first childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The truth
about my life and that of my mother is really complicated. I have to rediscover my past and my memories now.
That's why I try to write down on that quest, everything about that trip to the
past. A good friend, a journalist, is willing to make a real book. Not to get a
bestseller, but for my children, my ex-husband and my friends: who are
interested in my mental journey.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I hope you that you will give my mother the
ultimate right in the Page, to fill in the new found truth. This letter is the
report for The Hall of Names. I will be very grateful if you would change the
existing one.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A picture of
my mother and me as a little child (I have changed a bit over the past fifty
years) is now re-created and if necessary I will send it to you in due course.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
unfamiliar uncle or cousin, I will not write, but maybe would you be so kind as
to tell him what I have written?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally, I
would like to express my greatest gratitude, and I hope you will write me back.
You are at this moment the thread that connects me to Yad Vashem, the place
where my mother will get a fair and beautiful place, where she is at home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* Or had they
no authorization for that purpose? There is evidence? I could not find any..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">84.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">13 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today the
papers are again full of terrible things that are happening in the former
Yugoslavia. Murders, mutilations, rapes.... How will the survivors continue to
live? Demonic primitiveness still requires an equally primitive response:
Bombard the so-called purified areas where Serbs live alone. A little each day
until they surrender. Naturally, hundreds of innocent will die, but on the
other hand maybe the horror finally ends and the other population group not
only feels avenged, but not otherwise is wiped out and can return to their
place. That is never going to be good between the people and the neighboring
countries. Now if there was only intervention! Before Muslims come to 'help'
from the Middle East. Oh, poor Yugoslavia, what should it be?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In the Netherlands there is still hope left.
Saturday, November 14 at the Tropical Museum in Amsterdam a meeting of the
Labour Party 'adorned' with a pocket
line of AFKA, Anti Fascism Committee Amsterdam, to show that not all the
Netherlands is behind the smear campaign against illegal immigrants.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Good, further
with my mental journey. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">14 November <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet to go
back to yesterday. The meeting of the Labour Party was due to 'circumstances
‘not in Amsterdam but in The Hague. And according to the, I would say,
naturally present ME, there was only fifty autonomists that demonstrated and
therefore naturally were beaten away and had to be arrested.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fortunately
it penetrates to the media that the smear campaign against illegal immigrants
is wrong. Refugees or not, but everything is lumped together! An embarrassment
for politics? Am I not a voice of the people? Such things affect me deeply!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">85.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Following is
the translation of the letter I wrote today to aunt Olly in London. In itself a
partial evaluation, actually only scheduled for late December.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Thank you
very much for your letter. It answered very many questions that I had all my
life. I am sorry that you know so little, but what you do know, brought back so
many memories again and made me aware again of many things.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is a
very long letter, prepare yourself then for?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ilse has also
helped me a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
tell what I remember, or have come to learn or have read.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My father,
Jaap, who died on 28 November 1976, has always told me that he continued to
love Olga his entire life. In 1938 (of'37), he begged Olga to marry him again,
for her own and my safety. She refused, probably left Vienna when he came there
and told him according to his own words, to marry Hilda, because she would,
with her two children need him a lot more. That would be the reason (can) he
married Hilda, according to him, just to help Hilda and her two children. I
suppose neither Olga nor Jaap knew anything about the fact that you would take her
with her two children to England. As it is told, Jaap went to Amsterdam and
Hilda soon followed. They had both before and during the war, often the same
address, but never lived together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga and I
came back later to Amsterdam. As Hilda told Ilse, still a little
surprised: "She came sailing down
the Danube." Ilse had her own image
(by the way it was talked about)
from the book Uncle Tom's Cabin: Eliza, jumping from ice floe to ice floe on
the Ohio River, to escape the slave trader and to save herself and her child .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">86.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It must have
been a very traumatic journey and an escape in the nick of time to Holland.
Jews were then no more allowed public transport, train or bus travel. I have no
memories of that, even though I was there. Never mind. I will leave it at that.
Maybe my fears, panics and bad dreams are the root cause.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When Olga was
taken away in August '42, she assumed that I was safe with Hilda, according to
the note she wrote just before she reached camp Westerbrok. Shortly after began my life as a so-called "Hidden
Child.” There followed a number of addresses, where I, as a Jewish child was
not really welcome. Until I came in the winter of '43 to that very Christian,
very cruel orphanage, where I remained until my nineteenth year. When I was 'free'
from there , I had to my knowledge no
other real family other than my father,
who over the years, faithfully visited me each visiting day. Oh yes, I knew
Aunt Hilda, Louis and Ilse, I had some relatives on Jaap's side, and to kill
some time I had visited them with Jaap (very rarely I had permission to go with
him for a few days in my summer holidays).But there was no family ties,
not with Hilda, nor with Jaap's side. I
also don’t remember anything about the brief encounter with you and Inge. There
must have been from the beginning simply too much sadness, anger and trauma in
me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Now I have to deal with that past. There is
indeed much to forgive, especially Hilda, who during and after the war
abandoned me .Her child and she were quite safe because she was married to my
father, a non-Jew. Yet Ilse and Hilda sat in Westerbrok for a time, but came
out safely, through that marriage, I think. After the war, Jack and Hilda got
divorced straight away, so she could marry Louis.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last
eleven years I have been very active for ‘disabled *’ for refugees, gypsies,
for society in all its forms.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">87.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As a
volunteer. I had and have no ordinary pension. It is a pension for victims of
persecution, especially Jewish people. Just like my grandmother Joszefa (Ilse
wrote to me about her), a militant woman of the labor movement. I have even
been, for a number of, a member of the Communist Party of the Netherlands,
which no longer exists. I chose the wrong husbands and separated from them. The
wrong lovers and discontinued that relationship again. Now I'm grateful that I
live alone since my now adult daughter Jessica has left home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Returning to
Hilda: I, but also, Inge and Kurt have her, I think, to forgive, a lot. I will
reach that pointof forgiveness in the near future. I am slightly conscious of
the fact that I'd never have been the same helpful woman, if things had turned
out otherwise. Do you understand what I mean? Life is just the way it is and
I've been through it, for whatever reason. We will have to accept and live our
lives. While the rest of the world is just about on fire. I agree with you,
that it is terrible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back to your
letter. I think it was the excuse that
Hilda could not get me back because she had been married to my father. * But I
want to believe that she was unable to bring me up because of everything that
had happened before and maybe Louis did not want me. Ilse has never been able
to understand this and despite her loyalty to her mother, she is in her heart
still angry, about much bigger things, but also because of me. I can understand
.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*however, it
may have been true. Only recently was it publicized in publications that the
Child Protection used that excuse at the time. Better Christian than Jewish,
they found.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">88.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now about
Olga. As I have discovered recently, the
following things happened:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-On September
8, 1942 she was released from prison in Amsterdam, where she was detained for
the simple fact that her 'star' was pinned instead of sewn. The Germans are
still very 'gründlich' as you know.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-On September
10 she sent a telegram to Hilda from
Westerbrok to send her the Aryan papers of Jack, but it was too late,
because<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- On
September 11 '42 she died in Auschwitz. The journey lasted three days.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is true
according to all the information that I have, official and informal. So that
should be accepted. She fortunately only suffered for a short time. And now I
am able to bury her, to give her a grave and a Page of Testimony at Yad Vashem
in the Hall of Names in Jerusalem, for the victims of the Holocaust. And now I
am able to remember my mother and some of my childhood. That heals me in a way;
it makes me whole, so to speak. A woman with a past that I previously could not
remember because of the terrible things that had happened. With "Today"
writing, thinking and remembering. And with a future, long or short, but worth
living.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That is what
I mean by ‘whole’. And perhaps cured, healed, through that journey into the
past itself. And at my age, 57 years old! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Only that
part of Hilda keeps crossing my mind. I'll have to think over and over, until I
can forgive her. Can you understand that? Oh yes, I have still something to
ask.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From what
Jaap has told me about Olga, about you and about Vienna, I always understood
that you and Olga were great friends.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">89.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe indeed
just because of the sports club, as you wrote. But really not above that level?
How is it that Jaap admired you so much, almost worshiped you? Only because of
your part in this tragedy in Vienna? Or because you were good friends with Olga
and her family? Her best friend, whom she trusted, like Hilda trusted in Olga?
Maybe Hilda was very much a dependent, very childlike and she could not make
decisions for herself or defend herself? You and Olga must have been strong
personalities, you were well-qualified sportswomen. Maybe she felt more or less
forced into what she did, first by Olga and others, later by Lois. My father
had therein little to say. It would explain a lot of things, if that was so.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today,
everywhere with wars and misery in the world and especially in Eastern Europe,
with refugees, I am also not able to let
any of them stay in my house, legal or illegal. It would break me. Do
you understand what I'm saying? Oh, I want to reach that point of forgiveness!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Would you
please write me back? Even if you think you cannot really tell me anything of
what happened or cannot help me further.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Until then,
I'm still sincerely yours,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">15 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So, that has
put everything nicely in a list. Albeit superficial , about my lovers is not
quite honest .Only one of them was a jerk and I realized that almost too late.
The one that I cannot mention here, still has a big place in my heart. Life
itself made and end to our relationship. And Paul, oh well. I loved him very
much, but we did not fit spiritually together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">90.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> My frustrated soul could not bear his
affection towards his ex-wife and ex-girlfriends. Superficially seen, pure
jealousy. But it was not that alone. In a love relationship, I should feel
perfectly safe, and that I was not. I always enjoyed what he did, his writing
and his poetry; have learned everything I know of graphic art from him. But a
relationship, a lasting bond of love was something impossible. Fortunately, we
can now be close friends. Now I trust him so much that I have asked him to help
make this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A little
reminder comes up with a few notes during commercials.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Kommt ein Vogel geflogen<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Setzt sich nieder auf mein Fuss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hat ein Breifel in sein Schnabel<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Von der Mutti ein Gruss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leiber Vogel fleig weiter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nimm ein Kuss mit und ein Gruss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Denn ich kann dich nicht begleiten<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Weil ich hier bleiben muss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">En dan<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hoppe hoppe reite<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wer da fallt der schreit er<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fallt er in den Graben<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fressen ihn die Raben<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fallt er in den Plumpf Macht der
Reiter ‘Humpf’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There will
sometime come back more songs. It shows that as a child I had singing and music
played to me. About that fact itself I remember nothing. At the Mulo we learned from our German
teacher songs like ‘Das Standchen’ from Schubert and Weihnachtslieder as ‘Schlaf wohl, du susser kleine du' that I
knew how to play at once and that just
came to my mind now. It was already in there! Strange, that it just comes to
mind now. Hey Erica, remain rational<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">91. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have given
myself a bunch of phlox as a gift. It smells overwhelming. It is mid-November;
imagine it, an engine will not start from the cold and damp. I sit with my butt
almost touching the heater. Behind my back, it is almost winter and my nose
smells mid-summer. Crazy huh? That is only in this crazy frog country.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">17 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today was
again a puzzle of the past. First with
Dorine then later with Elma.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is
impossible to continue to do this rationally. My throat is tight and my head is
spinning still. Tonight my girlfriend An was here play a game of dice. I've kept it inside until
now, a quarter past twelve at night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine and I
went back to two key questions:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How did Olga end up in jail? And<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda, with some difficulty could she
have kept me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga was not
the type, that has now become clear that
would report under orders. It is possible that Hilda, Olga and I walked on the
street and were arrested by the (Dutch) police officer, if only because of the
stars. That Olga was picked from the street because her star was pinned. The
note makes it clear that Hilda knew! That makes Elma’s suggestion actually a
little off, that Olga was alone on the street. In the circuit to which Olga had
gathered around her there were only Jews (the names Schubert, mentioned
earlier, and Hirsch came back in my mind). They may have been someone else
walking in the street, who could have
escaped it and warned Hilda – at Olga’s
request. But the most likely explanation is still the first. They still had to
get their quantum of Jews? And she sat in a Dutch house of detention on the
Amstelveenseweg. It was at a time in the beginning of the straatrazzias, before
entire streets were taken away. Imagine how that happened. That I myself have
no reminder of that event, says nothing. Too traumatic things, at least to
me, are well shielded. But my heart is
pounding at this moment again from the fear: the most familiar and unwelcome
feeling of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">92.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga was
picked up by a Dutch policeman. They still had to get their quantum Jews? And
she sat in a Dutch house of detention on the Amstelveenseweg. It was in the
beginning of the street raids, before whole streets were picked up.
Imagine how that happened. That I myself
have no reminder of that event, says nothing. Too traumatic things, at least to
me, are well shielded. But my heart is pounding at the same time again of fear:
the most familiar and unwelcome feeling of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe I'll
get to do regression hypnosis before this book is finished. For all these
things to really face definitely.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Hilda again- according to Dorine and Elma
it is not impossible that Hilda was
really not assigned me by the OPK
(commission War Foster children) *. Because they thought that I was better off
at the Martha foundation than my own familiar family, who were not Christian.
And by a 'Pulse' had nothing more and had to start all over again. Hilda’s
guilt to Olga and later to me, rightly or wrongly - that I have no judgment on
may have meant that she later has not looked back at me. But also her character
and Louis could have contributed. I simply could not see into her heart and she
did not speak. In the next letter I write I will ask this of Aunt Olly and
Ilse. Hilda they barely knew, of course, I'm not sure if she made real trouble
for me. But those very "Christian" ladies and gentlemen of the OPK
and Child Protection Agency I can well imagine, there you need only to turn to
the book of Elma. If Hilda approached the Jewish members of the OPK, also
remains a mystery. For eternity. Okay, I want to give her the benefit of the
doubt; she has not had it so easy.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* A committee
consisting of mainly non-Jewish, very Christian people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">93. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet..... Why?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But that's
what life is sometimes, Erica. Tomorrow I will call Hedda van Gennep for more
background information on those months in '42.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A comforting
word for tonight, tomorrow is my daughter here to eat and we go happily to the
world shop, to buy groceries. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">18 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My daughter
now has read everything and actually without comment laid down the books.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I see how
important I think how she experiences it. Well, for her it is the history, the
intricate story of her mother's childhood and family. She finds it, like
Dorine, that I am changing throughout the process. I myself don’t have that
feeling yet, though I hope that it comes. Apart from Dorine I still cannot
really talk about it. It is, really complicated and the distance remains.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A result must
be, that I learn to trust again. And not to build a facade of self-awareness
and self-confidence in my personal contacts. With Dorine I can let go of it,
proud and happy with what I do and did and have achieved. With others I can
never talk about it, if it concerns me at least. About the work I did and do I
myself feel good, but I always feel as a sort of middleman and know exactly who
does things better. It has for example resulted in the identification of the
appropriate chairman of foundation * Property, which actually does it better
than I would ever do it. Or initiating and defending things that I really believed
in, but where others had to play the responsible role. Further I stay humble in the background, , and allow others the honor
that I get sometimes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*An
organization for the sole purpose of obtaining its own global center.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Am I chaotic-
still- to a demanding task with responsibility for me to take? Or am I just
"shy"?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">94.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Put me in a
room with eight hundred anonymous, it goes well. But personal contacts, with
all the warmth I feel for those people. I often hyper- ventilate. And I notice
that only when I am alone again. I realize it's not just a matter of
misanthropy, despite all the social skill.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The underlying cause is distrust in honesty of
others towards me. A wrong expression, glance or a curt answer, and I am gone.
Feel (again) rejected. Something from earlier time. I distrust such a person
for a very long time. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Fear that they see through me. That
is why I seek the attack: If you think "That man is crazy," I am at
that time also. But it passes by itself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The knowledge
of the past, of all that misery, leading to fear, significant uncertainty,
anxiety, that leads to depression does not help. It realized that again today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will that
also get better? It hinders my real development; it keeps me in second or third
place. Not that I'm ambitious. But it's a false modesty, and resulting from
fear to really stand out. It's something from the hiding and the Martha
Foundation. How do you overcome something like this? and is that really
necessary? Am I not so terribly tired of that eternal struggle with myself,
that I see ghosts? And am I not ready to take a step back and not take on
challenges or cross barriers anymore? That is the easy path. No fear of people,
personal contacts with the rest of the "family," which are not going
well currently. And no friends? I surely think to have. How uncertain and tense
that I am. It's not a solution, to become a nun? A hermit? Just now that I'm
complete? But what and how?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">95.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I not called Hedda van Gennep yet. Fear, like
with Elma, there again those fears. It was long before I was through that with
Elma, too long. How is it that I do not have that with Dorine? I then stay
rational? In the time. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I myself
think that it might have to do with being prepared. You do not feel robbed,
despite your questions.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today
Memorboek has arrived. ‘The plate’s atlas of the life of Jews in the
Netherlands from the Middle Ages until 1940’. A book almost as large and as
thick as the King James bible. All the pages reveal that this history is also
mine. I despite my not – believing but still a real Jew, unlike, yes, then
what? That I'm closer to that side than the Dutch side that represents my
father. Not so crazy, apart from the biological provability, to be a child of a
Jewish mother still being Jewish!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I made it
again today. In a regional meeting of the Association of Dutch Municipalities
over municipal global policy. I suddenly got the economist Adam Smith (right
and pure capitalist) under my nose pushed through by a VVD lady: "The
public interest is most profitably encouraged where each individual can freely
pursue his own interests."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I fumed with
rage, literally. So the world is not like that. The law of the jungle prevails
and only the strong will always be at the expense of the weak, which will never
be unimpeded or even could aspire. Think about this "Global Village,"
which is our world. I ask her this, as controlled as possible, 'How big - do
you think - is the percentage of people in our ‘Global Village ', that can
freely pursue their own interests? And is that – ethically speaking -own
interest not only appropriate to the smallest common denominator?'<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She did not
answer, but came afterwards to me to talk about it. I said- it was in the
meeting a municipal global policy, east- west and north-south relations - East
and West should never meet here because she was a follower of Adam Smith and I
of Marx.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">96.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Again there was silence, and then she said:
"But that does not mean that we have to hate each other, right?" No
it does not, but friends? At such a moment I feel again at one with the
persecuted, the oppressed, that is where I belong. Among the Jews, the Jewish
Marx, as well, if I'm honest, all oppressed peoples that come up in revolt who
flash through my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Links dead? No, but left and right do not let
the back of their tongue be seen, in order not to arouse resistance? Or are we
becoming a- political? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I should in the future be more wary of the
individual motives and self-interest, which should be pursued because in the
approach of the right it cannot go differently in practice, than at the expense
of the oppressed, in my feeling. The making of a new political awareness?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Hey discovery?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sticking to
the old values, which I - unconsciously have ingested and have tested the
breast milk and found to be correct in my adult life, Jewish huh? This is ebbing my anger.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Every day a
thread is a shirt sleeve in the year.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was putting
away my cart. An elderly man was looking about in a panic. I had seen him
before in the store when I was picking out Sharon fruit and he wanted to know
what kind of fruit it was.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It turned out that he had lost his bag of
groceries. Just put down to clear away the trolley.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">97.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
presumption that one of the clerks had taken the bag to the office, proved
correct. Radiant he appeared moments later with his bag. I had waited for the
results. He said that this was the third time and I warned him not to put down
his messages unattended anywhere. Anyway, I thought I'd go now, good evening
sir. My attitude turned out, in the mall, to make a volcano of misery. He had
been in a Japanese POW camp and was badly beaten. He had never seen his father and mother again. And
when he had found his brother, he also appeared to have died. Terrible, but he
had also been married for more than forty years and also his wife had died five
years ago. He had remarried and his second wife worked very long days so he did
the housework and shopping. A whole life just popped out there. I felt so
terribly small, to see such a man wipe away his tears. I should have left
earlier, but had to do with him. He also had a war pension, and ... Well ...
How do you make something like that loose?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today a
Womans Workshop by Women in Peace in Cunera. A long day over the former
Yugoslavia, the war in Bosnia. I had in my workshop a group leader a former Yugoslav. Can you imagine such a
thing.... they can never return. Lived here now for eight years. Family:
Bosnians, Serbs and Croats, both Christians (Orthodox and Catholic) as well as
Muslims. Everyone fought against everyone. Who is not dead or wounded, has
deserted spouse and family. The frenzy of lust, macho men that bring resentment
up thirteen centuries to find alibis for their bloodlust. The male scientists
that sit at the top, not politicians, along with the military, unscrupulous
murderers than anyone else in the world after Hitler. Those men. That anger in
me. I must do something with it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">98.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the
plenary session an appeal was made to the existing female MPs to accommodate
orphans and children of Serbian raped women in Dutch homes. That made that I,
no microphone, shouted: "And what when those children grow up?" At
first it did not go down well, but later, at the end, when I went to say
goodbye to the chairman jantien Achtseribbe, she revealed that she and Leoni
Spikes had understood me very well. They will try to keep the kids there.
Jantien told me that she was married to a Jewish man (I had my star on) and
understood me. What was somewhere in the back of my mind for a while, I
realized when I was in the rain bringing a few letters to the mailbox. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My father
told me; long ago that Olga had come for the first time to the Netherlands to
find work. I do not know whether she had any qualifications. Maybe she was just
very good at sports, who knows. So she came to The Hague, where a couple had
'hired' her, perhaps as a housekeeper like Olly, or a maid. She therefore came
as "illegal," for economic reasons here.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That night
the "Mr. and Mrs." Said that she must make herself beautiful, because
they would receive visitors. One way or another, she realized that she had not
come to an ordinary house, but a closed brothel and she managed to escape
through a window. She must have already known my father. How? Through a
socialist youth group? Or perhaps through international exchange, so then not
"illegal"? At least she had fled (already) from The Hague to
Amsterdam, to my father or to other members of that group. Shortly thereafter
she became naturalized by marrying my father.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was on
18 October 1933.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On 1 August
1935 I was born and in the beginning of '36, she must have returned from Vienna
with me. Until autumn and winter 1938, witnessed the photos, in winter clothing
which were taken in Oosterpark or Sarphatipark in Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">99.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Between
August '35 and Fall '38 they must therefore have been divorced, when Jaap could
marry in Vienna Hilda. Olly can now write that they did not know whether my
parents were then divorced, but my father certainly was not a bigamist.
Besides, the story is in that regard is clear enough. Moreover, I have a lawyer
and attorney, Plantage Middenlaan 88, in the center of Amsterdam, with a
telephone number. Probably the divorce lawyer from when we were still living in
the Czar Peter Street. So close by.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
couple of links to the chain. Or beads on the cord? We are now waiting for the
letter, which has to come from Aunt Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What else do
I need to get past some of letting myself be? Not everything has been worked
out, nor on paper or in my head.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">100.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica in
Amsterdam<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">101. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The scrap of
paper from Mr. Cooper<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">102.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The two
issues from my earliest childhood are still the flight from Vienna to
Amsterdam, and the abrupt divorce of my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
time, to the end of the hiding I can figure out the facts, which were a
predominant feeling of darkness and cold. Except for a few sunny memories from
Hoorn. The Martha Foundation, surely in Nieuwersluis has certainly brought
memories above which all the children of that time living in the west of the country must have had. And
besides that also the memories of the
house itself, the garden with its, lightning struck cedar, the lawn by the
pond, where we caught and made frogs 'tame', where we made from reed, skirts. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The owner and
his wife, who returned to their own country seat after the war, I visited
sometime around '85, to seek the past in a first attempt. They were old and
then accused me (!) that we, the children of the war had made a hole in their
hedge and that hedge was never properly mended. That was that. I had no
opportunity to see something of the house or the garden, but a weak cup of
coffee and a biscuit. Very genteel poverty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Martha
Foundation in Alphen: a lot beatings, punishment and tasks, surviving
unconsciously, belittling and never being the best of the class. In the group I
was the worst and slowest, especially at stopping socks and knitting worsted
stockings. 'Snail' van Beek, apparently no one cared anything about her,
according to stories I heard decades later.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet also some
nice memories: I told ghost stories, later, to my peers, when we were in bed
and had to be quiet. I taught them dances and was very creative with beautiful
pieces of material and cardboard and paper, for example, I made diadems for the
hair. The kindergarten, how is it possible, nevertheless it bore its fruit. In
the memories of others I was a very serious, rarely smiling girl.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In my early
memory games pink rubies (or what I mistook thereof) encased in a brooch in the
shape of a bouquet, played a role.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">103.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last week
there was an art and curio market here, striking, especially as art deco
porcelain and old dusty materials evoke nostalgic feelings in me. And by one
stall there was a brooch that did not belong there. Strasz pink rhinestones, a
bouquet with blackened metal and bronze-colored stalks. I loved it; it called a
lot of old, good feelings awake. But it was expensive at fifty guilders. I
lingered at the booth, ostensibly to look at other things. The salesman then
said suddenly, "Good lady, for ten guilders, then." Well, I got it
and am still happy with it, though it is perhaps not even worth the tenner.
Every time I see that brioche, I think of the pink rubies, which I had found as
a child so lovely. I have placed it on the list with my mother’s photo.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
was in a curio shop in Utrecht and for
five guilders I bought a very old book. A
probably first published in Dutch version of the book by
Beecher Stowe: The negerhut. A translation of Uncle Tom's cabin. With the original engravings "to the twentieth
American printing from the English translation." On page 59 the engraving
with Eliza, fleeing across the ice! A publication of the Gebr. E. and M. Cohen, Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm too
impatient and thereby make the receipt of the facts more important than their
processing. Certainly in terms of my own life. I'm still waiting for three
drawn lines:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1. Answer
from Jerusalem;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2 Answer from
London;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 KRO radio
with Kalien Blondes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A fourth,
entirely in the background hit point, a new appointment with Margreet about
the Martha - Foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Meanwhile, I
am again eager to take action. In the Platform Modiale Awareness. With an
action for the former Yugoslavia, where
I have plotted the lines. I will convene a meeting to do something on
behalf of AFKIN* and the Federal Food Bond attracts harder: Women Committee,
work group "International Solidarity."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
start another book, where I can write about my work now to keep everything in
perspective, only for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why am I
still doing all this? Why do I not live a good life with my small pension, like
other people? Come on, I know the answer after all. If I was brought up as most
people with the same background, in the safe bosom of a loving family, I was
maybe barely aware of a different world than my little safe world.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's just my
own traumatic life that has made me aware of and empathetic to the trauma, the
fears, and the world of others. And if I can do something with it, for example
by writing about it, then surely that is a bonus? Even though I sometimes get
the feeling I am found to be a little
crazy, a voice in the wilderness. But if I keep quiet, I feel indeed
responsible. As with writers, journalists, protest singers and artists I have
my own way to express my dismay about the horrors of our time. And maybe too
emotional, but that is the way I happen to be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">26 November <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine
called. In the form of Yad Vashem was indeed stated in Hebrew "Olga Bock,
house wife, two children, shot in the street by a German officer because she
did not have her star on. In Amsterdam. Married name and name of parents
unknown. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tragically,
so many inaccuracies!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, Olly
knew even better than I was saved by nuns! How nameless and unwittingly can a
person live and die! Dear Mutti that after fifty years of your life and death
I can give you a name! Is that not a
miracle?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* The
anti-fascist committee of Nieuwengein <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">105.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight I
find the courage to call Hedda van Gennep. She confirmed Elmas suspicion that
Olga was alone when she was arrested. And that the Dutch police or the home
front did it. She has seen it happen, that she and her mother were arrested and
her mother was beaten in the street because she was wearing a box for her star.
By Nederlanders- in uniform!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So.... I have
never taken leave or said goodbye. Pfff ... and Mutti was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And then my
daughter Jessica came bye, for a quick cup of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hedda gave me
the telephone number of the National Institute for War Documentation. When Olga
was arrested and held prisoner and deported to Westerbork, I can maybe find
something about it there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
submitted a proposal for the Platform Global Awareness on support actions for
Bosnia. An amount per capita for joint financial operations and public action,
for games, work and labor for the Yugoslav displaced centers. Who are bored
silly, they do not speak our language, sit together and the only distraction
they have is the TV that news from home will bring, in their language. I wonder
if mayor Laan will positively pick this up. That was point 2. Point 1 is
realized on 10 December, and next week, Ad, a good friend, is here with me and
we will work on the content of the magazine Global, the periodical that the platform are going to send out around 15
December.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> This weekend to realize point three!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">106.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> With the 'reconstruction' of my book case I
come again across the white ceramic jar with lid, wherein sits a packed piece
of stone from Auschwitz, that a friend of Renco, my ex-husband, specially
brought for me. That now can get an honorary place.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will I be
able once again to visit there, as in Vienna, or at Yad Vashem, there to find
my mother's name?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First search
in Westerbrok barracks 41/0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bring
telegram.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And fetch the
photo of Olga and me at the photographer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">27 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
photograph is collected. The price was 90% better than expected, the print was
disappointing. A bit flat and smooth compared with the yellowed original. Too
bad, but she seems to look younger in it though.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Surprise!
Paul was suddenly in front of me; he came for the second book. It was fine,
again to exchange so many things with him. There remains much old camaraderie.
He has grown and now goes (a little) in depth; even with emotions he dares to
talk about and show a bit. Something where he used to be closed about and a
thunder cloud formed over him, "Life is good, right?" He is a
complete man to be. And so I should prefer him throughout.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We also
talked about the reason for writing. Identity crisis? Yeah, maybe but I had no
feel for my identity. And when we entered into a relationship, he wanted me
holding that identity, gave no meetings or work to be with him. That would
oppress him. No, now I understand that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What am I
still glad that we can talk and write all about these misunderstandings. Now I
also told him that it was apparently still my nature to efface myself away for
the man I loved. And that was a huge threat to the adventurer who Paul wants to
be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">107.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I thought it
was not so much a question of identity, but also and above all that I no longer
came out after Elma’s book and the conference ‘The hiding child,’ to finally do
and want to know the unwitting and the
unsaid things from the past and from to speak, albeit on paper. This quest for
knowledge and words became the mission of my life. More important to me than
anything I did earlier in my life for that unconscious burden I had to explain.
And previously used to hide behind for intimacy behind a so transparent wall.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now I can
talk, I can tell Paul all. There's a little sadness, because I could not
before. Now he could understand why I was how I was. But would he though have
coped? I do not think so.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regarding the
OPK where Elma wrote about: there is a note found in an archive box from the
Martha foundation, which said that the Germans gave permission to take me in at
the Martha foundation. That could, to me it is clear, also have been falsified
by the "resistance", to let me be safe hiding there. Finally there
were more Jewish children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> More research necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">30 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The RIOD *
called. Annemiek van Boxmeer. She has heard the whole story, but already knows
that there is no available data on the way my mother was arrested, the time she
has sat and so forth. All details of the houses of detention in Amsterdam from
the war are now destroyed. This also means that no Dutch police man has become
accountable for his conduct in the war. I will send a letter to Mrs van Boxmeer with all the relevant
information about my mother and she will very carefully look at what data
whatsoever.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*National
Institute for War Documentation<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">108.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In Westerbrok, she said, are found personal
things of the people that were there. I do not think however that I will find
anything there; she was there only three days.
By RIOD it is maybe also possible to find out how she died: on the
train, on arrival or in the gas chamber. On the note that was found at the Free
University for my inclusion at the Martha foundation: they consider it quite
possible that it was falsified by the resistance. But I have to search that out
at the university.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Moreover, I
am this weekend truly active for society. I have written participation notes
for Wednesday, December 2nd in the ABZ- committee (of Administrative Affairs)
and therefore will speak about the municipal identity card. Moluccans will be
put separately therein. I do not agree to that and just cannot! I will try to stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And there is
a silent vigil scheduled on December 24 because of the smear campaign against
illegal immigrants, where a piece I wrote will appear in the Molenkruier, our house-to-house newspaper.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have also
already the participate notes in January, the police report will be addressed
in the ABZ- Commisssion. Wow ... now nothing more please.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">109.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">December<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">110.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">111.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
talked to Elma. I have found at the
Nieuwengeinse recycling center New Work, two books that I thought would be
something for her. If she, as a journalist, needs for investigations or needs
old newspaper photographs, Our Beautiful Life, 100 years newspaper photographs
(Dutch) and a visual report with newspaper pictures of the great woman strike
on 8 March '81 may be useful. She is, I believe, happy with them. Next week I
will bring them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Elma said something that has stuck: I would
have to look Olly up in London personally. I can still do that, but I feel a
threshold. In a letter I can confront her with the past, but can I do that in
person? And then, I would see it as climbing a mountain. The night before I
dreamed of her and saw her as an old lady suffering with swollen legs. She is
no longer so hardy, she needs time. To write back. So I interpreted the dream
for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
gotten from New Work also a book of
Meyer Sluyser that I did not yet have :
There is growing grass in Weesperstraat and Leonard de Vries: Chaverien, is that a children's book?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I will hear
from Dorine if the library of the JMW (Jewish Social Work) has interest in
them. No mail from abroad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For a few
days I'm overly nervous again. Not just because of the participation in the
evening yesterday ABZ * - commission over the identity card of the Dutch
Municipalities. I was sure of my case and have also been vindicated. That card
is not, at least for now, going ahead!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* General
Administrative Affairs<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">112.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Where from then? Afraid because I go against
the established order? Mayor Laan personally assured me about that matter. Why
then? The weather, the high moon, the constant low pressure area? Causes that
are mentioned more frequently in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When Flik was
mayor here, I did open my mouth as needed. He took me quite seriously and I had
forgotten that I now have good-will on the city council. But that may not be
the only reason for my stress.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Perhaps
waiting for an answer from London? If that still will come? One reason to
consider sending a postcard about it?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No post from London.
No post from Israel.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">8 December
1992 <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally! Post
from London and from Jerusalem!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last
pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. Tomorrow I will tell you
everything. Now just as the overriding emotion when I read the translation of
the registration of Yad Vashem. "I ask you to give the survivor a"
posthumous citizenship "of the state of Israel, the undetachable sign of
solidarity with the Jewish people." She belongs there. I belong there.
Never before have I felt so Jewish. At heart and inseparably attached. Even
though the fact that the only attachment is to the JMW and Dorine, who let me
feel through the years that I belong. With no family, I am more a part than
with my children. Still I belong, with the Jewish people for centuries and until
the end of time. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It became
just too difficult, there were tears.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti, you're
nearly home. Then you may rest in peace
and this task is accomplished. "Ein schon Leich '* is made, a beautiful
funeral. Who knows, I may be I will bring you. And otherwise I will visit you
in Jerusalem at Yad Vashem. It is almost 1993, and since I do not speak Hebrew
nor ever observed the Jewish calendar, I raise my glass of herbal tea and say,
"See you next year in Jerusalem."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">113<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">9 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now it will
begin with the letters from Aunt Olly and Rabbi Schachter. I will start with
the second. The first is so difficult, so traumatic, that I have read it bit by
bit. And yet still I collapsed.... Sick with the shock, first with anger, a lot
of grief and rebellion later. I'll be back to the translation, if I can muster
up the strength today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later that
day. Rabbi Schachter writes:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs. Van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was on a
visit abroad, hence the delayed response.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was very
touched by your thoroughness and your desire to correct the registration of the
memoir, while my concern was not to further traumatize and bring you in touch
with family.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I enclose
some forms for you to register your mother and possibly other family. It will
be clear that we cannot destroy completed prior Pages of Testimony, we can add
a memo or note there with a reference to the 'added Pages in 1992, for example,
which will lead to your corrected Pages.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fill in the
form attached, please; address it to me so that I can add the Red Cross letter
and your letter there when I have received them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Rabbi J Schachter '<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* Yiddish<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">114<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The form is
filled in; I just need to wait a few days for a small copy of the photograph of
Olga and me to send.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And now,
there is no escape: the letter from Aunt Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Erica,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I wish I
could answer questions, but maybe at my age of 85 I forget a lot, or I did not
know a lot of things when they happened. I'm surprised your father seems to
have known me. I've never met him! Olga was really no more than a colleague of
the "Arbeiter Turn Verrein. She walked to Holland , I believe, before
Hitler's woes began in Vienna? Are you born in Holland? I was so happy to meet
here, Miss Palmer, a lady who wanted to guarantee my parents, Hilda and her two
children! But Hilda preferred to marry Jaap and go to Holland, Instead of
becoming a maid servant like me , and the children arrived with a
Kindertransport 'here and lived with an English couple. It took ten months
before I was given Inge to stay here with my parents and later with me. I do
not know whether Ilse knows these facts, but do not tell her, please.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another fact
is that Olga BORROWED the jacket with the star pinned from Hilda. It was
Hilda’s cloak! I hope Ilsa and Inge never hear this. Please, let them never
know!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica, please
try to forget what has happened. Forget and forgive!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I admire you
for.....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Furthermore,
I cannot go now.....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So this was
the big secret that has remained hidden for fifty years. Olga had worn Hilda’s
jacket briefly.... and she was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">115<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the guilt
and shame later on have assaulted Ilse and me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fifty years!
Fifty years straight it was hushed, nobody wanted to talk about my mother with
me, everyone has told me to leave the past alone. Also to Ilse. She would’ give
her mother sorrow ‘by asking questions. No, she would know the secret and maybe
tell me. That shame, guilt, we have carried our whole life, we did not know
what!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That anger
over the fate unknown, but no less felt, has given me and Ilse in our
adulthood, crisis dragged into crisis. How do you translate the moaning, the
pain that is felt in your head to your toes, the flow of adrenaline, which can
destroy your body, into words! Give me those WORDS!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda had
thus lost her cloak, the cloak that killed my mother, and that fifty years long
has covered everything, even my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tell me how I
translate this literal pain in written sentences and I'll write a book thicker
than Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses and heavier than the Torah and the State
bible together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How do I make
the story in question to look like something that remains credible for myself?
Here it looks like a bad novel, with fictional personalities. But it's true. It
really happened! This was my life. And that of my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have to
pick myself back together. And continue to write.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For hours I
postponed it. I have tried everything: telephone calls, including Paul, talked
to Jessica, lounging before the TV, to come to my senses. With Dorine yesterday
I tried to place it in perspective in the context of that time, especially into
perspective...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Same day,
very late. Now I finish the letter of Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">116<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I admire you
because you have led such a strong, useful life and are still so helpful. That
must have been partly because of your Christian education. *<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
nothing to forgive Hilda of. After my
visit with Inge to Holland Hilda wanted
Inge and Kurti to live with her,
and Louis, with whom she was not married at the time. He must have been a good,
decent man, that he not only accepted Ilse, but also to take the two children
in. To help her, he even married her. I begged Hilda to be allowed to keep Inge
with me for two years so she could finish her education . Hilda refused that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In any case, it seems that she gave up the
struggle for the children, including the conflict with the Jewish refugees
commitee that protected the children. And nobody saw or heard anything about it
afterwards .....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, Erica,
the bitter times that you have gone through in your life have made you what you
are now. A brave, compassionate person. Try not to think of the past; enjoy
your still relatively comfortable life
now, as I do. I try not to take note of what is happening around me in the
world (I know that's very selfish, but in my 85 years I have no more fighting
spirit in me). I live with my cat Shelly quite satisfied, waiting for Inge's
weekly letter. I hope that the treatment of Allen (Inge's husband) is helping
to fight his cancer. He recently had an operation and is doing well and
hopefully for quite a long time. Their three daughters live in England, but I
only see Sara occasionally. Kate lives in Sheffield, so quite far away. I
rarely see her. Helen shows no interest in contact with me. I have not seen her
since my eightieth birthday. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, dear,
you do well. Do not think too much about what has happened and make the best of
life. All good wishes,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* How did she
work that out?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">117<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, all
good spirits, help me! What should I answer the old lady? She means it
apparently so well; all my questions about my mother, she has indeed answered,
as far as she could. The conclusions are indeed my own responsibility.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
shock, I write my first spontaneous reaction in fluent German. Afterwards I do
not send it, it was too hard for her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I shy off,
for the umpteenth time. Go to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">10 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I put aside
everything today to be well prepared for the establishment of the Platform
Global Awareness. Two weeks ago, I submitted a proposal to give a 'flying
start' to this Platform. Aid to Yugoslavian
displaced persons in the Netherlands and an amount per capita to be
voted by the council, for the large joint fundraising (rural) to Somalia and
Bosnia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I can cry
now. So I do it. After a little playful opening speech of the mayor, we
continued the meeting. And all official events were treated as the drafting of
an annual plan, joint events, bylaws etc. Nothing came out of the paint.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Participants
walked away. When barely half was over, my proposal was on the agenda. All I
wanted was my name swept underneath the platform and then to the City Council.
Well, you cannot expect in such a situation that the point is also discussed
but equally serious. The next meeting is late January. And then I have to come
up with a concrete proposal. As if this was not practical. And others thought
again that they first had to talk with their supporters about it, while the
Platform is designed precisely to take independent decisions. They have, it is
clear, no idea, what it's like to sit in the war.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">118<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh, next
month the need is still there?! Yes, and the fact that they are there left in
the shelters by us, let down this winter, means nothing. And that belongings
and money will only be available next year (maybe) is less important than a
rich regulatory conduct of meetings. I was so angry and bewildered that I'm
seriously thinking to do the whole action and only in a personal capacity. But
I just cannot physically and mentally. I have even taken on working for a
torchlight vigil on December 24 against xenophobia and smears against refugees.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So this was
the big disappointment today. The leaflet Globally, that this time must be
written exclusively on the Ad control, was again nice. I have written for that
a very small article and controlled and corrected it. On Saturday the
volunteers market and on Tuesday is the AFKIN- meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I know I'm
doing it myself, but I would love to continue to do everything, writing,
mourning and work. Help!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That
participation in the ABZ- committee has been a great success! National
newspapers and the Utrecht’s newspaper wrote about it. Elma was not allowed
to, but did have contact with the
consultative body of Moluccan Welfare and Lilipali from the parliament. That
has raised questions for the minister. The VNG downplayed the case, as
uncertainty of Mayor Laan. I was able to bring him the parliamentary question
and wait for the answer from The Hague.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That's my
life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But I long to
be again, completely busy with the past, with myself, so that I have written
this all. Hey ... it is with a feeling
that I, in this way have been able to tell about my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The spirit
goes where it will- there for her no time, no distance. She moves in other
dimensions, other people, other times and conditions. Provided that it is
willing to be empathetic.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here I sit, I
can do nothing else, and who wants to go with me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">119<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It could have
happened like this.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's August,
1942. It is a warm day, threatening to storm. Olga and Erica go to Olga’s
sister Hilda, who has a baby. That is not easy at the time, raising a baby.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga has a
star, a Star of David on her dress. She did not have a coat on; it's the height
of summer. If small Erica also wears a star? I do not know.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the end of
the afternoon the sky darkens, but nevertheless it's not raining yet. Hilda
discovers that she needs something for the baby. Milk? Flour? Or the teat is
broken, or the bottle ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And Olga
offers to quickly go and get it. Quickly , because it is nearly curfew. Then
there should be no more Jews walking about outside ... because the air is so
threatening she calls to Hilda: " I just put on your coat "and
leaves.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> And then she comes upon a Dutch policeman or a
border guard, who sees a yellow star and from that liberty takes hold of this
young and attractive woman. To his pleasure and her terror the star was not
sewn, but pinned. That is for him the reason, that he, under threat with his
gun-there were stories that she had been shot dead on the street, but that was
not true - to arrest her and confine her in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At home
waiting, in increasing panic, Hilda and the little Erica. And as it gets later
Hilda is more certain that Olga has been arrested. Because she did not have the
star sewn on her coat but had fastened it with safety pins.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It takes days
before they are assured. It lasts until September 8 before she receives a note
from Olga herself, who is currently on route from Amsterdam to camp Westerbrok.
Olga tries to encourage her sister even at that time. But on September 10 she
sends from Westerbrok a telegram in panic to Hilda, asking her to send the
"Aryan" papers from her ex-husband, it does not help. The next day,
September 11, she is stowed in the lorry, to Auschwitz, where she is
immediately killed upon arrival.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">120<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And then she
comes upon a Dutch policeman or a border guard, who sees a yellow star and from
that liberty takes hold of this young and attractive woman. To his pleasure and
her terror the star was not sewn, but pinned. That is for him the reason, that
he, under threat with his gun-there were stories that she had been shot dead on
the street, but that was not true - to arrest her and confine her in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At home
waiting in a great panic, Hilda and the little Erica. And it is getting more
certain that Olga has been picked up. Because she had not sewn on her coat the
star, but had fastened it with safety pins.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It takes days
before they get affirmation. But it is not until September 8 before she
receives a note from Olga herself , who is under way at that time from Amsterdam
to Westerbork. Olga tries to reassure her sister even at that time with
courage. But on September 10 she sends from Westerbrok a panicked telegram to
Hilda, asking her to send the "Aryan" papers from her ex-husband. It
does not help. The next day, September 11, she is stowed in the lorry, to
Auschwitz, where she is immediately killed upon arrival.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">120<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For Hilda the
nightmare would now have begun. This is irrevocably the last time that Olga can
help her. In fact die for her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What should
she now do with the little Erica? It is as hard as it is with the baby.
Fortunately, Erica also has a father, an 'Aryan' father still, who, to
complicate the story, at that moment ‘for appearances’ is married to Hilda.
Naturally he is divorced from Erica’s mother. His father, Jack, has a brother
who is recently married. And they want to look after Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But if Olga
does not return- and nobody knows whether she will- it becomes even more
difficult. Erica then suddenly becomes a Jewish child, a risk. And then the
wanderings of the child starts from hiding - to hiding place, until no one
knows anymore and she is back at her aunt and uncle on the sidewalk.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where is
Erica’s father at that time? It appears
that he is sent to work in Germany until he manages to escape in the summer of
1943. He is "married" with Hilda and according to the Registers and
Population of the town hall they live at the same address, but actually he
lives with his father, Erica’s grandfather.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When he,
after his escape, will look for his daughter and arrives at his sister in law ,
that's just at a moment when they are "beating" Erica (his words,
many years later). After a violent argument he takes his child to his home,
where she has a few wonderful months. The only good time actually in her
childhood, when she became an adult, could fondly look back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That sister
in law has not let it sit. Jaap show no signs of gratitude that she has been
part of the child's fate, especially since she was still a Jewish child.
Instead, he has quarreled with her, added her reproach and 'just' captured the
child. Calling for revenge? She can, so she turns to someone from the Council
for Child Protection, "because it's inexcusable that such a small girl
grows up by two men, moreover, it is a Jewish child.’’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">121<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The latter must
have been difficult for the Council for Child Protection, but there is someone
who has signed a letter that the Germans include Erica van Beek at the Martha
Foundation in Alphen aan de Rijn. The
Martha Foundation appears to be ‘started’ in Alphen by the Germans! In
Nieuwersluis some of the children were housed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On a cold,
wet, dark day in December 1943 is Erica then "safely drilled ' in the
Martha Foundation, where she will remain until she was nineteen.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And Hilda?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda with
her two older children can safely get away from Vienna. She gets the chance to go to England. But she
prefers to let her children go - with a girlfriend - she continue to stay in
Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After the war
she married Louis, after a divorce from Erica’s father. The baby from the beginning
of this story thrives on and has a father and a mother. A second baby, born
during the war, does not survive. Hilda with her child also sat for a while in
Westrbork but knew how to survive.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After 1945
she performs a short struggle with the Jewish Refugee Committee and the OPK,
the War Foster Children Committee, to regain her older children. She may have
tried to get Erica out of the orphanage. That did not work. And failure is
–possibly - based on the fact that she is Erica’s aunt and her stepmother.
Well, the OPK did their own standards and Hilda would have not have coped with
the possibility of raising four children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Has Hilda
been happy with her memories and her past?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">122<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Vienna<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It must not
have been easy living in Vienna between 1920 and 1933. There was the recession,
unemployment, poverty. There, as well as here. Grandfather, Armin Bock, refugee
from the Czech Republic, had become stateless. Married to the Viennese Joszefa
Karpfen (omama, my grandmother), his two children, daughters Olga and Hilda,
are also stateless. Although Jewish, there is no indication that they were part
of the Jewish community in Vienna. But Grandpapa had, due to the persecution of
Jews fled to the Czech Republic. What did he do for a living? Had he (right)
support when unemployed? Or did the family in the beginning a little capital?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Grandpapa
apparently died young. The family was a
member of the Socialist Workers Party. Especially omama seems to have been
militant in it. The youngest daughter, my mother Olga, was also an enthusiastic
member of the Arbeiter Turn Verein and even later won gold at the Workers'
Olympiad in Budapest.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The single
parent family seems to have been very needy. Reasons why Olga took the decision
to try to find a job in the Netherlands. She came to the Netherlands and found,
except for work and income, a man and later had a child from that marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The eldest
daughter had two children in Vienna. From a relationship with a man she could
not marry?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The story is
complicated.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hitler's hell
is visible in 1933. In that year, in October, Olga married in Netherlands Jaap
van Beek, not a jew, but a blonde blue-eyed Dutchman. (A few generations back,
one Lady Von Dalmann of German landed gentry, married to a Van Beek, so the
"Aryan" could not be doubted.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Almost two
years later, from the marriage of Olga and Jaap, a daughter is born, Erica. The
marriage seems to have lasted for a half a year longer. Olga goes back to
Vienna with her baby. It is not known whether Hilda is (still) financially
maintained, nor is it known whether, as the separation between Olga and Jaap is
final, Olga receives alimony. It can be assumed that Olga earns a living for
the family. At that time, Erica is so ill that she is hospitalized in the
children's hospital in Vienna and has a lot of children’s sicknesses
consecutively. Which cannot have been conducive to Olga to keep her job.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After
Kristallnacht not only hell breaks loose in Germany, but the panic among Jewish
citizens in surrounding countries.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jaap since August
1938 separated from Olga, goes to Vienna and begs Olga remarry him for her and
Erica’s safety. Olga refuses and points out to him that Hilda and her two
children are much more vulnerable. How is Jaap committed to marry Hilda and her
two children for their safety while he still loves Olga? Olga is a strong
personality, an athlete at heart, much stronger than Jaap and Hilda together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga goes
with Erica and Omama 'on vacation' and when they come back, Jaap, Hilda and the
two children have left Vienna. That must have happened in the summer of 1939.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly
Weiss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As said Olga
was a member of the Arbeiters Turn Verein. In the same building where she lived
with her family, also the Weiss family lived. And the family loved the little
children of Hilda, especially the eldest daughter Inge. Olly Weiss was Olga’s
team mate.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olly sought
and found work as a housekeeper or maid in London. She also wanted her parents
to come and Hilda with her two children. She was lucky to find one Miss Palmer,
a wealthy lady who wanted to guarantee both the family Weiss and Hilda. This
event took place in the course of 1938. In '39 all was arranged.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But when push
came to shove, in other words, when Olly went to Vienna to pick them up, Hilda
now turned out to be married to Jaap. Rather than be a maid in England and take
care of her children, she went to Amsterdam with Jaap. While her children, with
a 'children's transport' travelled to London. After being there for ten months,
Inge went to live with the Weiss family,
where, after the death of Olly’s parents was raised by Olly herself. Her
brother Kurti was raised up by foster parents. Both children remained in
England, becoming adults and received British citizenship.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">124<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda’s third
child, Ilse who was born in the
Netherlands, stayed with her. It was after the war, so she got a (step) father,
grew up prosperously , but not without trauma as the second generation child.
And was actually an only child.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The war also
seems to have been for her parents an indigestible matter and when the daughter
was mature they decided to separate. Not long after that Hilda died, she was
burned out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">13 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am sitting
with my feelings back in the war times. For a few days now. Has nothing changed
in fifty years? The realization that the Platform, so Nieuwengein then , now
refuses to do something about the misery of the displaced-shelters in the form
of some distraction, or to advise B & W on a contribution per capita for
Bosnia ( where a hunger winter of '44
is on the way!) and Somalia .... Here
nothing can be done, knowing how it is makes me so desperate that I cannot
sleep and can think of nothing else all day. Although yesterday I have been at
the stand of Novib at the voluntary market all day with a friendly face.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You know, you
can only talk to people who know what you're talking about.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am glad
that the action against xenophobia, against illegal smear campaign, comes in
order. Peter has created posters for the twenty-fourth. Women for Peace and
Amnesty participate.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">125<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So I can channel
my grief and my anger without damaging myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sadness and
anger are not gone, oh no.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want to go
back to December 9, the letters.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I will tell
Rabbi Schachter the story briefly, why I am so determined to straighten out the
Pages. Does he not see it himself, that it is not a remembrance of my mother,
but the desire of my niece to have the name of her family member in this?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">N'importe
what kind of data? Not one syllable of it was correct, except the name. My
first feeling was therefore, that the Rabbi, felt a little passed over ,
because I did not respond to the discovery of the niece, who also knew nothing.
But that is not what I was looking for, I must make it clear. Reparation for
Olga, of whose life and death only Hilda knew about and who kept silent from
me. That mantle of fifty years that was revealed by Olly, with instructions
never to let Ilse and Inge know. I want that also in the Pages. I will have to
let Ilse know of that letter. How? I'll have to think, well that's no rush.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Other things
remind Olly that she no longer can place. But concerned about that time, she is
still, though she says that she does not have any "fight" more with
her 85 years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That means
that she had in that in the past, and that shows. The courage not only for
herself but also for others to find a safe haven, speaks from her letters. It
is a pity, a great pity that Inge and Kurti that I should have known so well in
Vienna have disappeared completely from sight. Actually just like Ilse. A
family band will I never have with them again, but it's nice that I have heard
about them again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over the
acceptance of ‘that coat ‘I am still not there, even if I put it in
perspective. How do you do that as a victim? I can say, Hilda, I forgive you;
the fact itself is your underestimation of the danger of your carelessness.
That is something that happens.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">126<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But it did
have my mother killed, as you ought to have been wearing that coat. And as you
have survived (but how?), so she could
have survived. She would have taken Ilse , combative as she was. Now my
life has given Ilse a home, but apparently not a happy childhood. Let me hold
on to that. Ilse has also become a war victim, her "home." And my
life has consisted of flights from nowhere to nowhere, me closing my past until
now. Here only I have found my home. Only after three children and two
marriages. My oldest lost through drugs and suicide-no mother who could reach
him, he was imprisoned in himself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jacob, my
child that hid under a coat until he suffocated. From a fear of living.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Leo, who is
alone and that maybe will remain that way, grew up with me and two fathers
could not be real fathers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jessica, who
is still fighting for freedom under that coat, which she now knows, exists.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I myself,
that I no longer dare to venture into a new relationship, after making wrong
choices five times. Thanks for the one who taught me to sublimate my anger and
grief into action for people, who like me suffered from oppression and
infringements of his human dignity, proclaiming rights for the incapacitated! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Is that the
key to my whole life after Olga? Oppression and disregard for my human dignity?
Finally, I was Jewish and, as such, was I- treated in the time when I lived. I
see now. And I have acted in the past twelve years, but for recognition of my
person and to restore my dignity<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From my
empathy with those, and for those that I I worked with, from what I have
experienced myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But also of
anger and sadness, which could not be captured in words, because I kept the
cargo from the past denied until now.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">127<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">15 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What is -and
what is the function of -a prophet?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Pastor Mook called me, ‘The prophetess of
Nieuwegein. ‘ That has lingered.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight
council meeting . In the break I was talking to J.H. He told me
enthusiastically about the worries of preparing for Christmas. And I told him
that I was not able to celebrate Christmas this year. What happens so close
east of our borders. With Bosnia and images of Somalia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
councilor said later, "You did not come to make us sad, huh Erica?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What should I
do? Stay talking in the form of politeness? I may not express my feelings, my
sorrow and anger and impotence in order not to disrupt the Christmas party? May
I not indicate that we cannot celebrate with a clear conscience and cheerful
mood while such terrible inhuman things happen this Christmas season?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Did Reverend
Mook mean that I am a thistle under foot? Or (calamity) prophet who disturbs
the peace of the conscience of Christians and non Christians?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> We, war children and adults know, yet have still
all experienced at firsthand? And yet are still scared, angry, helpless and
almost powerless? Almost, because only a small area, we cannot get involved to
resist the immense indifference, the ‘cocoon’. Pull that screen, that wall
you've built around you and just see what happens around us. Let's work
together to try there to change that. It is not for us, then for our children
and grandchildren. So that the blood on our hands of our indifference does not
come upon our descendants. Then we will be certainly guilty. Omama, as weak as
you were, you were a militant woman who meant a lot for the labor movement.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti, the
strength of your character, your perseverance and sportsmanship, your living
will to start a new life here, with all the menace of Hitler Germany. Give me
some of your perseverance, despite all resistance. I'm so discouraged now.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">128.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who wants to
hear<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Those who
wish to see<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who suffers
too<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not just with
me<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But with the
horror<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where people
like them<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Should survive them<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">or die?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I did not ask
for, nor can I shut myself away from it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
powerlessness over my past blends seamlessly into despair about the horrors of
today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I thought I
could get away now, but every time that it takes longer, I am more a part of
them. I hear them, right here in my safe little flat I'm not safe there.
L’histoire interieure se repete toujours; comme l'exterieur. Et parce que cette
histoire d'aujourd'hui est l'exterior. Et parce que cette histoire
d'aujourd'hui est l'histoire de moi-meme et de Maman et Omaman et six miliones
des autres hommes. Et il passe aujourd'hui, après cinquantes années.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now back in
French, earlier to Olly in German. What comes up as I write this?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Say, write
what I know, what I feel. And make people participants of what happens ,
whether they like it or not.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The coat has
to go.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I fight and
wrestle with all these feelings, day and night. Sometimes it's sadness so great
that I have no spoken words, and if I find them, because of the interests of
others, my mouth takes over, without being able to stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Is this the
function of a prophet?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Or do I behave like an intrusive campaigner?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, that is
not me. But maybe they see me like that, if I do not keep my feelings under
control and thus contact others in their heart and conscience.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I do this
more than ten years-over declared unfit for work (sick and disabled), over
racism versus equality. If it would leave me indifferent, I would have no need
to write about it or talk about it. Sometimes they give me the feeling that
they think I am mad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So be it.
This is me, Erica, made up of a life that was dominated by an invisible and
unknown coat of fifty years now. Exponent of "lest we forget."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">129.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">16 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I just read
Ilse’s letter of 14 November again, where she tries to untangle the knot that
has occured upon completion of Rivka’s addition to The Page. The history of Olga and Hilda were
jumbled. This could imply that Hilda has also told Rivka facts - the jacket-
and Rivka has therefore become confused,
that is the misunderstanding . I try now
to put it in the time. Everyone was still busy processing, or stopping of the
flaring memories of the horrors. We were traumatized, and could not put into
words what kept us so busy. Maybe Hilda has told her story confusingly, which
was picked up as such. But when she wrote a letter about it, not only Olly knew
it, but Rivka knew then - and Ilse also now!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1.How do I
tell Ilse?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2.How can I
tell that to Aunt Olly?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh time, get
me in that matter!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Kalien
Blonden called. Relief: the radio programme is off. The editors did not think
it a good opportunity.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I let on to
her surprise that I find it fine,because
the only reason I had agreed, lay in the search for survivors, who would have
known her. That is now no longer necessary. Thence.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last data
is now coming in and the next week I hope, if not the real grieving process,
yet will I finish this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the last
few days, there were quite a few things that ran together, so it was difficult
to stay with this case. So emotional, I could not sleep and really collapsed
yesterday. (And promptly at half past three in the afternoon I slept until
eight o'clock this morning, with some interruptions!)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why my
emotions with me went on the run?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Among other
things because I cannot handle that people very carelessly spend millions and millions on Christmas shopping,
chunky tables, feasting, while just over our border and further, into former
Yugoslavia, history is being repeated. The same history, which I'm trying to
deal with in this book. Shut up, Erica, don’t make us sad, and do not appeal to
us and our consciences. Don’t you see that we want to celebrate, you disturber!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judging by
the signals I expected Thursday, December 24th not a big turnout for the torch
vigil, we organized as AFKIN.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I again
brought out in the library, the Jewish Weekly News. Searching for clues that
maybe I had previously overlooked. In the Jewish Weekly News, number 20 of
August 21, 1942, I found an article on the confirmation of the star.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">131.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Serious warning<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The presidents
of Amsterdam’s Jewish Council make further emphasis for Amsterdam's attention
to the obligation of Jews to:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1st to
properly attach the Star of David and wear it visibly;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2nd refrain
from entering gardens, parks and all the roads that are forbidden for Jews;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3rd not use
traffic ways without a license;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4th not live
or stay at other addresses than the above address mentioned on the identity
card.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Violation of
these provisions has led in several cases to severe punishment, even when it
was solely due to carelessness. Hence the repeated serious warning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is conceivable that Hilda has even tried to
get help from the Jewish Council, or at least tried to get to the Council for
information when Olga was not coming home. Maybe she told them that Olga was
wearing her coat. But nothing helped. This remains hypotheses, but I cannot
imagine differently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
received this letter from the RIOD:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In response
to your letter of 2 December 1992, I can tell you the following:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
collections of the RIOD contain unfortunately no more details about your mother
Olga Bock then you are already familiar with. For example, there are no
documents that have been preserved, which relate to the arrest of your mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">132<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">THE JAILS
ADMINISTRATION HAS NOT BEEN RECOVERED
AFTER THE WAR*<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of the
documents relating to the Westerbork transit camp, the proof is that Olga Bock
was indeed deported on 11 September 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would have
liked to have done more for you. I'm sorry, that by the limitedness of the
material at my disposal, it is not possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sincerely, Ms
A van Boxmeer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where can I
still go with my anger and sadness? Is there a policeman ever punished for the
preparation of murdering my innocent mother? A driver for obediently bringing
her to her place of execution?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And today
happens again the same! Are people because of their origin, their religion,
massively persecuted their appearance, killed, expelled, put to flight. And
survivors should only see them ready to come out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Okay, okay,
it's all happened fifty years ago and I am only now so far, I can handle it a
little, to relive that time for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet it is too
much for me, as before, the same things are happening. My empathy should not be
stretched too far!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All and
sundry of the Dutch tribe celebrates rather extensive Christmas. So I
don’t need to .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*Capitals are
mine<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">133<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It brought to
mind again the note of Olga. There is no trace of reproach to Hilda . Instead,
she tries yet to speak to Hilda with courage, "Kopf hoch, Madel."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">History does
not change its view. Never has there been a ‘point of return’. Who am I, that I
look back with so much anger and resentment at a time, which cannot be compared
with this time, in this society, in this same country? And, I have the examples that today terrible things happen
with and through people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">May a man
fail? Weak and maybe a coward, if he should suffer such intolerable tension, as
at that time? With, still, the examples of Germany and now in Yugoslavia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last data
is now coming in and the next week I hope, if not the real grieving process,
yet will I finish this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the last
few days, there were quite a few things that ran together, so it was difficult
to stay with this case. So emotional, I could not sleep and really collapsed
yesterday. (And promptly at half past three in the afternoon I slept until
eight o'clock this morning, with some interruptions!)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why my
emotions with me went on the run?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Among other
things because I cannot handle that people very carelessly spend millions and millions on Christmas shopping,
chunky tables, feasting, while just over our border and further, into former
Yugoslavia, history is being repeated. The same history, which I'm trying to
deal with in this book. Shut up, Erica, don’t make us sad, and do not appeal to
us and our consciences. Don’t you see that we want to celebrate, you disturber!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judging by
the signals I expected Thursday, December 24th not a big turnout for the torch
vigil, we organized as AFKIN.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
again brought out in the library, the Jewish Weekly News. Searching for clues
that maybe I had previously overlooked. In the Jewish Weekly News, number 20 of
August 21, 1942, I found an article on the confirmation of the star.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">131.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Serious warning<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
presidents of Amsterdam’s Jewish Council make further emphasis for Amsterdam's
attention to the obligation of Jews to:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1st to
properly attach the Star of David and wear it visibly;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2nd refrain
from entering gardens, parks and all the roads that are forbidden for Jews;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3rd not use
traffic ways without a license;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4th not live
or stay at other addresses than the above address mentioned on the identity
card.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Violation of
these provisions has led in several cases to severe punishment, even when it
was solely due to carelessness. Hence the repeated serious warning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is conceivable that Hilda has even tried to
get help from the Jewish Council, or at least tried to get to the Council for
information when Olga was not coming home. Maybe she told them that Olga was
wearing her coat. But nothing helped. This remains hypotheses, but I cannot
imagine differently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
received this letter from the RIOD:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In response
to your letter of 2 December 1992, I can tell you the following:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
collections of the RIOD contain unfortunately no more details about your mother
Olga Bock then you are already familiar with. For example, there are no
documents that have been preserved, which relate to the arrest of your mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">132<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">THE JAILS
ADMINISTRATION HAS NOT BEEN RECOVERED
AFTER THE WAR*<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of the
documents relating to the Westerbork transit camp, the proof is that Olga Bock
was indeed deported on 11 September 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would have
liked to have done more for you. I'm sorry, that by the limitedness of the
material at my disposal, it is not possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sincerely, Ms
A van Boxmeer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where can I
still go with my anger and sadness? Is there a policeman ever punished for the
preparation of murdering my innocent mother? A driver for obediently bringing
her to her place of execution?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And today
happens again the same! Are people because of their origin, their religion,
massively persecuted their appearance, killed, expelled, put to flight. And
survivors should only see them ready to come out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Okay, okay,
it's all happened fifty years ago and I am only now so far, I can handle it a
little, to relive that time for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet it is too
much for me, as before, the same things are happening. My empathy should not be
stretched too far!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All and
sundry of the Dutch tribe celebrates rather extensive Christmas. So I
don’t need to .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*Capitals are
mine<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">133<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It brought to
mind again the note of Olga. There is no trace of reproach to Hilda. Instead,
she tries to speak to Hilda with courage, "Kopf hoch, Madel."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">History does
not change itself. Never has there been a point of return. “Who am I that I
look back with so much anger and resentment at a time, which cannot be compared
with this time, in this society, in this same country? And, I see through
examples today that terrible things happen with and through people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">May a man
fail? Weak and maybe a coward if he should suffer such intolerable tension, as
at that time? With, still, the examples of Yugoslavia and now in Germany?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Whatever have
been the consequences of the 'coat', who am I, that I would condemn. If I have
to forgive anything, I do hereby wholeheartedly!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It apparently
had .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> And if
not, then we have to accept that life is as it is and I am that I am. Do not
look back at what might have been if ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I want to
see in advance what is possible. What good things I can still contribute. So
what happened and what is presently happening east of our borders, will perhaps
not go repeating itself...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over that and
this way I will have to write back to Olly and Ilse.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I will.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
searched for my mother and found her. Even though I did not know how I would
find her, I knew that I had never taken leave of her. I did that now. And I may
mourn a youth that I and hundreds of thousands, even millions of children that
were taken away by the madness of power forces, who use the power they have to
create people that are immersed in grief, because they differ in color and
origin from what they propose as normal.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">134<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is the
letter I wrote to Rabbi Schachter:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">22 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Rabbi
Schachter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took me a
few days before I was able to write back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would first
like to thank you again for your concern of my wellbeing.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Enclosed you
will find the new Page of my mother with a picture of her and me as a child.
Thank you that you want to take care of her file.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want to
tell you again, so that no misunderstanding exists, I had to research the past
of my mother and me. I had no evidence that she ever existed, except this
picture and some papers, when in a short time two things happened. The book of
Elma Verhey "To the Jewish Child” was released and the conference “The
Hiding Child “, became public. I not only survived almost without memories, but
also with fear and anger that I did not understand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had to make
this quest. Not only for me but also for my daughter Jessica, a
second-generation child, so she and her mother will understand themselves
better and also to give her a past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I've told you
about my two sons, one of them died by suicide, by deliberately taking an
overdose of pills and drugs. That has to do with my past. And the second son
has his difficulties through that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And there was
another, important reason and that was to give a grave with her own name to my
mother. So she was no longer an unknown and unnamed victim.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">135<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I never
sought nor wanted relatives. Anyone who has survived, that knew of my
existence, never let that be known. Not even shown of their existence. I say
this not with anger or self-pity. But there is no room for them. I have my own
life, my (former) family, my friends and my work. With the latter I mean, I
(still) want to believe in the 'Global Village' and our shared responsibility
there-for. So I see my daily volunteer work. Here I have found my family and
friends. Believe me, I have no bitterness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I found my mother. And my own past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the same
time I have lost my fear of my memories. And thus so many remembrances have
come back. Not all, the most traumatic still remain hidden.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have among
other things discovered that my mother was arrested and thrown in prison and
later via Wester Bork in Auschwitz is murdered, that the coat she was wearing
at the time, with the pinned-star, was the coat of her sister. She probably
borrowed it to get something quickly for her sister’s baby. .and did not
return. And sister survived and has not looked back at me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That makes
this discovery very difficult to process. Do you understand?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The whole
story of my quest, now by friend Paul typed and edited. I will keep my promise
and send you a copy. That is if the book is finished. If it is published.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A miserable
side effect is that this quest is taking place at a time when all that misery
in Germany and the former Yugoslavia is now happening. Where the Serbs are
doing the same things against non-Serbs, especially against Muslims. It is very
frightening to believe that humanity will never change, no matter how big the
technical progress and the communication possibilities for humanity nowadays
have become. On the contrary, it seems that we just want to use it to destroy
ourselves and the world. There was a time, not so long ago; I had the idea that
humanity was becoming better and wiser.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, I'm
wiser ... and sadder.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">136<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regarding my
Israel I had the hope that the war with the Palestinians would come to an end
with election of the Labour Party. But there is still no sign of peace. On the
contrary, the PLO and Hamas will work together and I'm terrified for such
cooperation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judaism and
Peace.... will it ever go together?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last I read
in a newspaper a statement by a Serbian word carrier: "War makes sense as
long as there is a possibility to make a profit." Is that not cynical? Put
the word 'peace' in place of 'war' and we can have the most delicious world.
And then of course an all-out ban and
closing of all weapons factories because
they destroy our world and kill our children, our fathers and mothers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But these are
simply philosophical thoughts of mine. I expect no one, to make this a reality.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
leave you. Thanks for everything you've done for me. Receive my best wishes for
yourself. Forever,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Your Erica
van Beek.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">37<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A while ago I
wrote: "In the past is the present, in the moment what is coming." A
cliché, but how true!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The hatred is
now grown by supra-nationalism and social discontent is the seed where fertile
soil is found in the victims of today and future generations. The raped women
of Bosnia bring forth children who are already hated for their birth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The fruits
thereof may be new wars again, in about 25, 50 or 100 years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tribal strife,
religious wars, they are now and always will be. Because we are only human,
obstinate and unruly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And all
surviving victims will be able to write books like this ...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Peace on
earth is a dream, we have to face the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe that is
the lesson I had to learn and if necessary why I had to write this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
"Global Village," which I dream of is the dream of a relatively small
group of people. With little power. And our world will continue to run maybe a
little longer. But will they survive?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To believe in
it, I would have to rely on the fundamental goodness of people. The fundamental
sense of responsibility for each other as human beings. The I = you feeling.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I must
begin with myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sigh..... I'm
not there yet.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">39<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jood<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">141<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">January 29,
1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally I
have written draft letters to Olly and Ilse. Maybe I can finish them Sunday and
send them. The text I want in any case to record here.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took me a
long time to learn to live with what is written in your last letter. The
thought that Olga had the coat on of Hilda was very hard to bear. It is even
reflected in the title of the book about my childhood, that will be called Two
women and a coat.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now the time
is ripe, now I am able to live with it, as with everything that has happened.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The period
from 1939 to May 1945 was on the Continent a time of incomprehensible terrible
events. Where the people who survived were injured for the rest of their lives.
Hilda was also briefly in the
concentration camp Westerbork, together with Ilse who was a baby.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am
convinced that Hilda has gone to the Jewish Council in Amsterdam when Olga did
not return. And she told them what has happened. I am so confident because I
read in the Jewish Weekly from a few weeks later an article warning people
extra not to pin the star, but to sew it on: "Several people that are
pinning have been severely punished.” What I would have to forgive Hilda of, I
have forgiven her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">142<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As you said,
life has not exactly been kind to me, but Hilda had to live with her grief and
her anger, and get on with her life. What's maybe never really happened, to
which maybe she was not able to.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I tell you
(including myself) once again: life is as it is. I've learned to accept that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is
possible that Olga on that (rainy!) day in August '42 put on Hilda’s jacket
just to get something quickly for the baby, and she was arrested (and taken to
jail and later to Westerbork etc.) almost as soon as she came out on the streets. Her face was so
truly Jewish, that I doubt that, even if for her a hiding place was available,
that she might have survived.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Therefore, I
cannot understand how Ilse, Inge and Kurti could know nothing about it, even
after Hilda and Louis died. It was still not intentional Hilda; it was
carelessness, with incalculable consequences.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
decided to send a copy of your letter to Ilse. Maybe that's a consolation to
her. She is still with sadness and anger from the past. There were so many, too
many things that she could not understand. So much that she was unable to go to
the conference Hidden Children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Can you
imagine what war does with small children? Even those events that you cannot
understand, that feeling of "I could have better not have been born,"
which remains always. That entire trauma, your whole life. Until you have learned
to find words for and to use those words for yourself. This is done usually not
before your fiftieth birthday. And then the past, has long since used or deformed your character. And your
life decides. The fears and anger have become a part of you. How do you deal
with that? That is for an outsider very difficult to understand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Life has also
not been easy for you, I suppose. But you, your family and the children were
not hunted in England as wild animals such as Jewish people in the Netherlands.
You were pretty safe there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you
understand, there is no more reproach. To anyone. It all happened. As it is
happening in Yugoslavia. We never expected that it could all happen again. But
it does!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">143<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have now
also been able to give my mother a funeral. In Jerusalem, at Yad Vashem in the
Hall of Names. And my whole childhood became memories to me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was the
purpose of the quest and no less for my life that now has to continue, more
than ever. The whole has to be a book that is worth reading.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I send you my
love and greetings and thank you for your help.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hoping again
to receive a letter from you,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Your Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Ilse,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It has taken
a long time before I could process what I came to know about the past. Like so
many Jewish people, I have processed it- with a friend in this case in a book,
which will hopefully be released.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is much, very much, that has become clear.
Also regarding aunt Olly’s feelings towards your mother. Do you want me to tell
you everything or would you rather just read my last letter to Aunt Olly? You
can also wait for the book. The title is Two women and a jacket.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Only
now am I able to discuss with you anything you want to know. Your sadness and
anger have become clearer to me. As for me, I have now learned to accept life and
let go of the past now that I have found words to describe it. That is also
thanks to you.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We cannot
change the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">144<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm now
finished with it all. And I hope you find the courage to do so too. Maybe my
letter to Olly will help you with that. Otherwise I will let you know when the
book comes out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do not
hesitate to write me, call or visit, if you have questions to ask. I have now a
different perspective than 'then'.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I hear from
you?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These letters
I now send as soon as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">145<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">February<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">146<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">147<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">28 February
1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Letter
received from Aunt Olly, which made me very distressed. Of course she's right.
But Elma and Paul found it too: Now I turn and I should be able to let it
sink a while.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here's the
letter.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Erica,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This time, I
find it hard to answer your letter. But first, I wish you luck with your book.
I had no idea you were a writer. But you have abused my trust. When I told you
about that incident with Hilda’s jacket I prompted you not to tell Ilse.
Finally, it was her mother's fault that may have led to Olga’s death, even if
it was indirect. Now it is in your book and Ilse will read it and she could
tell Inge. You cannot tell me that it was necessary to make their memory of
their mother worse.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I can only
hope that Ilse will not be too much affected.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe it can
be prevented that Inge will know. She has enough to worry about with her
husband's illness. In any case, I do not think Inge suffers from her memories
of that time, because she and I only know of the events through other people.
Our only concerns were the war cases, we Jewish people, even strangers, were
treated the same as the English themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I only hope
that now you are able to put the past behind you.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Best wishes,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">148<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course her
trust is, in terms of the jacket, ashamed. But how do I make it clear that I
did not just think that was precisely the point where everything revolved
around? For fifty years, my mother is dead in silence out of shame about it. Is
it not time that it is written, spoken and processed? Out of concern for them,
the now adult children of Hilda, I may panic again, keep my mouth shut, I feel
guilty for events in which I have had some part. I became the victim, not her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Apparently
she was so angry (or confused) that she could not place the name on the
envelope accurately.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">149<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">March<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">151<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 March 1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Visit to
Westerbork. Search for Barak 41.0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At five past
eight Jessica and I met at station Batau-north in Nieuwegein. The train to
Amersfoort at 8:44 we reached easily and we got there at just after nine. A
terrible station. With that in Apeldoorn, I think, one of the worst of the
Netherlands. A type of aircraft thoroughfare that comes out in Amersfoort-Never
land. It took a while before we could orientate and we even had to ask the way
to the Amersfoort station, where we should wait for Dorine to ride together in
her car to Westerbork.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The weather
gods had the first day of spring and made that the trip became an almost
festive experience. Despite the gray tones that marked the destination.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Just before
Hooghalen we decided to eat coffee with a treat. But it was only to get a
sandwich on stale bread.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The parking
lot of the Remembrance Centre in Westerbork lay still in the early afternoon.
And when we got out the full gravity of our goal fell like a gray blanket over
us.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Inside, in
the open lobby with visitor reception, the almost sacred atmosphere was
shattered by a whining barking dog. Moments later, the sound of Christmas songs
....nota bene, belong to a video film further on. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
exhibition is almost complete. Only my mother was, also here, not to be found
in any picture, in any film. She was here as well? All the daily and weekly
horrors. More than sixty thousand people, including Olga my mother lived here
for a longer or shorter time before they were transported for slaughter in
cattle trucks.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">152<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's all
displayed there, with matching sounds. Only missing the smell of fear.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the end of
the exhibition, I was surprised by the fragment of a poem by Leo Vroman:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Come this
evening with stories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How the war
is gone...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And they
repeat a thousand times<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All the times
I will weep<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was too
much. Internally I was at that time a lost, screaming and frantic child
appearing as usual, I think. Very controlled. Jessica and Dorine were not done
yet. But I could no longer see clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later,
outside, the worst point of pressure of the boiler could be taken. Through an
emotional spot, tears: "That poem of Vroman that they should have left
out...." Nonsense, of course. It hung there not for me. But it was the straw
that broke the camel’s back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Walking
through the forest of the Observatory we tried to reach the Memorial Field ,
the former camp. I was actually secretly glad that we were a bit lost. The
final over tired body did during that seemingly endless walk make my emotions
fly away. At one point I heard and saw again and I could hear birds enjoy a day
out in the first warm rays of the year.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We reached a
crossroads. Where was the Memorial Field? Left? Right?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We decided to
go left.Mistake. An endless road without any traffic. Until finally a boy
approached with a transport container behind his bike and revealed to us the
secret of this traffic-free road.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine had
wanted to pick up the car in order to go to the
Memorial Field . But here, on the site of the Observatory , whereby this
road also belongs cars may not drive. Because it causes interference in the
reception of space signals. Later we would be on the field, and perceive for
ourselves the enormous steadily rotating satellite dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">153<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There was nothing
to do but continue to walk back and by the Memorial Centre , step on the bus to
the field. A bit of a bad feeling for me, because I was at the first
confrontation with the bus chauffeur several hours before quite emotional about
the sign on the front of the bus 'Kamp
Westerbork' in large letters. Did that now may not be: former Kamp Westerbork?
Or Memorial Field Westerbork? He responded quite shocked, he had never thought
about it. The driver was a nice guy who even picked us up again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the sun
kept its profusion spreading above us.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Memorial
Field is only recognizable as ‘Camp
Westerbrok’ through the eyes of the mind. That means that on this radiant day,
close your eyes and try to imagine that every slight rise in the ground was a
barracks or a house, the roads were muddy pools, the air was cold and menacing.
And where there now is a floor in the area, the locomotive was with cattle cars
behind it. Dark, wet, cold. Screaming, crying, fear of death. Animal apathy
too. Human survival instinct in all shapes, smells of fear, impoverishment and
damp peat.... But also superhuman courage and optimism against their better
judgment. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> We searched for Barrack No. 41-0, where
my mother had stayed, but there was not
before every barrack a mushroom with a
number. We dwelt at length on the former apple instead. For every Jew an
asterisk for each Shinti or Roma (Gypsy is still a nickname) a fire. An English
boy picked up a loose star to take it as a souvenir. "You shouldnt do
that," I said and he obediently put the star back on a stone. For how
long?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Walking along the ancient monument of the bent
rails, along the paths and fences, along the partially intact kept ruins of
barracks, my courage sank in shoes. Would I find the place where- about -Olga
had been? Along the way I picked up a piece of debris on gray cement with
pebbles from the side of the road. Something from the bottom, the base of the
former barracks. It has been given a place with just such a piece of debris
from Auschwitz, at home in a ceramic pot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then, with
the exit in sight and already standing bus, Jessica screamed. ‘Forty-one!! '
Dorine and I reacted sluggishly, for we had not expected it. ‘Ma, Dorine,
please look: Barak 41.’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From a huge
sense of relief that there was yet again a proof of her existence, I looked at
Jessica and Dorine to the mushroom which indicated that this was a house in a
long line. Did it mean that she ended up with friends or acquaintances? The
panic, which she must have known during the three days she was here? Immediately
afterwards I realized that I'm here, as her daughter and standing with her
granddaughter and my good friend, after fifty years, to bring her a final
tribute. As at a funeral. This is where I spent my last salute. That is so
Erica That I had to grin in spite of myself. My dead loved ones live in my
heart that was never tied to one place. But the relief to have laid the last
piece of the puzzle in place, having finished the quest, was great. I kept
grinning. Jessica was delighted that it was she who found the place, Dorine was
happy for me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The purpose
of the journey was found. And in the van to the center I told elated to the
astonishment of the other occupants, ‘I have found again the place of my
mother’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The return
trip to the West was quick. And the thread to the past snapped when we were
tired and hungry and could find no place to recuperate, to get something before
we had to take the long journey home. Dorine decided to drive to Amsterdam. She
put Jessica and myself out at staion Amersfoort. Her children were too long
waiting for her, it was getting late.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My daughter
and I decided to first eat in ’The Old Tram 'opposite the station.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">155<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The waiter
was a friendly young flatter . The food was not even reasonable. Then he asked
in clearing if it had tasted, I could not help saying that the meat had been
too long in the fat, because the steak did
not taste good.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The train was
ready. Only in Hilversum, we discovered that we had taken the wrong train.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">157<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">September 2,
1994<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To create a
book, that was actually not what it was about. When the need was there, Erica
wanted to force in herself a breakthrough. Writing was just a tool. Has it done
her good?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">"I can
now talk about myself, not as before , then you had to bring everything
out," Erica said. And I think:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You are now<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Different<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">yet<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> the same<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Paul<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Twee vrouwen
en een jas</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dedicated
to the
Jewish social work ,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine de
Gruyter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">in memory of<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga, my
mother<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And with
thanks to Paul Groenendaal and to Elma Verhey,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> without whom this book would not have come
about<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Foreword<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On the 1<sup>st</sup>
September 1992 <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica writes
hesitantly in a nice small, silk-bound booklet, "was very cozy ..."
and she ponders further on the title of the diary that she wants to track the
reporting of the quest which it has decided.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The reason is
threefold<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">An inner need
which has become increasingly stronger in recent years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> All the chaos of her childhood surfaced.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">she sits at
her kitchen table looking out over the gallery railing over Nieuwegein. In this
house she lives satisfied. Now is time to dare.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And she
begins to write and muses. The title….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They could
not have suspected in the summer of 1994, at the same kitchen table but much
happier, with a sigh of relief and glad to work on her book with friends, the
manuscript would shut and satisfyingly say, "Right, now we can eat. I have
a beetroot salad. Jewish recipe. Do you
like it? "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They would
certainly not have suspected two years ago, that her book would be in the shop
windows in 1994.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet that is
so. In August 1994 she was eating beetroot salad with two editors. Twice
repeated she had to go through exhausting the entire confrontation with its own
past, word for word, to make a diary into
a book. Popular portions, clarify things that diarists always perceived
as historic.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was one of
the editors and I can assure you that the whole process from September 1992
until now, two years later was a hellish emotional period for Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Paul Groenendaal<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leiden, 1 september 1994<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">September<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">15.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have made a
decision. I will ask Dorine to help me-finally- to go back to the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have told
that to my friends Piet S. and Corrie van R. Corrie is an old girlfriend that I
know from the anti -racism work and Piet is chairman of the club where I am a
secretary. I have told them that if I continue to function that I will need
their help. That is why you are my friends? Through difficult times to help
each other?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With Corrie I
had a good talk, among other things, the power that comes from daring to
continue to be vulnerable. She is currently in a difficult period and suffering
physically and mentally.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I gave her
calcium and magnesium, herbs and vitamins. In her family I am “the herb lady”
not completely unjustly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Piet gave me
as an answer a mountain of work that by tomorrow morning had to be done.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for the first
time I realized that my teeth bit together when I heard my own keys rattle
while I opened the door to the deadbolt. Memories of the Martha foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later that
evening. The memories become clearer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The leader, Ilsa Love, had the compassionate
habit of using her keys, if she wanted to "admonish" children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1943
-Nieuwersluis?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We stood in
line one behind the other, naked, with a towel and a washcloth. Forty children.
Two at a time we were washed in a cold bath. Now again I smell the scent of it.
And in the dorms, there were many bed
wetter’s. Beds which were, roughly forty centimeters apart.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">16.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Woe betides you if you have not said or sang
well before bed your prayers. God's love also expressed itself as
"they" heard children still whispering : then they made you stand
before your bed, cold feet on the ground, and wait and see how long they let
you stand. Sometimes for hours. And you dared not to go to bed or to say
anything. I was always picked out. If I had not knitted well , I had to knit at
night sitting on the marble stairs. If she was back on time and not pleased,
you got there "seams" in. And sometimes she forgot me. I sat there
half naked, until she had to go to the toilet and just saw me sitting there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Stopping
blows. Every time going up and down the line. I
could never do it good and flee enough. When it was my turn , it was
time for slaps, until I was half unconscious. What made her even angrier was
that I could not respond. From fear, or also pride?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then you had
to eat on the penalty bench, the “biekenbank” and you were not allowed to play.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In was proud
of my father , who could get on with her. Who brought so many sweets that all
the children, also those that had visitors could eat sweets too. What was left
over was taken away by Miss Geert Knoet. She searched me to make sure that I
did not hide any. All the children called him Papa and loved him.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Emmie Veldkamp- as snow white so beautiful. Red
cheeks, pitch-black eyes and hair. She sat behind me in school and kept
pricking me in my back with a pin. Finally I had enough; I turned around slowly
and dropped solemnly my ink pot over her head empty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That day was
I beaten so much with the walking stick of Mr. van de Berg that I had to be
taken to the hospital. The children bullied me so much, because I never said or
did anything back. After the ink pot scene was that over for good. They saw
that I "just" only responded when it suited me. Nevertheless Geert
Knoete still saw me as a good victim, was why?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">17.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 september
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The name of Margaret G. Van der H. was
Greetje. She studied with me the Bible sitting in Alphen aan den Rhijn and
comes from the Martha charity. She made contact with me and we made an
appointment. Today at Central station in Den Haag. Neutral territory. We arranged to meet at the
third desk in the hall, at three o'clock and because we did not know each other
she would recognize me by a bright pink umbrella that I was carrying.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My train
arrived at a quarter to three , right on time. And while I stepped off the
platform and walked to the hall, I looked around to see if I could recognize
her. She should be wearing a red jacket. I did not see her so I waited <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And as time
passed, the passengers around me were together at the counter and rushed to
their trains and I saw homeless and drug addicts. I became despondent and more
despondent .What could have gone wrong?
After waiting an hour I took the train home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Money thrown
away, that journey and now I am skint. I can’t travel until I have money again.
Preparations for the municipal platform Global Awareness, where I among others
with Piet work, has so far cost nearly 100 euros on shipments, letters and the
like. It is voluntary work, therefore I have to see if I will get it back, and
if so when. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> So I have just called Margaret: It was my
fault that the appointment did not go according to plan. I had Thursday in my
diary and she as teacher could only get Wednesday free. Therefore she waited
for an hour on Wednesday for nothing. We have now an appointment for next
Sunday, 7 September. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then she
comes to me, not on neutral territory!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She told me,
via telephone, things about the Martha foundation that I did not Know any more.
About farmer Kwakernaak for example whose farm next to the home, whose calves I
could take care of. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh yes , I still remember
that .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ik doopte de kalfjes zelfs , en voor
de stier , die altijd in zijn hok zat en die vreselijk hard kon loeien, was ik
erg bang.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I baptized
even the calves, and the bull, which was always in his kennel and who could
howl terribly hard, I was very scared of. Margaret told of the shoe maker of the charity , over
the subsequent build-up of the group of children. And I told him about the
injustice that I, because I was allowed to study, was held responsible for the
behavior of the younger children in my group. We talked for a long time , but I
can not visualize her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There are a
lot of people of my age searching their
past. Rien G. is one of them. I know him only from the telephone. He too
is searching and has stories that for an “normal” man come across as
unreal. Rien is grown up in a Christian family and no one could explain to him
over his (orthodox ) circumcision. He has lived in Alpha aan de Rijn and later
in Boskoop. He remembered groups of children that rode bicycles in the Martha
foundation. I remember the kilometers long marches that we did in lines of
three ,to and through villages around Alphen. Very recognizable as asylum
children ,but bicycling ? I don’t remember that . The only bicycle that I
remember , I got from my father and that was stolen within two weeks! the
leadership will have had fun with that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Family Cote.
Father was vice president, mother was a woman that every child wanted. We were
children , without parents, without family ,without backgrounds. They were very loved by us girls
that were growing up .I studied with
Mieke their daughter and I still have a photo of her that she is in with other
friends from school.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Memories. Nieuwersluis. White, Sunday sleeved aprons,
black worsted stockings, clogs. White metal crib and curtains with lots of lace. Was that toys or
did babies lie in them? A very large house ,a park around about with a large
grass field.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">19.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Upstairs was
a hall: The toilets flooded over, stink
and filth everywhere. No memories of the layout of the house or the daily
affairs .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Later, after 1946, Alphen aan den
Rijn. </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The group
where I first sat , was right of the building. That was of the leader (of day of night) Geert Knoet. Later on I sat
above in the group M2… the electric cables hung loose out the wall. I got a
shock and was unconscious for a while.
on a bench in a small alcove in the hall I came around. In the hall of
M2 I learned other children songs and dances. I made a dance from “ zeg
kwezelken wildet gij dansen?” I still
remember that dance and in bed I told
the kids always (horror) stories , where
the others always huddled
together in bed. That could then apparently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Was it there
that I first got my menstruation? I was eleven years old and no longer in the
group of Geert Knoet. I must have been in panick when I found blood in my bed
in the morning. Scared to get punishment- or that I had a fatal illness. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But the
leader ( I don’t know which one) told me that I was now a Big Girl and no
longer could I play with the boys. She gave me clean sheets and strange-looking
terry "canvases" with a hole on each side and a waist belt. That was
that, that was my sexual information sessions and that of the girls of my
generation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The school
attic, which stood on the site. What I did there? I was there sometimes for
drawing lessons? There were antique busts and heads of plaster and marble and
it smelled and was very dusty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mr. Van Dijk
from the third class sat with his hand in my pants . If I reacted he told me to
“shut up” and pinched me hard.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These are
memories that come up. I don’t remember any of the other leaders except the
sadistic women Geert Knoet and Ida de Liefde
( the corpse if compassion , “so as we called her) she got later an eye
sickness , literally fire red eyes and according to tradition would go blind.
We called that the punishment of God. There were also good leaders , such as
the one Margaret called : Leny Zwaal.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Margreet
found it unlikely that I was made
responsible for twelve young people from my group ....I was studying and was
the only one that had a small room for myself- a former kitchen- where I could
do my homework. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“But” said
the former leader ( who?) “then you should make sure that the youngsters stay
sweet” or words to that effect. That I do not remember names! The result was
that I could not do my homework in the afternoon or evenings. I taught myself
from the clock tower that I could see out my window , to sleep and wake up ,
sometimes at four in the morning to do my homework. I had to be a good example
.Even now is six hours sleep enough! I had to go to bed at the same time as
the others and was controlled if my
light was out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That ”
privilege “lasted less than a year. Then I had to go back to the “dorm “ and my
room became a kitchen again. At least in my memory. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Slak van
Beek. That was me. That is what they called me. Slow, clumsy, always the last
in the line, whatever line. In the line by Geert Knoet , for every run in the
black stockings or knitting on Sunday gray hosiery. How often did I have to
take my work back and start again? And how often did I get beaten because I was
the last in the line?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">5 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Zij van Vlink
, a girl in my class, whose brother had a sort of animal magnetism for me. It
depended on her if I may walk with her brother over the school grounds. It cost
me my best books. Pure blackmail!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Rieke and
Liesje Olie and their brother , who suddenly after the war were called Olij.
The choir of Jo Toet , partner of Daniel Waayenberg, and the songs that we
sang:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The heavens
remains gloomy hung down <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A dead
silence reigns supreme<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Creation
grieves, she has no songs<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the organ
tone of the forest is stupid ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That has
always stayed with me. And now comes a thought to me and a singing game over
spring from princess Irene that we learned:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We are the
hares out of the woooods<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The small
hares out of the woooods<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and eating a
hazelnut….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I read
the Nieuwe Israelitisch Weekblad (NIW)from 28 August that was sent to me from
the telephonist from the Jewish social work . The tears are in my eyes as I
read the column from G. Philip Mok: “Am Jisraeel Chai.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am a Jew in
heart and soul. I realize this especially , because, even though
my past was by the Martha charity
very Christian and baffling , is very
agitated by the reading of the NIW and this column.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will anybody
ever bring my soul to her right place?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">22.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Margreet was
here. With a photo album full of photos of children from the buildings of the
Martha foundation. Truly also a picture of Geert Knoet! Margreet stayed till
five o’clock. I only recognized her when I saw her childhood photos. She is now
a grown up lady and a teacher. And I have been stated as being incapable to
work.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Although I am
particularly strained, there are still no emotions that come up with the
looking, talking about and recognizing of pictures from this time. Strange ,
actually. Names , names of people and places it was not more than that. Or not
yet? Just scents come back. And the tinkle of the many chains of Miss Corvase
the German teacher <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the face
of the pathetic spinster of needlework,-who
was also bullied by me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We talked
about the family Cote, also for Margreet a very loved family. It was a shame that Mieke had so little
attention , because her parents were caring for more than four hundred
and fifty children. And hospitality and love, that the children received from
no one else.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still 7
September , evening<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
asked Paul, my dear friend from the past
and still, whether he wants to read my
writings. And if it may ever be a book ,
would he be my editor?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the years
past I've never been able to tell him anything from my childhood. And
when I tried it sounded confusing and
incomprehensible to him . And still I
panicked , as he practically forced me to go into the past, how lovingly
and patiently he tried. It caused unbearable tension between us. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My strange
reactions to his innocent remarks, my off-track anxiety and panic attacks , and
I crawled into my shell when he became irritated. His bohemian - like attitude
toward my need for security. Love and security, very civil, are synonymous with safety for me. For him it means trouble, curtailing his
freedom. Doubly, as a clipped bird in a
cage. That can not continue to go well. And therefore did not go well.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After two
years of silence I made contact with him. This is also the way to tell him
about my youth, all those things, all those fears that surface. Will I persevere to the end? And will Dorine
, my friend from the Jewish social work , and Paul , my old friend , able to
provide enough support for it?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Paul also has
his stories. Stories from his childhood, how he experienced the
war. And the years after. His life is a continuous line, with peaks of course,
like an ECG., But his Memories are a common thread running through his life.
And me? I have the feeling that my life only halfway in my adulthood begins.
The way back from there is not even visible, but it must be there. I'm finally
not come into the world as an adult, or without background or parents.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The memories
keep coming. There is now no stopping them. When I was fourteen , in 1949, I
could stay whenever I wanted to at my uncle Bart and aunt Marie and their two
daughters ( Marie is the one that arranged for me to be taken from my father
and placed in the Martha foundation , But I had not realized that yet). After
staying there a few times they told me , that I May leave the Martha foundation
and come and live with them, if I promised never more to have contact with my
father! I did not realize that she therefore would experience the ultimate
triumph, by taking my father’s only child away- for good - after years
before, my father had me taken away from her. He told me once how he
accidentally had witnessed how they mistreated me and how he then took me, but
that's another story. Aunt Marie thought she’d
have cheap household help from
me? Until that point I knew no more about housekeeping than drying up .
After a short period of reflection I refused to give up my father. I had to
return to the Martha charity and I never stayed there again! They cried with
anger and disappointment but I never regretted my decision. Even though I was
thus in the Martha Foundation, and even though I was not yet aware of the
purpose and background. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet I was
then, just as unconsciously, an arrogant weight. I must have been nineteen
years and I just started working in the council office in the town of Woerden.
I had left the Martha foundation and was free to visit my father. With him in
Amsterdam, also lived uncle Coen (his brother) and his wife Aunt Cor. Uncle
Coen was a park worker and I worked in an office. I suggested that he was a
staff member and I officer. Absurd and ridiculous. We had words, it was not fun
anymore. Maybe I wantedto offend them by punishing them for leaving me in the
Martha foundation. In my childhood I stayed
with my father and with them?
Then they had to stay together in a house and were busy trying to get my father
, who was alone out, because they had a family. Grandpa was already dead….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">25.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Grandpa !
That small house that I can still smell. Grandpa , whom I passionately loved,
who sat me on his lap , read and played with me, who cut all the cartoons out
of the newspaper and pasted them in a big book for me and upstairs there was
more big books and cartoons and other things were I was allowed to play . I
realized that in later years my grandpa and my father , played a smaller role
in my life , among other reasons , because, they both did more for the
youngsters of number 88( grandpa lived at number 90 on the Plaatijzerweg) and
for their mother, auntie Ella. I felt that I did could not come between or be
involved there .But the short time that I lived with my father and grandfather
and came to auntie Ella’s and played with the youngsters , Henk and Erich ( it
was not longer than a half a year), was the only rally happy time of my youth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back to the
Martha Foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's the
feeling. No conscious memory. It must have been dark, cold and wet. Rain and
wind, when I arrived in Nieuwersluis.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have the
same feeling when I think of how I was brought
from one hiding place to another
to a person's hand, with maybe a briefcase or a bag in the other hand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Actually I
can’t remember real memories out of that period. It is like a thin black veil
which is located over the entire past. You see it and know that there is something behind, but to see
through it is so difficult. There is nothing, even for only a moment,
illuminated, allowing you to see everything clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was there,
at Serreschans, in Nieuwersluis. It stank and was noisy and humid. In the
evening we folded our clothes on our shoes ,
some wore wooden shoes - so that we could flee if necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">26.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I had nightmares, others banged evening and
night with their heads rhythmically against the headboard of their bed. I know
of at least one time I'm sleepwalking into the dining room to sit and sat there all night, with my arms folded. Until the group came for
breakfast and woke me up. That is how it was told to me later on. Geert Knoet had to – with cold water- wash and
dress me completely.I seem to have come far away.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">During every
air raid, all attacks on or near the railway line Amsterdam - Utrecht, we dove
at night under the beds. Or during the day, under the tables or in the ditch.
And when we gathered wood in the forest across the street, we looked panicked
for a tree to stand against.Their was a farm in the forest. If we were there in
the area we pushed in and stood against the wall. One child from the group once
stole something there. For that , later on all of us got one at a time , a beating. Geet Knoet knew how to give a
beating. And I never had the impression that she did so reluctantly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Two
dormitories. Hepatitis broke out, jaundice, diarrhea and vomiting. Then we got
punishment. If you had to throw up everything was shoveled back on the board,
different food put over it and you had to eat it .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For days you
were given the same plate of food . That really happened.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On Friday
afternoon we went for a bath. Very soapy water, probably there was no real soap
anymore .All forty children went into the same bath water at least that is how
I remember it. I definitely remember on a Friday after the bath , leading
everybody to their knees beside the bed
. There we were in our our nightdresses or pyjamas , and I spoke facing where I believed East to
be out a prayer. Where did I get that from! Even Geert Knoet later on knelt and prayed with me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">27.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In that time
, I had also knowledge of everything that was eatable, and there was a lot edible
in the big garden around the grounds of Sterrenschans. I seemed to know
what wild rye and wheat were, which fruit was edible, which mushrooms were
poisonous. There was a bush with bright red fruits that we definitely had to
stay away from .But somehow or another I knew that the fruits were definitely
not poisonous. And they were really tasty. Since I had eaten it, they had ,
probably with fear and trembling, waited a day and then the bushes were looted.
What was left over was made into jam. The strange thing is that I lost some of
that knowledge after the war and was only returned in my high school years. How
could I, a city kid from Amsterdam and Wenen , know all those things and use it
too?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Cold ,
wetness, stink and fear. The feelings prevail over the war violence.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why, dammit,
do I not remember how and by we I was
taken away from my father? Or how I was taken away from my mother ? I feel
darkness. Screaming and shouting from every side?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The panic of
then is again totally back. Bugger up all! Leave me alone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The past
won’t leave me alone. Now I have started voluntary work in abundance. I speak to a lot of people who want to talk
about the flash that one has seen in me in early news. That was at the
conference ”The hiding child” . That lasted three days , but the first day I
could not handle it, and I left in the afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now their
stories are coming out. …. The stories from people that can’t forget how their
friends, and their classmates disappeared. How the rumors about treason and
hiding of teachers and teachers who disappeared and aunts and uncles and so on. Me they had never associated
therewith.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">28.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">18 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's hard to
get hold of this book.I don’t feel physically fit and the doctor won’t allow me
to give blood for the red cross before he has his self-done an examination.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still I want
to go back. Not to the time of hiding, but to the time before that. What do I
really remember from the time with my mother? Blank memories come up, real
memories!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We lived in
the Vrolikstraat in Amsterdam. I am in the living room playing with my dolls
house with real lights. My father made that. The curtains are closed, the
lights are burning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the back
room there is singing with guitar and mandolin en…violin? Austrian (mountain)
songs, Dutch hiking songs, operetta songs. I feel good about it, even though
I'm alone, but with Kareltje- Karlchen will have mentioned him- my big wooden
doll out of Wenen, whose legs moved back and forward when you moved his legs.
When we went for walks he walked beside me, then Mutti or someone else held his
other hand and we waved them back and forth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jetje my
neighbor .We play in the garden .Jetjes mother is with my mother. We ran on the
veranda , into the kitchen. But Jetje stepped in the wooden veranda onto a big
nail. I feel sick, because she had so much pain . Typical, such a reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We play at
Jetjes in her house. She has a grandpa, who lives in the back room. One day
grandpa does something “dirty” . He takes his willy out and hold it against me
and Jetje. We were not allowed to talk about it. We found it so interesting,
that straight away we tell it to Jetjes mother…..The next day grandpa is gone
and Mutti wont talk about it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Auntie Hilda,
Mutti and me walk in the Leidsestraat. Mutti has a yellow dress on with small
blue roses. I am playing hopscotch , pavement on , pavement off and sprain my
ankle. That hurts so much that I nearly faint. Mutti takes me in her arms .
Then I pee on her beautiful new dress and from shock I begin to cry really
hard.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have warts
under my foot and was with her at the doctor. He burns them away and I
scream out. When that is done , is Mutti
talking with the doctor and I walk around and stand on something that is glass
that cuts my foot open. Mutti was upset and apologized extensively with the
doctor, but does not look at my foot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With a lot of
kids at the same time we are at a clinic. In the entrance of the door stands a
doctor,who will cut out our tonsils. He gives a speech, where the mothers are.
He promises the kids (I think he overlooks me) a scooter with square wheels, if
they are very sweet.I am furious. I also want a scooter with square wheels, but
he has not promised me anything and I don’t want to go with them in. Without
mother , all doctors and nurses and strange big stools….And PAIN! With force
they opened my mouth, there is pain and blood in my throat. Panic!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Later on I got a present from Mutti, but not a
scooter with square wheels.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The front
room is the children’s room. The curtains, the cushions on the home made
plywood stools, the tablecloth, the curtain for the home made cupboard- everything
is covered in thin light blue material with small yellow and pink flowers. I
have a lot of toys, more than other children. My father makes a lot . I think
that he also made the furniture and the lamp.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But I am
rather at my auntie Jo, who lives behind us and has eight children. There it is
always busy and cozyThat is where I would rather eat, not at home, sometimes
Mutti eats there too.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Looking back,
it seems like I come from far away. Another time, different atmosphere. The noise outside
overwhelms me here. Then the reassuring noise
of the refrigerator takes over.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back. Other
memories.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Across the
street is a sweet shop. Sometimes I get a whole penny to buy sweets.Then I go
with Jetje or with a girlfriend to look for what I want.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We always go
with a group of children, with a grown up , to the Frobel school. Then we pass
by a wasserete . Mutti is so beautiful, I am so proud when she comes with us.
Or if we go somewhere else. We go out a lot, also on visits. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Memories of
scenery, stage curtains, hollow-sounding voices and ballet practice rooms with
piano music.I am in a ballet group with other little ones But Mutti is
also very musical: she can sing and
dance and loves the theatre…<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">( Years later
I went with my father on a visit to a family Schubert. They came out Wenen and
knew my mother. And me as a small girl. Their home was a revelation, so
well-known and familiar to me. But the people, Mr. and Mrs. Schubert, I did not
remember.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti is
proud to make me beautiful. I remember a pink and white woolen skirt with very
nice buttons. A tartan dress of silk with a white lace apron, white silk socks
and black patent leather shoes.I feel the material now as I think about it…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Images… They
keep coming, tumbling over each other in their haste to reveal their self to
me. I write key words in order not to forget them, not one can escape now, how
they whirl together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">31.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Argument
between my parents. The swing hangs from the doors to the veranda in the back.
They sit together around the table, maybe playing a game- and so I try
to swing that I can catch my father out. That poor sweet man.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
vision. I am in a holiday camp in Petten on the sea. Specially set up for the
sickly. I get there a sickness, perhaps nostalgia. It must be winter, a hard
winter. My beautiful Mutti is brought in with bloody legs and lies beside me in
the hospital ward. She has walked
far through deep snow and the hard top
layer has broken her silk stockings and rubbed her legs broken
.But she is with me again. She has to stay in bed longer than me. I don’t
remember any more, apart from that I don’t want to lose sight of her again.
Except when I go to the Frobel school. I made so many nice things and have
brought them home for her: a doily for the tea chest (with the coffee set) made by folding a countless number of times silk paper; and beautiful
things made of wire and colored
beads, such as a swing with side posts and a doll ( with a picture) on it. The
picture I made again in the Martha Foundation , I now remember.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
Frobel school , I remember a party. I have to run with a young boy to win a
glass of lemonade .There is two glasses: In one of them is real orangeade, the
other is colored on the inside. I win! And I pick the good glass too. He is
very mad. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A warm spring
morning. The sun has just risen. I stand with Mutti by the Bata. My father
works there. Airplanes fly overhead. Noise , bomb craters .My mother falls to
her knees , throws her hands before her face and begins to scream and cry.
War “Oh no, My God no!” Everywhere
people, everywhere panic. My father? I don’t know. My sweet , beautiful Mutti
is bleeding and crying. In my memory I am completely rigid and only see the
image and hear noise. horrible noise.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">32.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Swimming in
th e sports fund bathson the Heiligeweg. I heard later that as a baby I could
swim. But there is panic, as I a toddler climb to the top of the diving board
and was suddenly discovered on the edge
of the shelf.UI was caught by a man. Mutti cried from shock.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We sleep in
the alcove ,the room in between . Beside
the back (living) room frosted glass sliding doors, which could make the
living room bigger ; beside the front
room with a wooden door .On both sides
was a bed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti often
wears a brooch from the Stefan Church in Vienna, where we must have lived. I
see the colors now before me. I find that the most beautiful thing and I climb
up on her lap often , just to see it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Vienna. From
Vienna I remember little or nothing. A large, gray, barrack- like building
where all voices sound very hard. A big garden like a park. Or is it a park?
There I also have an Omama, that in my
memory is very big and stately, Many and very big stairs and very high. You
still see that in old films.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As I dive
into the past again without clear memories, at least without images.The feeling
of very fine porcelain The scents, the
scent of earl grey tea ,bergamot, roses, the under scent of certain perfumes, from
freesia’s: That was the scents of Mutti.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I must have
been a smart child. Bilingual, with a large vocabulary in both Dutch as East
German. And with only a faint notion of the dramas that took place around me
and the tension of the impending war. Then it was just very lucky.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">33.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And suddenly
it was over.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One of the
last things I remember from the Vrolikstraat, the bomb crater is nearby, at the
corner of Van Woustraat. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">19 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After all
these years, is now (of course completely unjustified, I realize that though)
great anger towards my niece Ilse, her half brother Kurt and half sister
Inge (my cousins ), not even a little
time to share with me .After Vienna- and from there I only have a photograph- I
never saw them again. Anyway Ilse has regular contact with Inge .Or is Hilda, her
mother and my aunt ( Muttis sister) responsible for that? Ilse has stayed in
England at Inge’s and sometimes Inge comes to Amsterdam. Ilse has worked on a
kibbutz. Ilse has kept her mother. Ilse is not to balame , no one is to blame.
These things just happen like that. But she has kept a whole family. I lost
everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">34.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Would
her mother not be responsible for the only child of her
sister? She survived, my mother was
killed. Maybe I was not really happy at hers , but I had family. Family in Amsterdam, in ,England, Austria( Vienna) and
Israel . Ilse kept those contacts. I never had them. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bitterness is
not necessary and not good .But I still have to get rid of it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight I
read on teletext about the first really
anti-Semitic demonstration in Eastern Europe. And the decision by the Arab
countries to engage in a "holy war" against Serbia (for the Muslims
in Bosnia).<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fear strikes,
Nostradamus was right? Literally, also was the misery in Iraq predicted by him.
In 1994, Europe would be at war with Islam, and warnings would not help.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Wait and watch as Europe and Israel will
perish and America will get involved too late? So then we get World War III.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Teletext ,
Page 312. Budapest. Tens of thousands of demonstrators against the president
and against the management of the Hungarian television. The Democratic Front
had warned against Jewish power.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Teletext,
page 313.If this "holy war" would continue - there is Iran an army
ready, says teletext- and if only if Saudi Arabia is against, what's going to
happen here? All those tens of thousands of young, rudderless Muslims who are
aware to be Muslims if they want nothing "to do", they will find a
purpose in this so-called holy war? A purpose to live for, an ideal? Ah heaven, then Europe will indeed be
overwhelmed by Islam, but other than
Nostradamus meant . Who predicted that the threat would come from Iran.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">35.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There is an
enormous depression coming. I have to see . But what is the usefulness of the past, if there is nothing good to expect from the
future? I wrote that in a poem in 1956, when there was an uprising in Hungary.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Perhaps there is no future to live in<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">So we almost stand still naturally.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">It seems to me, it is
far better to stay<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Than to perish in the future.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I'm just here to do something else. Read Paul's
letters. He has everything I write on
the computers , and sends me the prints with a letter. Memories and things that
happen to him now, that never were related to me. About how he and his friends,
shortly after the war, were driven by nerves and panic to cause a massive blow to the garden of the Jewish family of Juultje .How much he regretted it later. How easily
he rolled over the war, his memories are
colored by his awakened wanderers
spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the newspaper Het Parool from 27 August ( why have
I not read that before now?) writes Chawwa Wijnberg: “The feeling of sadness,
anger and despair, which we (the children) as it were victimized ...)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">She forgot to mention the fear and fundamental
loneliness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I dreamed of a shindig in someone’s room. There was a
beaten up bed.Nobody danced with me, I desperately did my best to look as happy
as the others that were available.I suggested to them that we sit on the bed ,
but they did not want to do that. On leaving, someone showed me out and I just walked outside in the darkness.
Left the others behind me, and they went the other way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">36.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> And I woke up
afraid. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And last night I dreamed of earthquakes and noise and
trapped between the people and I could
not go anywhere. I realized in the dream that that was the safest place
to be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I have written to Ilse , and told her what I can
remember, or thought I could. I have asked her if she can tell me more. Maybe
her mother Hilda has told her things about my mother, my grandparents , about
Vienna. Maybe that will help me to remember things again. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">21 September 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I want to try to continue. I have yet to discover a wide no man's land between
Mutti and the Martha foundation.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I
find it very scary and it's all very murky. If I cannot find it, I must use violence. It wears me out, but also makes me stubborn.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">At the beginning of this week I close this book and
send it to Dorine to read. Then after we have spoken about it , I take it back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">24 September 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Dorine agreed to once again pick up the image of my
mother. Like that , that is potentially imposed by my father and my family.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And try to find an answer to the question to what
extent it has affected my self-imposed image. And so my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Where I'm going and where I come from?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">37.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Despite sleeping pills I have not slept in two nights.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I'm too busy with voluntary work and
obligations thereabouts, then again, I also feel the desire to let that go and
come to myself. Does not work. Tired,
muscle and bone pain. I get up again at
05:15 and have put on coffee.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Pondered
about errors and heartlessness present in others, about shortcomings in my
work. I talk too much. I've never been this way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">39. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">October<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">41.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">1 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I have fallen
into a massive depression and have layed everything (temporarily) down.
And I again feel guilty about that .... I was yesterday during a meeting
sitting at home so nervous that it was not fun anymore.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">It is necessary to prepare an event for
17 and 18 October, but I stuttered, could not get my words out, belittled
myself and understood little.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I
feel spiritually paralyzed me and have pain all over my body. Why? What is
happening to me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Jessica, my daughter has read the memories to Mutti.
She was happy , she said .It has given
her more information over her unknown grandma and more understanding for me. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">4 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I could not do
anything the last few days. There was actually
so much work to do that I was
torn to continue, between my
desire with this book and my "love and devotion to duty" for the work
that must end 17 December, when the
municipal Platform Global Awareness is installed.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">All preparations for this swallowed my
time, my energy and my money.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> I had already given up the trade union work in
the past month, as well as my contacts
with council and commission.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Jessica had warned me that my dive in the past would
take my energy. She seems to have been right. It is still scary and it is still
not known if it is really worth it all:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I, the Jewish middle aged daughter, grew up in a
"Christian" environment, have come during this quest at a point where
I am searching for my Jewish roots. But precisely because of my past I hear,
and I feel, no longer at home in the Jewish community. What the latter may be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">42. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Anyway, here we go: the image I have of my mother. A
real image I have not so clear. A small, muscular woman, slim.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And quite striking, very large eyes,
well dressed, sometimes chic.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Sometimes happy, sometimes aloof.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I don’t remember hug parties, nor things we did together.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">However, we were inseparable, which is
pretty normal for a single mother with a child.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Yet there must be, outside of the described memory, an
image that appeals to reality.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Though
the knowledge from the past (not the
Memories), the fleeing and the fears of
the rising anti-Semitism before the war, persecutions, bring back real memories that I'm mentally
maimed by them. The image stays the same: My beautiful , sweet Mutti.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">My father has told me about the fleeing to and from Vienna . He told me
about Hilda , whom we went together to
visit.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And
he also told me that, years after the divorce, when he was long
just friends with
"mother" that he still loved
Olga . Her eyes, he could not forget them. At the same time, he really gave me
the picture with a woman, who was immensely irritated by his lack of willpower,
Only in 1963 I was, here, facing my past. I received from the Red Cross proof
of her death.perseverance and ambition.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">She herself had, after all, despite social opposition,
won gold medals at the Workers' Olympics in Budapest.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That were immediately snatched away at
the border control in Germany, was another matter. He, my father had on his
marriage abandoned his studies in state economy to support his family. He could
not find any work in the crisis. For the support he worked in the DUW (social service’s)., but I don’t know if his
marriage was already over or not. That was the picture my father gave. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">43.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Although he was a sweet, gentle man, he did not make
it with Olga, who must indeed have possessed so much more perseverance and
rationality. This is clear from what she has achieved in athletics, her
survival instinct, but also from the circles in which she must have been. Artists, theatre, musicians and the likes
of did not fit at all with the soft,
pliant and pure leftist worker boy who was my father.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I actually believe that from Olgas side, that it was a
marriage of rational considerations. However, he was lost from the moment he
saw her.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That
he called her “hard” afterwards, I can understand now but it does not change
the image I have of her. That has something of defenselessness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">So far as I remember , we never talked about her in
our family. She is hushed and I was “the
poor small child” . Literally hushed .When I was at my first hiding place , at
the aunt from my father’s side, I must have asked when Mutti was coming back.”</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Do not complain, we'll see when she
comes back. be quiet, now it should be
over. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">No proof of her existence ever after.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A little understandable when one remembers how it was
at the time. At each address it must
look as if I belonged. And a child who complains about when Mutti was returning, was a danger
for her surroundings. The questions and even the memory was so very
quickly suppressed and eliminated by the mental and physical coercion from
outside.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And
the multitude of impressions, all relocations and new environments and the
induced fears, the memories indeed disappeared. Nobody, apart from my father ,
had ever talked with me about my mother. Also after the war. It was- suddenly-
aborted. Only in 1963 was I, suddenly, confronted with my past. I
received from the Red Cross proof of her death. .A “Wiedergutmachungsgeld” from
Germany, which I can use to benefit my family.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Only in that time, when I had received that relatively
small amount, I was wondering if there is somewhere maybe someone still alive
who my mother was.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Despite
the obituary. Because I had two small children and a million
questions. I looked at every Jewish looking woman – Maybe she was the one? I
wrote to Israel, when I saw on television a woman that I thought looked like
Olga.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">44.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">As I got older, my feelings denied this
understanding of this.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">There is bullying children's game in which the
children stand in a circle with a child in the middle.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That one child with a hard push is
hurled to another. After such a shove you try to regain equilibrium, but before
you succeed in it, you get pushed again by another child. When you
think you are standing well
, you
are pushed before you can regain balance. That is the image I
have from my childhood.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Once
I was with someone, I could hold someone. That brings a new memory in the
light. Me holding Mutti’s hand, always.
In the tram on her lap,</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">me
doing most of the talking. I belonged
with her, I held on to her. The image I have of myself from earlier years,
after the disappearance of Mutti , is of
that child in the center of the circle.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Here in this falt in Nieuwengein, where I live from
1981, there has been change.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Divorced from my second husband, the children grown
up,I</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">left
my soul in ” prayer” in charity work.
That is also a way of hiding from myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> But I am
myself, Erica van Beek.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A
woman for whom I could respect, despite her bouts of depression, crazy
reactions, and panic states.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">There Paul and Dorine have played a big part in. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">45.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">9 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Yesterday I started with Dorine the
processing, and we agreed
that they would inquire about my mother
at the State Archives. The next time we will discuss when we will look for Olga
in barracks 41/0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A picture of me as a toddler with a hat
on, has on the back the year 1939 .I was then four years old and back in
Amsterdam.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A
fact that raises no recollection .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">46. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Erica in 1939<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">47. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">From Olgas letter from Westerbork to Aunt Hilda, I
took it that they had to report to the prison at the Amstelveensweg, because
she had not sewn but had pinned her star.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">From there, they should be sent directly to Westerbork
and Auschwitz.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">When
Olgas sister, my aunt Hilda died, I received from her daughter Ilse, out of her
legacy, a letter and a telegram written from Westerbrok. It was thus that I
finally collapsed and could do nothing
with the feelings that arose.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The telegram from Olga from Westerbrok<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The facts as I know them now at a glance:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">8 September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Letter that she is transported to Westerbrok:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">10 September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Telegram from Westerbrok;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">14September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Official date of death in Auschwitz.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">48.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The first hiding place:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Bestevaerstraat 19 -high. Before that I was for a time
in the Bellamy- straat, anyway on the 11 August 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Mutti must have disappeared around about my seventh
birthday.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Since that birthday fell on a Saturday (found on the
perpetual calendar) there is to think of a family member , in this case
certainly, that took me in because Olga had to report on Monday, 3 August 1942
at the Amstelveenseweg.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then, on September 8, she writes that
she's " deported" to Westerbrok.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That was a
"Wednesday". The telegram of September 10 was in vain. The next following day that the
train left to Auschwitz was Tuesday 14 September, the same date as her official
date of death!</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Indeed,
the trains always left on Tuesday?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That can mean two things. The first is that she did
not survive the journey . The second , that she indeed was “murdered” directly
when she arrived. However, it could mean , that she never arrived in Auschwitz
dead or alive….or never even left….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Help. I don’t understand!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then in the
Bellamystraat…. Was I there for a short time by Hilda and did I
arrive on 11 August 1942 in the
Bestevaerstraat by Marie and Bart? Or at her parents?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the Simon Sttevinstraat, in my memory a street
behind, I was by Marie and Bart.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Between 11 August 1942 and 15 December 1942, there is
a series of addresses. After the Simon Stevinstraat the Keizergracht. By whom?
After that the Prinsengracht, I also can’t remember . De Eerste
Leliedwarsstraat, in the middle of the Jordaan. A crooked house with sloping
floors.It stood under construction for many years.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I remember that I must have been at a
cousin of my father.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That
the sloping floor was broken and the furniture too and smelly. Wooden floor and
a damp stinking kitchen. The people there could not do anything about it : The
houses were not maintained. In a room lay a pile of patches or blankets, that
is where I slept. In another room there was a window that looked upon a house,
where Chinese people lived. Sometimes if I look outside and
saw the boys with their beautiful white shirts and their black trousers. I
found them soooo beautiful!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">49.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">After that in Hoorn , Keern number 32 or 24. A sister
of my father, aunt Bets, married with Aart den Ouden, three children. That was
a real family.I slept with their daughter in one bed.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">We went after the harvest searching
opium poppy. That was in the Kennemerland. The stubble in the country
short mowed grass caused bleeding legs and feet. How was
the reaction to that? I don’t know anymore. All that we
could find we put in the pants with
elastic in the legs and was given at
“home". Sometimes we kept apples or pears for ourselves and we eat them in
bed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the town center was a peacock cage and the school
was nearby.I went to the school with a neighbor boy, whose parents were
informants. This is less of a memory than what I was told later. The Germans
marched by our house, singing ”Auf der Heide bluht ein kleines Blumelein und
dass heisst Erika…” And me, with my
Austrian background pulled on the trouser leg of the sergeant and said: “Ikch
heiss auch Erika.”</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">However,
on the shoulders of the Germans I've been several times to school. Then I was
soon gone from Hoorn.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then I again ended up with Marie and Bart. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In Amsterdam North, Vijfde
Vogelstraat 17. </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Marie
was hard. Father said that he had fled
from the “Arbeitseinsatz” and came home.
He lived a distance of twenty five meters away and came to visit me, and caught
Marie , just as she was giving me a beating. It must have been a hard quarrel
before he retrieved me and took me to grandpas. I was not allowed to see Marie
again. That was not necessary; I now had grandpa and the two neighbor boys Henk
and Erich. And I had the only happy half a year of my youth, since my mother’s
disappearance.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Marie took revenge and reported me.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Probably at the Council for Child
Protection. On the 15 December 1943, a cold, wet, dark day, I was again removed
and brought to the Martha Foundation, then in Nieuwersluis. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, there
is a very clear result. That Rivka (Ella) has informed several times to me.
That I have interested! Family, only it never was told me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What remained
was a lie. And denial. In this case, two different things. But that’s another
story.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
immediately written back to Ilse and told her that I have received a letter
from Olly. I hesitate to send her a copy of it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> 6 November 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Ilse,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am writing
back straight away. Thank you very much for your letter. Now I can write back
to Schachter. I had already written
evidence about mother's death, but now I can explain to him how it is.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the meantime
I have received a letter from aunt Olly. I will send you a copy, but hesitate
because she did not- how shall I say this- write so friendly about your mother.
Let me know if you wish to receive the letter-and you can.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As for me, I
want to find the truth. Olly is not so young anymore and it was a hectic time
then. But I must do it with hypotheses. These are often 'ouch'. Would I
however, be reconciled with the past, then I will have to continue for the time
being to write. A journalist friend wants to make a book of my quest. And the
KRO wants to dedicate a radio show to it.
This came about because of ads I've posted in the hope that there are
still people alive who knew Olga .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, nil comma
zero reactions. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the book
that I am writing, about the hiding, the Martha Foundation, and the like
are discussed, but mainly my search for
Olga.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Meanwhile I
have, thanks to you, a past back that is mine. A kind of wholeness, whereas
before my life began only in my early adulthood and all that had happened to
"another child named Erica '. You understand? Thanks again.
Wholeheartedly. We are getting closer, you notice that too?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Very cordial
greetings and until the next letter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">77.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Indeed, I am
aware that, where this story began as a personal process, it is now my mother's story. I think it is about the
fact that I want to know these things, she could have told me if she not- so
young - had been killed. Others, including Jessica, hear the stories of home
and about the past. That is the most normal thing in the world!! ouch- in this
paradise, that is called the
Netherlands.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's very
selfish and I have never felt so self-centered and prepared. But I consciously
try the pain, the anguish, the misery and the flights and keep fleeing from day
to day all those millions.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Because I
have to live in my life. And so far it has not been. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tomorrow
firstly I will write back to Schachter
and aunt Olly. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">11 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The anniversary of Jacobs’s death. I am thinking back to that hopeless, terrible
day, six years ago. Looking for the poem that I wrote. And another, that I
wrote as I was mourning for Jacob in 1986.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">78. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jacob<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have known
you- and not known you my child <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- I have a
picture of you, that is called Jacob;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And image of
rebellion, fury and suffering<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That binds
you to my past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I have built a picture of you, my child,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That put his
arms around me and held my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not the boy
who destroyed his life<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> But
one who finds life fearful and unlivable.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That scared
and angry and on the run<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> in life never found a shelter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and disbanded
from his fear by his death<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I loved you,
my child that we knew.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
powerless, I watched how you<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">have wounded
yourself so deadly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Nieuwegein, 1986<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">79.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who wants to
hear<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">how trumpeter
grief<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who will not
run away<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my
nocturnal crying….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hear how the
land<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">shakes under
my feet thumping<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">looking
crying<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Screaming for
my children....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">their hunters<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">continue to
be injured<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And flee<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my
boundless grief ...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">About him and
his name<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">can turn
around<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Flights as I
approach<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">come seeking
solace…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want their
names<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">not know him
forget<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Never love
again no more<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">do not be
complicit….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do not come
closer<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I liked you
even trust<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Again
memories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">should be to
what was….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And who wants
to hear….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">80.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">11 November,
later<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I still have
written the letter to Schachter. With "urgent" on the envelope.
Because in the mailbox was a letter from the 'Division for Personal
Commemoration,' say 'the department Commemoration of Persons ":<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">"We
propose to inform that one page witness statement to commemorate your loved
ones, family and friends, who lost their lives in the Holocaust, are added.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Pages of
Testimony will be included in the computer and stored in the Hall of Names at
Yad Vashem. A second notice with the names registered shall be sent to you next
month. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, hasty
and erroneous data<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If I have
ever had the illusion that humanity has become wiser and better, it is now
absolutely over. At the time of Gorbachev, I still had hope. Ethnic and
nationalist wars that since robbery and especially in the 'civilized' Europe
have broken make me realize that humanity has learned nothing. I have always
expressed the opinion that the "masses" consists of individuals, who
each have their responsibilities with respect to themselves and their fellow
men. I take the view back without extreme bitterness, but with the sad
realization that it was an illusion. The "dumb masses indeed. The masses
seem to have a need for a negative individual, projecting above ground level,
head and shoulders. His pursuit the ideals of the global village? The only
thing that still exists thereof is the data of the news distributionA message
from the newspaper yesterday, a headline: 'Bosnia Muslims are actually
threatened with extinction. ‘<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the world
is watching.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
passed the pieces from my tray from the town hall. And immediately an alarm
bell was raised. For the new municipal
identitieskaart is a counterpart of what the (jew) got on the Ausweiss: an
asterisk with a number (eg * 76 468.) For Moluccans!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">'Moluccans'
indeed have a 'special status' in the Netherlands. But the name and picture
together should be sufficient recognition? Along with the smear campaign
against so-called illegal immigrants gives me the conviction that the
"Ausweiss bitte," mandating us of wearing - and showing-
identification at any request is only a matter of time. And then the shift to the
right and nationalism also struck here. Because only 'real' Dutch have a
municipal identification.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course I
have taken the necessary steps. Also to get this publicity, but you have to
wait and see how it is picked up and whether one sees the danger.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Below the letter in translation I wrote to
Rabbi Schachter enclosing a copy of Olgas note, her telegram and the evidence
of her death.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
11 November1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Rabbi
Schachter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My heartfelt thanks
for your letter of 16-10-'92, but above all for your loving attention.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As you can
understand it for me indeed a shock to have read and found out that there is
already a Page. I needed a few days to get over the shock and to discover that
the story in the Page was wrong with the reality.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This morning
I received a note from the 'Division for Personal Commemoration,’ my mother is
registered on the basis of your story. Please, undo, it was too fast, too
hasty. I do not blame you, you were full of good intentions and truly believed
in what you found.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Truth is, I
send you:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 An almost
illegible note, which my mother wrote on the way to Westerbrok on Wednesday 8
September 1942, to her sister Hilda. The original can be found in the
Resistance Museum in Amsterdam;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2 A copy of a
telegram that my mother sent to her sister from Westerbrok on September 10,
1942. The original of this is found in the Resistance Museum in Amsterdam;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 An excerpt
from the municipality of Amsterdam, which shows that my mother, Olga Bock, was murdered in
Oswiecim (Auschwitz) in Poland, and that she was the daughter of Jozefa Karpfen
and Armin Bock. Also showing that she had been married to Jacob van Beek, my
father;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4 Finally, a
letter from the Dutch Red Cross information office.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last two
letters I received, as you can see, already in 1963, when I was married with my first husband. They were the only
evidence, then, that I had, that she had ever lived. Many years later, when my
mother's sister died, I received that note and that telegram. And that was
that. Make from it your own story...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now, after
receiving your last letter, I tried to get in touch with Ilse, the daughter of
my mother's sister. That sister survived and died about ten years ago. I
translate for you part of the letter I received:*.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Until there
the letter I received from my cousin.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When I
received your letter, I thought that I was crazy or had a wrong picture in my
mind of the past. It took a while before I realized that that was not the case
and that no second Olga Bock existed with the same background. One possibility
was then, that the Israeli cousin had her own story about my mother, which I
discovered, was true, as you see. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> As for my father is the following. He was not
a Jew, but he did not get me after the war to take care of me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*see page 74.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">83.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda would
not do that *, as I have discovered. So I had to stay in that very Christian
orphanage until I was 19 years old. And I had to forget everything (had
forgotten all) of my first childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The truth
about my life and that of my mother is really complicated. I have to rediscover my past and my memories now.
That's why I try to write down on that quest, everything about that trip to the
past. A good friend, a journalist, is willing to make a real book. Not to get a
bestseller, but for my children, my ex-husband and my friends: who are
interested in my mental journey.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I hope you that you will give my mother the
ultimate right in the Page, to fill in the new found truth. This letter is the
report for The Hall of Names. I will be very grateful if you would change the
existing one.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A picture of
my mother and me as a little child (I have changed a bit over the past fifty
years) is now re-created and if necessary I will send it to you in due course.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
unfamiliar uncle or cousin, I will not write, but maybe would you be so kind as
to tell him what I have written?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally, I
would like to express my greatest gratitude, and I hope you will write me back.
You are at this moment the thread that connects me to Yad Vashem, the place
where my mother will get a fair and beautiful place, where she is at home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* Or had they
no authorization for that purpose? There is evidence? I could not find any..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">84.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">13 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today the
papers are again full of terrible things that are happening in the former
Yugoslavia. Murders, mutilations, rapes.... How will the survivors continue to
live? Demonic primitiveness still requires an equally primitive response:
Bombard the so-called purified areas where Serbs live alone. A little each day
until they surrender. Naturally, hundreds of innocent will die, but on the
other hand maybe the horror finally ends and the other population group not
only feels avenged, but not otherwise is wiped out and can return to their
place. That is never going to be good between the people and the neighboring
countries. Now if there was only intervention! Before Muslims come to 'help'
from the Middle East. Oh, poor Yugoslavia, what should it be?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In the Netherlands there is still hope left.
Saturday, November 14 at the Tropical Museum in Amsterdam a meeting of the
Labour Party 'adorned' with a pocket
line of AFKA, Anti Fascism Committee Amsterdam, to show that not all the
Netherlands is behind the smear campaign against illegal immigrants.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Good, further
with my mental journey. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">14 November <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet to go
back to yesterday. The meeting of the Labour Party was due to 'circumstances
‘not in Amsterdam but in The Hague. And according to the, I would say,
naturally present ME, there was only fifty autonomists that demonstrated and
therefore naturally were beaten away and had to be arrested.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fortunately
it penetrates to the media that the smear campaign against illegal immigrants
is wrong. Refugees or not, but everything is lumped together! An embarrassment
for politics? Am I not a voice of the people? Such things affect me deeply!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">85.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Following is
the translation of the letter I wrote today to aunt Olly in London. In itself a
partial evaluation, actually only scheduled for late December.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Thank you
very much for your letter. It answered very many questions that I had all my
life. I am sorry that you know so little, but what you do know, brought back so
many memories again and made me aware again of many things.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is a
very long letter, prepare yourself then for?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ilse has also
helped me a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
tell what I remember, or have come to learn or have read.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My father,
Jaap, who died on 28 November 1976, has always told me that he continued to
love Olga his entire life. In 1938 (of'37), he begged Olga to marry him again,
for her own and my safety. She refused, probably left Vienna when he came there
and told him according to his own words, to marry Hilda, because she would,
with her two children need him a lot more. That would be the reason (can) he
married Hilda, according to him, just to help Hilda and her two children. I
suppose neither Olga nor Jaap knew anything about the fact that you would take her
with her two children to England. As it is told, Jaap went to Amsterdam and
Hilda soon followed. They had both before and during the war, often the same
address, but never lived together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga and I
came back later to Amsterdam. As Hilda told Ilse, still a little
surprised: "She came sailing down
the Danube." Ilse had her own image
(by the way it was talked about)
from the book Uncle Tom's Cabin: Eliza, jumping from ice floe to ice floe on
the Ohio River, to escape the slave trader and to save herself and her child .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">86.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It must have
been a very traumatic journey and an escape in the nick of time to Holland.
Jews were then no more allowed public transport, train or bus travel. I have no
memories of that, even though I was there. Never mind. I will leave it at that.
Maybe my fears, panics and bad dreams are the root cause.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When Olga was
taken away in August '42, she assumed that I was safe with Hilda, according to
the note she wrote just before she reached camp Westerbrok. Shortly after began my life as a so-called "Hidden
Child.” There followed a number of addresses, where I, as a Jewish child was
not really welcome. Until I came in the winter of '43 to that very Christian,
very cruel orphanage, where I remained until my nineteenth year. When I was 'free'
from there , I had to my knowledge no
other real family other than my father,
who over the years, faithfully visited me each visiting day. Oh yes, I knew
Aunt Hilda, Louis and Ilse, I had some relatives on Jaap's side, and to kill
some time I had visited them with Jaap (very rarely I had permission to go with
him for a few days in my summer holidays).But there was no family ties,
not with Hilda, nor with Jaap's side. I
also don’t remember anything about the brief encounter with you and Inge. There
must have been from the beginning simply too much sadness, anger and trauma in
me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Now I have to deal with that past. There is
indeed much to forgive, especially Hilda, who during and after the war
abandoned me .Her child and she were quite safe because she was married to my
father, a non-Jew. Yet Ilse and Hilda sat in Westerbrok for a time, but came
out safely, through that marriage, I think. After the war, Jack and Hilda got
divorced straight away, so she could marry Louis.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last
eleven years I have been very active for ‘disabled *’ for refugees, gypsies,
for society in all its forms.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">87.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As a
volunteer. I had and have no ordinary pension. It is a pension for victims of
persecution, especially Jewish people. Just like my grandmother Joszefa (Ilse
wrote to me about her), a militant woman of the labor movement. I have even
been, for a number of, a member of the Communist Party of the Netherlands,
which no longer exists. I chose the wrong husbands and separated from them. The
wrong lovers and discontinued that relationship again. Now I'm grateful that I
live alone since my now adult daughter Jessica has left home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Returning to
Hilda: I, but also, Inge and Kurt have her, I think, to forgive, a lot. I will
reach that pointof forgiveness in the near future. I am slightly conscious of
the fact that I'd never have been the same helpful woman, if things had turned
out otherwise. Do you understand what I mean? Life is just the way it is and
I've been through it, for whatever reason. We will have to accept and live our
lives. While the rest of the world is just about on fire. I agree with you,
that it is terrible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back to your
letter. I think it was the excuse that
Hilda could not get me back because she had been married to my father. * But I
want to believe that she was unable to bring me up because of everything that
had happened before and maybe Louis did not want me. Ilse has never been able
to understand this and despite her loyalty to her mother, she is in her heart
still angry, about much bigger things, but also because of me. I can understand
.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*however, it
may have been true. Only recently was it publicized in publications that the
Child Protection used that excuse at the time. Better Christian than Jewish,
they found.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">88.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now about
Olga. As I have discovered recently, the
following things happened:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-On September
8, 1942 she was released from prison in Amsterdam, where she was detained for
the simple fact that her 'star' was pinned instead of sewn. The Germans are
still very 'gründlich' as you know.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-On September
10 she sent a telegram to Hilda from
Westerbrok to send her the Aryan papers of Jack, but it was too late,
because<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- On
September 11 '42 she died in Auschwitz. The journey lasted three days.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is true
according to all the information that I have, official and informal. So that
should be accepted. She fortunately only suffered for a short time. And now I
am able to bury her, to give her a grave and a Page of Testimony at Yad Vashem
in the Hall of Names in Jerusalem, for the victims of the Holocaust. And now I
am able to remember my mother and some of my childhood. That heals me in a way;
it makes me whole, so to speak. A woman with a past that I previously could not
remember because of the terrible things that had happened. With "Today"
writing, thinking and remembering. And with a future, long or short, but worth
living.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That is what
I mean by ‘whole’. And perhaps cured, healed, through that journey into the
past itself. And at my age, 57 years old! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Only that
part of Hilda keeps crossing my mind. I'll have to think over and over, until I
can forgive her. Can you understand that? Oh yes, I have still something to
ask.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From what
Jaap has told me about Olga, about you and about Vienna, I always understood
that you and Olga were great friends.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">89.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe indeed
just because of the sports club, as you wrote. But really not above that level?
How is it that Jaap admired you so much, almost worshiped you? Only because of
your part in this tragedy in Vienna? Or because you were good friends with Olga
and her family? Her best friend, whom she trusted, like Hilda trusted in Olga?
Maybe Hilda was very much a dependent, very childlike and she could not make
decisions for herself or defend herself? You and Olga must have been strong
personalities, you were well-qualified sportswomen. Maybe she felt more or less
forced into what she did, first by Olga and others, later by Lois. My father
had therein little to say. It would explain a lot of things, if that was so.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today,
everywhere with wars and misery in the world and especially in Eastern Europe,
with refugees, I am also not able to let
any of them stay in my house, legal or illegal. It would break me. Do
you understand what I'm saying? Oh, I want to reach that point of forgiveness!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Would you
please write me back? Even if you think you cannot really tell me anything of
what happened or cannot help me further.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Until then,
I'm still sincerely yours,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">15 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So, that has
put everything nicely in a list. Albeit superficial , about my lovers is not
quite honest .Only one of them was a jerk and I realized that almost too late.
The one that I cannot mention here, still has a big place in my heart. Life
itself made and end to our relationship. And Paul, oh well. I loved him very
much, but we did not fit spiritually together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">90.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> My frustrated soul could not bear his
affection towards his ex-wife and ex-girlfriends. Superficially seen, pure
jealousy. But it was not that alone. In a love relationship, I should feel
perfectly safe, and that I was not. I always enjoyed what he did, his writing
and his poetry; have learned everything I know of graphic art from him. But a
relationship, a lasting bond of love was something impossible. Fortunately, we
can now be close friends. Now I trust him so much that I have asked him to help
make this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A little
reminder comes up with a few notes during commercials.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Kommt ein Vogel geflogen<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Setzt sich nieder auf mein Fuss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hat ein Breifel in sein Schnabel<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Von der Mutti ein Gruss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leiber Vogel fleig weiter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nimm ein Kuss mit und ein Gruss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Denn ich kann dich nicht begleiten<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Weil ich hier bleiben muss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">En dan<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hoppe hoppe reite<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wer da fallt der schreit er<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fallt er in den Graben<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fressen ihn die Raben<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fallt er in den Plumpf Macht der
Reiter ‘Humpf’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There will
sometime come back more songs. It shows that as a child I had singing and music
played to me. About that fact itself I remember nothing. At the Mulo we learned from our German
teacher songs like ‘Das Standchen’ from Schubert and Weihnachtslieder as ‘Schlaf wohl, du susser kleine du' that I
knew how to play at once and that just
came to my mind now. It was already in there! Strange, that it just comes to
mind now. Hey Erica, remain rational<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">91. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have given
myself a bunch of phlox as a gift. It smells overwhelming. It is mid-November;
imagine it, an engine will not start from the cold and damp. I sit with my butt
almost touching the heater. Behind my back, it is almost winter and my nose
smells mid-summer. Crazy huh? That is only in this crazy frog country.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">17 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today was
again a puzzle of the past. First with
Dorine then later with Elma.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is
impossible to continue to do this rationally. My throat is tight and my head is
spinning still. Tonight my girlfriend An was here play a game of dice. I've kept it inside until
now, a quarter past twelve at night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine and I
went back to two key questions:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How did Olga end up in jail? And<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda, with some difficulty could she
have kept me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga was not
the type, that has now become clear that
would report under orders. It is possible that Hilda, Olga and I walked on the
street and were arrested by the (Dutch) police officer, if only because of the
stars. That Olga was picked from the street because her star was pinned. The
note makes it clear that Hilda knew! That makes Elma’s suggestion actually a
little off, that Olga was alone on the street. In the circuit to which Olga had
gathered around her there were only Jews (the names Schubert, mentioned
earlier, and Hirsch came back in my mind). They may have been someone else
walking in the street, who could have
escaped it and warned Hilda – at Olga’s
request. But the most likely explanation is still the first. They still had to
get their quantum of Jews? And she sat in a Dutch house of detention on the
Amstelveenseweg. It was at a time in the beginning of the straatrazzias, before
entire streets were taken away. Imagine how that happened. That I myself have
no reminder of that event, says nothing. Too traumatic things, at least to
me, are well shielded. But my heart is
pounding at this moment again from the fear: the most familiar and unwelcome
feeling of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">92.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga was
picked up by a Dutch policeman. They still had to get their quantum Jews? And
she sat in a Dutch house of detention on the Amstelveenseweg. It was in the
beginning of the street raids, before whole streets were picked up.
Imagine how that happened. That I myself
have no reminder of that event, says nothing. Too traumatic things, at least to
me, are well shielded. But my heart is pounding at the same time again of fear:
the most familiar and unwelcome feeling of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe I'll
get to do regression hypnosis before this book is finished. For all these
things to really face definitely.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Hilda again- according to Dorine and Elma
it is not impossible that Hilda was
really not assigned me by the OPK
(commission War Foster children) *. Because they thought that I was better off
at the Martha foundation than my own familiar family, who were not Christian.
And by a 'Pulse' had nothing more and had to start all over again. Hilda’s
guilt to Olga and later to me, rightly or wrongly - that I have no judgment on
may have meant that she later has not looked back at me. But also her character
and Louis could have contributed. I simply could not see into her heart and she
did not speak. In the next letter I write I will ask this of Aunt Olly and
Ilse. Hilda they barely knew, of course, I'm not sure if she made real trouble
for me. But those very "Christian" ladies and gentlemen of the OPK
and Child Protection Agency I can well imagine, there you need only to turn to
the book of Elma. If Hilda approached the Jewish members of the OPK, also
remains a mystery. For eternity. Okay, I want to give her the benefit of the
doubt; she has not had it so easy.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* A committee
consisting of mainly non-Jewish, very Christian people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">93. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet..... Why?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But that's
what life is sometimes, Erica. Tomorrow I will call Hedda van Gennep for more
background information on those months in '42.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A comforting
word for tonight, tomorrow is my daughter here to eat and we go happily to the
world shop, to buy groceries. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">18 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My daughter
now has read everything and actually without comment laid down the books.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I see how
important I think how she experiences it. Well, for her it is the history, the
intricate story of her mother's childhood and family. She finds it, like
Dorine, that I am changing throughout the process. I myself don’t have that
feeling yet, though I hope that it comes. Apart from Dorine I still cannot
really talk about it. It is, really complicated and the distance remains.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A result must
be, that I learn to trust again. And not to build a facade of self-awareness
and self-confidence in my personal contacts. With Dorine I can let go of it,
proud and happy with what I do and did and have achieved. With others I can
never talk about it, if it concerns me at least. About the work I did and do I
myself feel good, but I always feel as a sort of middleman and know exactly who
does things better. It has for example resulted in the identification of the
appropriate chairman of foundation * Property, which actually does it better
than I would ever do it. Or initiating and defending things that I really believed
in, but where others had to play the responsible role. Further I stay humble in the background, , and allow others the honor
that I get sometimes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*An
organization for the sole purpose of obtaining its own global center.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Am I chaotic-
still- to a demanding task with responsibility for me to take? Or am I just
"shy"?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">94.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Put me in a
room with eight hundred anonymous, it goes well. But personal contacts, with
all the warmth I feel for those people. I often hyper- ventilate. And I notice
that only when I am alone again. I realize it's not just a matter of
misanthropy, despite all the social skill.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The underlying cause is distrust in honesty of
others towards me. A wrong expression, glance or a curt answer, and I am gone.
Feel (again) rejected. Something from earlier time. I distrust such a person
for a very long time. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Fear that they see through me. That
is why I seek the attack: If you think "That man is crazy," I am at
that time also. But it passes by itself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The knowledge
of the past, of all that misery, leading to fear, significant uncertainty,
anxiety, that leads to depression does not help. It realized that again today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will that
also get better? It hinders my real development; it keeps me in second or third
place. Not that I'm ambitious. But it's a false modesty, and resulting from
fear to really stand out. It's something from the hiding and the Martha
Foundation. How do you overcome something like this? and is that really
necessary? Am I not so terribly tired of that eternal struggle with myself,
that I see ghosts? And am I not ready to take a step back and not take on
challenges or cross barriers anymore? That is the easy path. No fear of people,
personal contacts with the rest of the "family," which are not going
well currently. And no friends? I surely think to have. How uncertain and tense
that I am. It's not a solution, to become a nun? A hermit? Just now that I'm
complete? But what and how?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">95.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I not called Hedda van Gennep yet. Fear, like
with Elma, there again those fears. It was long before I was through that with
Elma, too long. How is it that I do not have that with Dorine? I then stay
rational? In the time. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I myself
think that it might have to do with being prepared. You do not feel robbed,
despite your questions.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today
Memorboek has arrived. ‘The plate’s atlas of the life of Jews in the
Netherlands from the Middle Ages until 1940’. A book almost as large and as
thick as the King James bible. All the pages reveal that this history is also
mine. I despite my not – believing but still a real Jew, unlike, yes, then
what? That I'm closer to that side than the Dutch side that represents my
father. Not so crazy, apart from the biological provability, to be a child of a
Jewish mother still being Jewish!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I made it
again today. In a regional meeting of the Association of Dutch Municipalities
over municipal global policy. I suddenly got the economist Adam Smith (right
and pure capitalist) under my nose pushed through by a VVD lady: "The
public interest is most profitably encouraged where each individual can freely
pursue his own interests."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I fumed with
rage, literally. So the world is not like that. The law of the jungle prevails
and only the strong will always be at the expense of the weak, which will never
be unimpeded or even could aspire. Think about this "Global Village,"
which is our world. I ask her this, as controlled as possible, 'How big - do
you think - is the percentage of people in our ‘Global Village ', that can
freely pursue their own interests? And is that – ethically speaking -own
interest not only appropriate to the smallest common denominator?'<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She did not
answer, but came afterwards to me to talk about it. I said- it was in the
meeting a municipal global policy, east- west and north-south relations - East
and West should never meet here because she was a follower of Adam Smith and I
of Marx.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">96.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Again there was silence, and then she said:
"But that does not mean that we have to hate each other, right?" No
it does not, but friends? At such a moment I feel again at one with the
persecuted, the oppressed, that is where I belong. Among the Jews, the Jewish
Marx, as well, if I'm honest, all oppressed peoples that come up in revolt who
flash through my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Links dead? No, but left and right do not let
the back of their tongue be seen, in order not to arouse resistance? Or are we
becoming a- political? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I should in the future be more wary of the
individual motives and self-interest, which should be pursued because in the
approach of the right it cannot go differently in practice, than at the expense
of the oppressed, in my feeling. The making of a new political awareness?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Hey discovery?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sticking to
the old values, which I - unconsciously have ingested and have tested the
breast milk and found to be correct in my adult life, Jewish huh? This is ebbing my anger.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Every day a
thread is a shirt sleeve in the year.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was putting
away my cart. An elderly man was looking about in a panic. I had seen him
before in the store when I was picking out Sharon fruit and he wanted to know
what kind of fruit it was.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It turned out that he had lost his bag of
groceries. Just put down to clear away the trolley.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">97.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
presumption that one of the clerks had taken the bag to the office, proved
correct. Radiant he appeared moments later with his bag. I had waited for the
results. He said that this was the third time and I warned him not to put down
his messages unattended anywhere. Anyway, I thought I'd go now, good evening
sir. My attitude turned out, in the mall, to make a volcano of misery. He had
been in a Japanese POW camp and was badly beaten. He had never seen his father and mother again. And
when he had found his brother, he also appeared to have died. Terrible, but he
had also been married for more than forty years and also his wife had died five
years ago. He had remarried and his second wife worked very long days so he did
the housework and shopping. A whole life just popped out there. I felt so
terribly small, to see such a man wipe away his tears. I should have left
earlier, but had to do with him. He also had a war pension, and ... Well ...
How do you make something like that loose?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today a
Womans Workshop by Women in Peace in Cunera. A long day over the former
Yugoslavia, the war in Bosnia. I had in my workshop a group leader a former Yugoslav. Can you imagine such a
thing.... they can never return. Lived here now for eight years. Family:
Bosnians, Serbs and Croats, both Christians (Orthodox and Catholic) as well as
Muslims. Everyone fought against everyone. Who is not dead or wounded, has
deserted spouse and family. The frenzy of lust, macho men that bring resentment
up thirteen centuries to find alibis for their bloodlust. The male scientists
that sit at the top, not politicians, along with the military, unscrupulous
murderers than anyone else in the world after Hitler. Those men. That anger in
me. I must do something with it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">98.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the
plenary session an appeal was made to the existing female MPs to accommodate
orphans and children of Serbian raped women in Dutch homes. That made that I,
no microphone, shouted: "And what when those children grow up?" At
first it did not go down well, but later, at the end, when I went to say
goodbye to the chairman jantien Achtseribbe, she revealed that she and Leoni
Spikes had understood me very well. They will try to keep the kids there.
Jantien told me that she was married to a Jewish man (I had my star on) and
understood me. What was somewhere in the back of my mind for a while, I
realized when I was in the rain bringing a few letters to the mailbox. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My father
told me; long ago that Olga had come for the first time to the Netherlands to
find work. I do not know whether she had any qualifications. Maybe she was just
very good at sports, who knows. So she came to The Hague, where a couple had
'hired' her, perhaps as a housekeeper like Olly, or a maid. She therefore came
as "illegal," for economic reasons here.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That night
the "Mr. and Mrs." Said that she must make herself beautiful, because
they would receive visitors. One way or another, she realized that she had not
come to an ordinary house, but a closed brothel and she managed to escape
through a window. She must have already known my father. How? Through a
socialist youth group? Or perhaps through international exchange, so then not
"illegal"? At least she had fled (already) from The Hague to
Amsterdam, to my father or to other members of that group. Shortly thereafter
she became naturalized by marrying my father.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was on
18 October 1933.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On 1 August
1935 I was born and in the beginning of '36, she must have returned from Vienna
with me. Until autumn and winter 1938, witnessed the photos, in winter clothing
which were taken in Oosterpark or Sarphatipark in Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">99.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Between
August '35 and Fall '38 they must therefore have been divorced, when Jaap could
marry in Vienna Hilda. Olly can now write that they did not know whether my
parents were then divorced, but my father certainly was not a bigamist.
Besides, the story is in that regard is clear enough. Moreover, I have a lawyer
and attorney, Plantage Middenlaan 88, in the center of Amsterdam, with a
telephone number. Probably the divorce lawyer from when we were still living in
the Czar Peter Street. So close by.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
couple of links to the chain. Or beads on the cord? We are now waiting for the
letter, which has to come from Aunt Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What else do
I need to get past some of letting myself be? Not everything has been worked
out, nor on paper or in my head.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">100.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica in
Amsterdam<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">101. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The scrap of
paper from Mr. Cooper<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">102.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The two
issues from my earliest childhood are still the flight from Vienna to
Amsterdam, and the abrupt divorce of my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
time, to the end of the hiding I can figure out the facts, which were a
predominant feeling of darkness and cold. Except for a few sunny memories from
Hoorn. The Martha Foundation, surely in Nieuwersluis has certainly brought
memories above which all the children of that time living in the west of the country must have had. And
besides that also the memories of the
house itself, the garden with its, lightning struck cedar, the lawn by the
pond, where we caught and made frogs 'tame', where we made from reed, skirts. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The owner and
his wife, who returned to their own country seat after the war, I visited
sometime around '85, to seek the past in a first attempt. They were old and
then accused me (!) that we, the children of the war had made a hole in their
hedge and that hedge was never properly mended. That was that. I had no
opportunity to see something of the house or the garden, but a weak cup of
coffee and a biscuit. Very genteel poverty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Martha
Foundation in Alphen: a lot beatings, punishment and tasks, surviving
unconsciously, belittling and never being the best of the class. In the group I
was the worst and slowest, especially at stopping socks and knitting worsted
stockings. 'Snail' van Beek, apparently no one cared anything about her,
according to stories I heard decades later.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet also some
nice memories: I told ghost stories, later, to my peers, when we were in bed
and had to be quiet. I taught them dances and was very creative with beautiful
pieces of material and cardboard and paper, for example, I made diadems for the
hair. The kindergarten, how is it possible, nevertheless it bore its fruit. In
the memories of others I was a very serious, rarely smiling girl.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In my early
memory games pink rubies (or what I mistook thereof) encased in a brooch in the
shape of a bouquet, played a role.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">103.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last week
there was an art and curio market here, striking, especially as art deco
porcelain and old dusty materials evoke nostalgic feelings in me. And by one
stall there was a brooch that did not belong there. Strasz pink rhinestones, a
bouquet with blackened metal and bronze-colored stalks. I loved it; it called a
lot of old, good feelings awake. But it was expensive at fifty guilders. I
lingered at the booth, ostensibly to look at other things. The salesman then
said suddenly, "Good lady, for ten guilders, then." Well, I got it
and am still happy with it, though it is perhaps not even worth the tenner.
Every time I see that brioche, I think of the pink rubies, which I had found as
a child so lovely. I have placed it on the list with my mother’s photo.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
was in a curio shop in Utrecht and for
five guilders I bought a very old book. A
probably first published in Dutch version of the book by
Beecher Stowe: The negerhut. A translation of Uncle Tom's cabin. With the original engravings "to the twentieth
American printing from the English translation." On page 59 the engraving
with Eliza, fleeing across the ice! A publication of the Gebr. E. and M. Cohen, Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm too
impatient and thereby make the receipt of the facts more important than their
processing. Certainly in terms of my own life. I'm still waiting for three
drawn lines:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1. Answer
from Jerusalem;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2 Answer from
London;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 KRO radio
with Kalien Blondes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A fourth,
entirely in the background hit point, a new appointment with Margreet about
the Martha - Foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Meanwhile, I
am again eager to take action. In the Platform Modiale Awareness. With an
action for the former Yugoslavia, where
I have plotted the lines. I will convene a meeting to do something on
behalf of AFKIN* and the Federal Food Bond attracts harder: Women Committee,
work group "International Solidarity."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
start another book, where I can write about my work now to keep everything in
perspective, only for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why am I
still doing all this? Why do I not live a good life with my small pension, like
other people? Come on, I know the answer after all. If I was brought up as most
people with the same background, in the safe bosom of a loving family, I was
maybe barely aware of a different world than my little safe world.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's just my
own traumatic life that has made me aware of and empathetic to the trauma, the
fears, and the world of others. And if I can do something with it, for example
by writing about it, then surely that is a bonus? Even though I sometimes get
the feeling I am found to be a little
crazy, a voice in the wilderness. But if I keep quiet, I feel indeed
responsible. As with writers, journalists, protest singers and artists I have
my own way to express my dismay about the horrors of our time. And maybe too
emotional, but that is the way I happen to be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">26 November <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine
called. In the form of Yad Vashem was indeed stated in Hebrew "Olga Bock,
house wife, two children, shot in the street by a German officer because she
did not have her star on. In Amsterdam. Married name and name of parents
unknown. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tragically,
so many inaccuracies!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, Olly
knew even better than I was saved by nuns! How nameless and unwittingly can a
person live and die! Dear Mutti that after fifty years of your life and death
I can give you a name! Is that not a
miracle?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* The
anti-fascist committee of Nieuwengein <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">105.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight I
find the courage to call Hedda van Gennep. She confirmed Elmas suspicion that
Olga was alone when she was arrested. And that the Dutch police or the home
front did it. She has seen it happen, that she and her mother were arrested and
her mother was beaten in the street because she was wearing a box for her star.
By Nederlanders- in uniform!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So.... I have
never taken leave or said goodbye. Pfff ... and Mutti was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And then my
daughter Jessica came bye, for a quick cup of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hedda gave me
the telephone number of the National Institute for War Documentation. When Olga
was arrested and held prisoner and deported to Westerbork, I can maybe find
something about it there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
submitted a proposal for the Platform Global Awareness on support actions for
Bosnia. An amount per capita for joint financial operations and public action,
for games, work and labor for the Yugoslav displaced centers. Who are bored
silly, they do not speak our language, sit together and the only distraction
they have is the TV that news from home will bring, in their language. I wonder
if mayor Laan will positively pick this up. That was point 2. Point 1 is
realized on 10 December, and next week, Ad, a good friend, is here with me and
we will work on the content of the magazine Global, the periodical that the platform are going to send out around 15
December.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> This weekend to realize point three!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">106.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> With the 'reconstruction' of my book case I
come again across the white ceramic jar with lid, wherein sits a packed piece
of stone from Auschwitz, that a friend of Renco, my ex-husband, specially
brought for me. That now can get an honorary place.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will I be
able once again to visit there, as in Vienna, or at Yad Vashem, there to find
my mother's name?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First search
in Westerbrok barracks 41/0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bring
telegram.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And fetch the
photo of Olga and me at the photographer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">27 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
photograph is collected. The price was 90% better than expected, the print was
disappointing. A bit flat and smooth compared with the yellowed original. Too
bad, but she seems to look younger in it though.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Surprise!
Paul was suddenly in front of me; he came for the second book. It was fine,
again to exchange so many things with him. There remains much old camaraderie.
He has grown and now goes (a little) in depth; even with emotions he dares to
talk about and show a bit. Something where he used to be closed about and a
thunder cloud formed over him, "Life is good, right?" He is a
complete man to be. And so I should prefer him throughout.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We also
talked about the reason for writing. Identity crisis? Yeah, maybe but I had no
feel for my identity. And when we entered into a relationship, he wanted me
holding that identity, gave no meetings or work to be with him. That would
oppress him. No, now I understand that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What am I
still glad that we can talk and write all about these misunderstandings. Now I
also told him that it was apparently still my nature to efface myself away for
the man I loved. And that was a huge threat to the adventurer who Paul wants to
be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">107.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I thought it
was not so much a question of identity, but also and above all that I no longer
came out after Elma’s book and the conference ‘The hiding child,’ to finally do
and want to know the unwitting and the
unsaid things from the past and from to speak, albeit on paper. This quest for
knowledge and words became the mission of my life. More important to me than
anything I did earlier in my life for that unconscious burden I had to explain.
And previously used to hide behind for intimacy behind a so transparent wall.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now I can
talk, I can tell Paul all. There's a little sadness, because I could not
before. Now he could understand why I was how I was. But would he though have
coped? I do not think so.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regarding the
OPK where Elma wrote about: there is a note found in an archive box from the
Martha foundation, which said that the Germans gave permission to take me in at
the Martha foundation. That could, to me it is clear, also have been falsified
by the "resistance", to let me be safe hiding there. Finally there
were more Jewish children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> More research necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">30 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The RIOD *
called. Annemiek van Boxmeer. She has heard the whole story, but already knows
that there is no available data on the way my mother was arrested, the time she
has sat and so forth. All details of the houses of detention in Amsterdam from
the war are now destroyed. This also means that no Dutch police man has become
accountable for his conduct in the war. I will send a letter to Mrs van Boxmeer with all the relevant
information about my mother and she will very carefully look at what data
whatsoever.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*National
Institute for War Documentation<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">108.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In Westerbrok, she said, are found personal
things of the people that were there. I do not think however that I will find
anything there; she was there only three days.
By RIOD it is maybe also possible to find out how she died: on the
train, on arrival or in the gas chamber. On the note that was found at the Free
University for my inclusion at the Martha foundation: they consider it quite
possible that it was falsified by the resistance. But I have to search that out
at the university.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Moreover, I
am this weekend truly active for society. I have written participation notes
for Wednesday, December 2nd in the ABZ- committee (of Administrative Affairs)
and therefore will speak about the municipal identity card. Moluccans will be
put separately therein. I do not agree to that and just cannot! I will try to stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And there is
a silent vigil scheduled on December 24 because of the smear campaign against
illegal immigrants, where a piece I wrote will appear in the Molenkruier, our house-to-house newspaper.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have also
already the participate notes in January, the police report will be addressed
in the ABZ- Commisssion. Wow ... now nothing more please.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">109.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">December<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">110.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">111.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
talked to Elma. I have found at the
Nieuwengeinse recycling center New Work, two books that I thought would be
something for her. If she, as a journalist, needs for investigations or needs
old newspaper photographs, Our Beautiful Life, 100 years newspaper photographs
(Dutch) and a visual report with newspaper pictures of the great woman strike
on 8 March '81 may be useful. She is, I believe, happy with them. Next week I
will bring them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Elma said something that has stuck: I would
have to look Olly up in London personally. I can still do that, but I feel a
threshold. In a letter I can confront her with the past, but can I do that in
person? And then, I would see it as climbing a mountain. The night before I
dreamed of her and saw her as an old lady suffering with swollen legs. She is
no longer so hardy, she needs time. To write back. So I interpreted the dream
for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
gotten from New Work also a book of
Meyer Sluyser that I did not yet have :
There is growing grass in Weesperstraat and Leonard de Vries: Chaverien, is that a children's book?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I will hear
from Dorine if the library of the JMW (Jewish Social Work) has interest in
them. No mail from abroad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For a few
days I'm overly nervous again. Not just because of the participation in the
evening yesterday ABZ * - commission over the identity card of the Dutch
Municipalities. I was sure of my case and have also been vindicated. That card
is not, at least for now, going ahead!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* General
Administrative Affairs<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">112.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Where from then? Afraid because I go against
the established order? Mayor Laan personally assured me about that matter. Why
then? The weather, the high moon, the constant low pressure area? Causes that
are mentioned more frequently in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When Flik was
mayor here, I did open my mouth as needed. He took me quite seriously and I had
forgotten that I now have good-will on the city council. But that may not be
the only reason for my stress.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Perhaps
waiting for an answer from London? If that still will come? One reason to
consider sending a postcard about it?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No post from London.
No post from Israel.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">8 December
1992 <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally! Post
from London and from Jerusalem!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last
pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. Tomorrow I will tell you
everything. Now just as the overriding emotion when I read the translation of
the registration of Yad Vashem. "I ask you to give the survivor a"
posthumous citizenship "of the state of Israel, the undetachable sign of
solidarity with the Jewish people." She belongs there. I belong there.
Never before have I felt so Jewish. At heart and inseparably attached. Even
though the fact that the only attachment is to the JMW and Dorine, who let me
feel through the years that I belong. With no family, I am more a part than
with my children. Still I belong, with the Jewish people for centuries and until
the end of time. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It became
just too difficult, there were tears.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti, you're
nearly home. Then you may rest in peace
and this task is accomplished. "Ein schon Leich '* is made, a beautiful
funeral. Who knows, I may be I will bring you. And otherwise I will visit you
in Jerusalem at Yad Vashem. It is almost 1993, and since I do not speak Hebrew
nor ever observed the Jewish calendar, I raise my glass of herbal tea and say,
"See you next year in Jerusalem."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">113<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">9 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now it will
begin with the letters from Aunt Olly and Rabbi Schachter. I will start with
the second. The first is so difficult, so traumatic, that I have read it bit by
bit. And yet still I collapsed.... Sick with the shock, first with anger, a lot
of grief and rebellion later. I'll be back to the translation, if I can muster
up the strength today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later that
day. Rabbi Schachter writes:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs. Van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was on a
visit abroad, hence the delayed response.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was very
touched by your thoroughness and your desire to correct the registration of the
memoir, while my concern was not to further traumatize and bring you in touch
with family.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I enclose
some forms for you to register your mother and possibly other family. It will
be clear that we cannot destroy completed prior Pages of Testimony, we can add
a memo or note there with a reference to the 'added Pages in 1992, for example,
which will lead to your corrected Pages.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fill in the
form attached, please; address it to me so that I can add the Red Cross letter
and your letter there when I have received them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Rabbi J Schachter '<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* Yiddish<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">114<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The form is
filled in; I just need to wait a few days for a small copy of the photograph of
Olga and me to send.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And now,
there is no escape: the letter from Aunt Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Erica,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I wish I
could answer questions, but maybe at my age of 85 I forget a lot, or I did not
know a lot of things when they happened. I'm surprised your father seems to
have known me. I've never met him! Olga was really no more than a colleague of
the "Arbeiter Turn Verrein. She walked to Holland , I believe, before
Hitler's woes began in Vienna? Are you born in Holland? I was so happy to meet
here, Miss Palmer, a lady who wanted to guarantee my parents, Hilda and her two
children! But Hilda preferred to marry Jaap and go to Holland, Instead of
becoming a maid servant like me , and the children arrived with a
Kindertransport 'here and lived with an English couple. It took ten months
before I was given Inge to stay here with my parents and later with me. I do
not know whether Ilse knows these facts, but do not tell her, please.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another fact
is that Olga BORROWED the jacket with the star pinned from Hilda. It was
Hilda’s cloak! I hope Ilsa and Inge never hear this. Please, let them never
know!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica, please
try to forget what has happened. Forget and forgive!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I admire you
for.....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Furthermore,
I cannot go now.....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So this was
the big secret that has remained hidden for fifty years. Olga had worn Hilda’s
jacket briefly.... and she was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">115<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the guilt
and shame later on have assaulted Ilse and me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fifty years!
Fifty years straight it was hushed, nobody wanted to talk about my mother with
me, everyone has told me to leave the past alone. Also to Ilse. She would’ give
her mother sorrow ‘by asking questions. No, she would know the secret and maybe
tell me. That shame, guilt, we have carried our whole life, we did not know
what!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That anger
over the fate unknown, but no less felt, has given me and Ilse in our
adulthood, crisis dragged into crisis. How do you translate the moaning, the
pain that is felt in your head to your toes, the flow of adrenaline, which can
destroy your body, into words! Give me those WORDS!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda had
thus lost her cloak, the cloak that killed my mother, and that fifty years long
has covered everything, even my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tell me how I
translate this literal pain in written sentences and I'll write a book thicker
than Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses and heavier than the Torah and the State
bible together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How do I make
the story in question to look like something that remains credible for myself?
Here it looks like a bad novel, with fictional personalities. But it's true. It
really happened! This was my life. And that of my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have to
pick myself back together. And continue to write.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For hours I
postponed it. I have tried everything: telephone calls, including Paul, talked
to Jessica, lounging before the TV, to come to my senses. With Dorine yesterday
I tried to place it in perspective in the context of that time, especially into
perspective...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Same day,
very late. Now I finish the letter of Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">116<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I admire you
because you have led such a strong, useful life and are still so helpful. That
must have been partly because of your Christian education. *<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
nothing to forgive Hilda of. After my
visit with Inge to Holland Hilda wanted
Inge and Kurti to live with her,
and Louis, with whom she was not married at the time. He must have been a good,
decent man, that he not only accepted Ilse, but also to take the two children
in. To help her, he even married her. I begged Hilda to be allowed to keep Inge
with me for two years so she could finish her education . Hilda refused that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In any case, it seems that she gave up the
struggle for the children, including the conflict with the Jewish refugees
commitee that protected the children. And nobody saw or heard anything about it
afterwards .....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, Erica,
the bitter times that you have gone through in your life have made you what you
are now. A brave, compassionate person. Try not to think of the past; enjoy
your still relatively comfortable life
now, as I do. I try not to take note of what is happening around me in the
world (I know that's very selfish, but in my 85 years I have no more fighting
spirit in me). I live with my cat Shelly quite satisfied, waiting for Inge's
weekly letter. I hope that the treatment of Allen (Inge's husband) is helping
to fight his cancer. He recently had an operation and is doing well and
hopefully for quite a long time. Their three daughters live in England, but I
only see Sara occasionally. Kate lives in Sheffield, so quite far away. I
rarely see her. Helen shows no interest in contact with me. I have not seen her
since my eightieth birthday. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, dear,
you do well. Do not think too much about what has happened and make the best of
life. All good wishes,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* How did she
work that out?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">117<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, all
good spirits, help me! What should I answer the old lady? She means it
apparently so well; all my questions about my mother, she has indeed answered,
as far as she could. The conclusions are indeed my own responsibility.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
shock, I write my first spontaneous reaction in fluent German. Afterwards I do
not send it, it was too hard for her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I shy off,
for the umpteenth time. Go to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">10 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I put aside
everything today to be well prepared for the establishment of the Platform
Global Awareness. Two weeks ago, I submitted a proposal to give a 'flying
start' to this Platform. Aid to Yugoslavian
displaced persons in the Netherlands and an amount per capita to be
voted by the council, for the large joint fundraising (rural) to Somalia and
Bosnia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I can cry
now. So I do it. After a little playful opening speech of the mayor, we
continued the meeting. And all official events were treated as the drafting of
an annual plan, joint events, bylaws etc. Nothing came out of the paint.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Participants
walked away. When barely half was over, my proposal was on the agenda. All I
wanted was my name swept underneath the platform and then to the City Council.
Well, you cannot expect in such a situation that the point is also discussed
but equally serious. The next meeting is late January. And then I have to come
up with a concrete proposal. As if this was not practical. And others thought
again that they first had to talk with their supporters about it, while the
Platform is designed precisely to take independent decisions. They have, it is
clear, no idea, what it's like to sit in the war.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">118<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh, next
month the need is still there?! Yes, and the fact that they are there left in
the shelters by us, let down this winter, means nothing. And that belongings
and money will only be available next year (maybe) is less important than a
rich regulatory conduct of meetings. I was so angry and bewildered that I'm
seriously thinking to do the whole action and only in a personal capacity. But
I just cannot physically and mentally. I have even taken on working for a
torchlight vigil on December 24 against xenophobia and smears against refugees.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So this was
the big disappointment today. The leaflet Globally, that this time must be
written exclusively on the Ad control, was again nice. I have written for that
a very small article and controlled and corrected it. On Saturday the
volunteers market and on Tuesday is the AFKIN- meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I know I'm
doing it myself, but I would love to continue to do everything, writing,
mourning and work. Help!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That
participation in the ABZ- committee has been a great success! National
newspapers and the Utrecht’s newspaper wrote about it. Elma was not allowed
to, but did have contact with the
consultative body of Moluccan Welfare and Lilipali from the parliament. That
has raised questions for the minister. The VNG downplayed the case, as
uncertainty of Mayor Laan. I was able to bring him the parliamentary question
and wait for the answer from The Hague.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That's my
life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But I long to
be again, completely busy with the past, with myself, so that I have written
this all. Hey ... it is with a feeling
that I, in this way have been able to tell about my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The spirit
goes where it will- there for her no time, no distance. She moves in other
dimensions, other people, other times and conditions. Provided that it is
willing to be empathetic.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here I sit, I
can do nothing else, and who wants to go with me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">119<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It could have
happened like this.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's August,
1942. It is a warm day, threatening to storm. Olga and Erica go to Olga’s
sister Hilda, who has a baby. That is not easy at the time, raising a baby.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga has a
star, a Star of David on her dress. She did not have a coat on; it's the height
of summer. If small Erica also wears a star? I do not know.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the end of
the afternoon the sky darkens, but nevertheless it's not raining yet. Hilda
discovers that she needs something for the baby. Milk? Flour? Or the teat is
broken, or the bottle ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And Olga
offers to quickly go and get it. Quickly , because it is nearly curfew. Then
there should be no more Jews walking about outside ... because the air is so
threatening she calls to Hilda: " I just put on your coat "and
leaves.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> And then she comes upon a Dutch policeman or a
border guard, who sees a yellow star and from that liberty takes hold of this
young and attractive woman. To his pleasure and her terror the star was not
sewn, but pinned. That is for him the reason, that he, under threat with his
gun-there were stories that she had been shot dead on the street, but that was
not true - to arrest her and confine her in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At home
waiting, in increasing panic, Hilda and the little Erica. And as it gets later
Hilda is more certain that Olga has been arrested. Because she did not have the
star sewn on her coat but had fastened it with safety pins.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It takes days
before they are assured. It lasts until September 8 before she receives a note
from Olga herself, who is currently on route from Amsterdam to camp Westerbrok.
Olga tries to encourage her sister even at that time. But on September 10 she
sends from Westerbrok a telegram in panic to Hilda, asking her to send the
"Aryan" papers from her ex-husband, it does not help. The next day,
September 11, she is stowed in the lorry, to Auschwitz, where she is
immediately killed upon arrival.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">120<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And then she
comes upon a Dutch policeman or a border guard, who sees a yellow star and from
that liberty takes hold of this young and attractive woman. To his pleasure and
her terror the star was not sewn, but pinned. That is for him the reason, that
he, under threat with his gun-there were stories that she had been shot dead on
the street, but that was not true - to arrest her and confine her in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At home
waiting in a great panic, Hilda and the little Erica. And it is getting more
certain that Olga has been picked up. Because she had not sewn on her coat the
star, but had fastened it with safety pins.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It takes days
before they get affirmation. But it is not until September 8 before she
receives a note from Olga herself , who is under way at that time from Amsterdam
to Westerbork. Olga tries to reassure her sister even at that time with
courage. But on September 10 she sends from Westerbrok a panicked telegram to
Hilda, asking her to send the "Aryan" papers from her ex-husband. It
does not help. The next day, September 11, she is stowed in the lorry, to
Auschwitz, where she is immediately killed upon arrival.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">120<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For Hilda the
nightmare would now have begun. This is irrevocably the last time that Olga can
help her. In fact die for her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What should
she now do with the little Erica? It is as hard as it is with the baby.
Fortunately, Erica also has a father, an 'Aryan' father still, who, to
complicate the story, at that moment ‘for appearances’ is married to Hilda.
Naturally he is divorced from Erica’s mother. His father, Jack, has a brother
who is recently married. And they want to look after Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But if Olga
does not return- and nobody knows whether she will- it becomes even more
difficult. Erica then suddenly becomes a Jewish child, a risk. And then the
wanderings of the child starts from hiding - to hiding place, until no one
knows anymore and she is back at her aunt and uncle on the sidewalk.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where is
Erica’s father at that time? It appears
that he is sent to work in Germany until he manages to escape in the summer of
1943. He is "married" with Hilda and according to the Registers and
Population of the town hall they live at the same address, but actually he
lives with his father, Erica’s grandfather.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When he,
after his escape, will look for his daughter and arrives at his sister in law ,
that's just at a moment when they are "beating" Erica (his words,
many years later). After a violent argument he takes his child to his home,
where she has a few wonderful months. The only good time actually in her
childhood, when she became an adult, could fondly look back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That sister
in law has not let it sit. Jaap show no signs of gratitude that she has been
part of the child's fate, especially since she was still a Jewish child.
Instead, he has quarreled with her, added her reproach and 'just' captured the
child. Calling for revenge? She can, so she turns to someone from the Council
for Child Protection, "because it's inexcusable that such a small girl
grows up by two men, moreover, it is a Jewish child.’’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">121<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The latter must
have been difficult for the Council for Child Protection, but there is someone
who has signed a letter that the Germans include Erica van Beek at the Martha
Foundation in Alphen aan de Rijn. The
Martha Foundation appears to be ‘started’ in Alphen by the Germans! In
Nieuwersluis some of the children were housed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On a cold,
wet, dark day in December 1943 is Erica then "safely drilled ' in the
Martha Foundation, where she will remain until she was nineteen.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And Hilda?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda with
her two older children can safely get away from Vienna. She gets the chance to go to England. But she
prefers to let her children go - with a girlfriend - she continue to stay in
Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After the war
she married Louis, after a divorce from Erica’s father. The baby from the beginning
of this story thrives on and has a father and a mother. A second baby, born
during the war, does not survive. Hilda with her child also sat for a while in
Westrbork but knew how to survive.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After 1945
she performs a short struggle with the Jewish Refugee Committee and the OPK,
the War Foster Children Committee, to regain her older children. She may have
tried to get Erica out of the orphanage. That did not work. And failure is
–possibly - based on the fact that she is Erica’s aunt and her stepmother.
Well, the OPK did their own standards and Hilda would have not have coped with
the possibility of raising four children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Has Hilda
been happy with her memories and her past?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">122<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Vienna<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It must not
have been easy living in Vienna between 1920 and 1933. There was the recession,
unemployment, poverty. There, as well as here. Grandfather, Armin Bock, refugee
from the Czech Republic, had become stateless. Married to the Viennese Joszefa
Karpfen (omama, my grandmother), his two children, daughters Olga and Hilda,
are also stateless. Although Jewish, there is no indication that they were part
of the Jewish community in Vienna. But Grandpapa had, due to the persecution of
Jews fled to the Czech Republic. What did he do for a living? Had he (right)
support when unemployed? Or did the family in the beginning a little capital?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Grandpapa
apparently died young. The family was a
member of the Socialist Workers Party. Especially omama seems to have been
militant in it. The youngest daughter, my mother Olga, was also an enthusiastic
member of the Arbeiter Turn Verein and even later won gold at the Workers'
Olympiad in Budapest.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The single
parent family seems to have been very needy. Reasons why Olga took the decision
to try to find a job in the Netherlands. She came to the Netherlands and found,
except for work and income, a man and later had a child from that marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The eldest
daughter had two children in Vienna. From a relationship with a man she could
not marry?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The story is
complicated.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hitler's hell
is visible in 1933. In that year, in October, Olga married in Netherlands Jaap
van Beek, not a jew, but a blonde blue-eyed Dutchman. (A few generations back,
one Lady Von Dalmann of German landed gentry, married to a Van Beek, so the
"Aryan" could not be doubted.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Almost two
years later, from the marriage of Olga and Jaap, a daughter is born, Erica. The
marriage seems to have lasted for a half a year longer. Olga goes back to
Vienna with her baby. It is not known whether Hilda is (still) financially
maintained, nor is it known whether, as the separation between Olga and Jaap is
final, Olga receives alimony. It can be assumed that Olga earns a living for
the family. At that time, Erica is so ill that she is hospitalized in the
children's hospital in Vienna and has a lot of children’s sicknesses
consecutively. Which cannot have been conducive to Olga to keep her job.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After
Kristallnacht not only hell breaks loose in Germany, but the panic among Jewish
citizens in surrounding countries.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jaap since August
1938 separated from Olga, goes to Vienna and begs Olga remarry him for her and
Erica’s safety. Olga refuses and points out to him that Hilda and her two
children are much more vulnerable. How is Jaap committed to marry Hilda and her
two children for their safety while he still loves Olga? Olga is a strong
personality, an athlete at heart, much stronger than Jaap and Hilda together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga goes
with Erica and Omama 'on vacation' and when they come back, Jaap, Hilda and the
two children have left Vienna. That must have happened in the summer of 1939.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly
Weiss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As said Olga
was a member of the Arbeiters Turn Verein. In the same building where she lived
with her family, also the Weiss family lived. And the family loved the little
children of Hilda, especially the eldest daughter Inge. Olly Weiss was Olga’s
team mate.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olly sought
and found work as a housekeeper or maid in London. She also wanted her parents
to come and Hilda with her two children. She was lucky to find one Miss Palmer,
a wealthy lady who wanted to guarantee both the family Weiss and Hilda. This
event took place in the course of 1938. In '39 all was arranged.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But when push
came to shove, in other words, when Olly went to Vienna to pick them up, Hilda
now turned out to be married to Jaap. Rather than be a maid in England and take
care of her children, she went to Amsterdam with Jaap. While her children, with
a 'children's transport' travelled to London. After being there for ten months,
Inge went to live with the Weiss family,
where, after the death of Olly’s parents was raised by Olly herself. Her
brother Kurti was raised up by foster parents. Both children remained in
England, becoming adults and received British citizenship.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">124<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda’s third
child, Ilse who was born in the
Netherlands, stayed with her. It was after the war, so she got a (step) father,
grew up prosperously , but not without trauma as the second generation child.
And was actually an only child.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The war also
seems to have been for her parents an indigestible matter and when the daughter
was mature they decided to separate. Not long after that Hilda died, she was
burned out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">13 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am sitting
with my feelings back in the war times. For a few days now. Has nothing changed
in fifty years? The realization that the Platform, so Nieuwengein then , now
refuses to do something about the misery of the displaced-shelters in the form
of some distraction, or to advise B & W on a contribution per capita for
Bosnia ( where a hunger winter of '44
is on the way!) and Somalia .... Here
nothing can be done, knowing how it is makes me so desperate that I cannot
sleep and can think of nothing else all day. Although yesterday I have been at
the stand of Novib at the voluntary market all day with a friendly face.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You know, you
can only talk to people who know what you're talking about.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am glad
that the action against xenophobia, against illegal smear campaign, comes in
order. Peter has created posters for the twenty-fourth. Women for Peace and
Amnesty participate.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">125<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So I can channel
my grief and my anger without damaging myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sadness and
anger are not gone, oh no.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want to go
back to December 9, the letters.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I will tell
Rabbi Schachter the story briefly, why I am so determined to straighten out the
Pages. Does he not see it himself, that it is not a remembrance of my mother,
but the desire of my niece to have the name of her family member in this?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">N'importe
what kind of data? Not one syllable of it was correct, except the name. My
first feeling was therefore, that the Rabbi, felt a little passed over ,
because I did not respond to the discovery of the niece, who also knew nothing.
But that is not what I was looking for, I must make it clear. Reparation for
Olga, of whose life and death only Hilda knew about and who kept silent from
me. That mantle of fifty years that was revealed by Olly, with instructions
never to let Ilse and Inge know. I want that also in the Pages. I will have to
let Ilse know of that letter. How? I'll have to think, well that's no rush.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Other things
remind Olly that she no longer can place. But concerned about that time, she is
still, though she says that she does not have any "fight" more with
her 85 years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That means
that she had in that in the past, and that shows. The courage not only for
herself but also for others to find a safe haven, speaks from her letters. It
is a pity, a great pity that Inge and Kurti that I should have known so well in
Vienna have disappeared completely from sight. Actually just like Ilse. A
family band will I never have with them again, but it's nice that I have heard
about them again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over the
acceptance of ‘that coat ‘I am still not there, even if I put it in
perspective. How do you do that as a victim? I can say, Hilda, I forgive you;
the fact itself is your underestimation of the danger of your carelessness.
That is something that happens.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">126<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But it did
have my mother killed, as you ought to have been wearing that coat. And as you
have survived (but how?), so she could
have survived. She would have taken Ilse , combative as she was. Now my
life has given Ilse a home, but apparently not a happy childhood. Let me hold
on to that. Ilse has also become a war victim, her "home." And my
life has consisted of flights from nowhere to nowhere, me closing my past until
now. Here only I have found my home. Only after three children and two
marriages. My oldest lost through drugs and suicide-no mother who could reach
him, he was imprisoned in himself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jacob, my
child that hid under a coat until he suffocated. From a fear of living.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Leo, who is
alone and that maybe will remain that way, grew up with me and two fathers
could not be real fathers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jessica, who
is still fighting for freedom under that coat, which she now knows, exists.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I myself,
that I no longer dare to venture into a new relationship, after making wrong
choices five times. Thanks for the one who taught me to sublimate my anger and
grief into action for people, who like me suffered from oppression and
infringements of his human dignity, proclaiming rights for the incapacitated! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Is that the
key to my whole life after Olga? Oppression and disregard for my human dignity?
Finally, I was Jewish and, as such, was I- treated in the time when I lived. I
see now. And I have acted in the past twelve years, but for recognition of my
person and to restore my dignity<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From my
empathy with those, and for those that I I worked with, from what I have
experienced myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But also of
anger and sadness, which could not be captured in words, because I kept the
cargo from the past denied until now.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">127<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">15 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What is -and
what is the function of -a prophet?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Pastor Mook called me, ‘The prophetess of
Nieuwegein. ‘ That has lingered.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight
council meeting . In the break I was talking to J.H. He told me
enthusiastically about the worries of preparing for Christmas. And I told him
that I was not able to celebrate Christmas this year. What happens so close
east of our borders. With Bosnia and images of Somalia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
councilor said later, "You did not come to make us sad, huh Erica?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What should I
do? Stay talking in the form of politeness? I may not express my feelings, my
sorrow and anger and impotence in order not to disrupt the Christmas party? May
I not indicate that we cannot celebrate with a clear conscience and cheerful
mood while such terrible inhuman things happen this Christmas season?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Did Reverend
Mook mean that I am a thistle under foot? Or (calamity) prophet who disturbs
the peace of the conscience of Christians and non Christians?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> We, war children and adults know, yet have still
all experienced at firsthand? And yet are still scared, angry, helpless and
almost powerless? Almost, because only a small area, we cannot get involved to
resist the immense indifference, the ‘cocoon’. Pull that screen, that wall
you've built around you and just see what happens around us. Let's work
together to try there to change that. It is not for us, then for our children
and grandchildren. So that the blood on our hands of our indifference does not
come upon our descendants. Then we will be certainly guilty. Omama, as weak as
you were, you were a militant woman who meant a lot for the labor movement.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti, the
strength of your character, your perseverance and sportsmanship, your living
will to start a new life here, with all the menace of Hitler Germany. Give me
some of your perseverance, despite all resistance. I'm so discouraged now.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">128.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who wants to
hear<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Those who
wish to see<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who suffers
too<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not just with
me<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But with the
horror<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where people
like them<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Should survive them<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">or die?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I did not ask
for, nor can I shut myself away from it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
powerlessness over my past blends seamlessly into despair about the horrors of
today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I thought I
could get away now, but every time that it takes longer, I am more a part of
them. I hear them, right here in my safe little flat I'm not safe there.
L’histoire interieure se repete toujours; comme l'exterieur. Et parce que cette
histoire d'aujourd'hui est l'exterior. Et parce que cette histoire
d'aujourd'hui est l'histoire de moi-meme et de Maman et Omaman et six miliones
des autres hommes. Et il passe aujourd'hui, après cinquantes années.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now back in
French, earlier to Olly in German. What comes up as I write this?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Say, write
what I know, what I feel. And make people participants of what happens ,
whether they like it or not.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The coat has
to go.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I fight and
wrestle with all these feelings, day and night. Sometimes it's sadness so great
that I have no spoken words, and if I find them, because of the interests of
others, my mouth takes over, without being able to stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Is this the
function of a prophet?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Or do I behave like an intrusive campaigner?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, that is
not me. But maybe they see me like that, if I do not keep my feelings under
control and thus contact others in their heart and conscience.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I do this
more than ten years-over declared unfit for work (sick and disabled), over
racism versus equality. If it would leave me indifferent, I would have no need
to write about it or talk about it. Sometimes they give me the feeling that
they think I am mad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So be it.
This is me, Erica, made up of a life that was dominated by an invisible and
unknown coat of fifty years now. Exponent of "lest we forget."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">129.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">16 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I just read
Ilse’s letter of 14 November again, where she tries to untangle the knot that
has occured upon completion of Rivka’s addition to The Page. The history of Olga and Hilda were
jumbled. This could imply that Hilda has also told Rivka facts - the jacket-
and Rivka has therefore become confused,
that is the misunderstanding . I try now
to put it in the time. Everyone was still busy processing, or stopping of the
flaring memories of the horrors. We were traumatized, and could not put into
words what kept us so busy. Maybe Hilda has told her story confusingly, which
was picked up as such. But when she wrote a letter about it, not only Olly knew
it, but Rivka knew then - and Ilse also now!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1.How do I
tell Ilse?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2.How can I
tell that to Aunt Olly?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh time, get
me in that matter!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Kalien
Blonden called. Relief: the radio programme is off. The editors did not think
it a good opportunity.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I let on to
her surprise that I find it fine,because
the only reason I had agreed, lay in the search for survivors, who would have
known her. That is now no longer necessary. Thence.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last data
is now coming in and the next week I hope, if not the real grieving process,
yet will I finish this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the last
few days, there were quite a few things that ran together, so it was difficult
to stay with this case. So emotional, I could not sleep and really collapsed
yesterday. (And promptly at half past three in the afternoon I slept until
eight o'clock this morning, with some interruptions!)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why my
emotions with me went on the run?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Among other
things because I cannot handle that people very carelessly spend millions and millions on Christmas shopping,
chunky tables, feasting, while just over our border and further, into former
Yugoslavia, history is being repeated. The same history, which I'm trying to
deal with in this book. Shut up, Erica, don’t make us sad, and do not appeal to
us and our consciences. Don’t you see that we want to celebrate, you disturber!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judging by
the signals I expected Thursday, December 24th not a big turnout for the torch
vigil, we organized as AFKIN.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I again
brought out in the library, the Jewish Weekly News. Searching for clues that
maybe I had previously overlooked. In the Jewish Weekly News, number 20 of
August 21, 1942, I found an article on the confirmation of the star.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">131.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Serious warning<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The presidents
of Amsterdam’s Jewish Council make further emphasis for Amsterdam's attention
to the obligation of Jews to:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1st to
properly attach the Star of David and wear it visibly;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2nd refrain
from entering gardens, parks and all the roads that are forbidden for Jews;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3rd not use
traffic ways without a license;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4th not live
or stay at other addresses than the above address mentioned on the identity
card.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Violation of
these provisions has led in several cases to severe punishment, even when it
was solely due to carelessness. Hence the repeated serious warning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is conceivable that Hilda has even tried to
get help from the Jewish Council, or at least tried to get to the Council for
information when Olga was not coming home. Maybe she told them that Olga was
wearing her coat. But nothing helped. This remains hypotheses, but I cannot
imagine differently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
received this letter from the RIOD:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In response
to your letter of 2 December 1992, I can tell you the following:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
collections of the RIOD contain unfortunately no more details about your mother
Olga Bock then you are already familiar with. For example, there are no
documents that have been preserved, which relate to the arrest of your mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">132<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">THE JAILS
ADMINISTRATION HAS NOT BEEN RECOVERED
AFTER THE WAR*<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of the
documents relating to the Westerbork transit camp, the proof is that Olga Bock
was indeed deported on 11 September 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would have
liked to have done more for you. I'm sorry, that by the limitedness of the
material at my disposal, it is not possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sincerely, Ms
A van Boxmeer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where can I
still go with my anger and sadness? Is there a policeman ever punished for the
preparation of murdering my innocent mother? A driver for obediently bringing
her to her place of execution?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And today
happens again the same! Are people because of their origin, their religion,
massively persecuted their appearance, killed, expelled, put to flight. And
survivors should only see them ready to come out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Okay, okay,
it's all happened fifty years ago and I am only now so far, I can handle it a
little, to relive that time for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet it is too
much for me, as before, the same things are happening. My empathy should not be
stretched too far!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All and
sundry of the Dutch tribe celebrates rather extensive Christmas. So I
don’t need to .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*Capitals are
mine<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">133<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It brought to
mind again the note of Olga. There is no trace of reproach to Hilda . Instead,
she tries yet to speak to Hilda with courage, "Kopf hoch, Madel."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">History does
not change its view. Never has there been a ‘point of return’. Who am I, that I
look back with so much anger and resentment at a time, which cannot be compared
with this time, in this society, in this same country? And, I have the examples that today terrible things happen
with and through people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">May a man
fail? Weak and maybe a coward, if he should suffer such intolerable tension, as
at that time? With, still, the examples of Germany and now in Yugoslavia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last data
is now coming in and the next week I hope, if not the real grieving process,
yet will I finish this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the last
few days, there were quite a few things that ran together, so it was difficult
to stay with this case. So emotional, I could not sleep and really collapsed
yesterday. (And promptly at half past three in the afternoon I slept until
eight o'clock this morning, with some interruptions!)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why my
emotions with me went on the run?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Among other
things because I cannot handle that people very carelessly spend millions and millions on Christmas shopping,
chunky tables, feasting, while just over our border and further, into former
Yugoslavia, history is being repeated. The same history, which I'm trying to
deal with in this book. Shut up, Erica, don’t make us sad, and do not appeal to
us and our consciences. Don’t you see that we want to celebrate, you disturber!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judging by
the signals I expected Thursday, December 24th not a big turnout for the torch
vigil, we organized as AFKIN.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
again brought out in the library, the Jewish Weekly News. Searching for clues
that maybe I had previously overlooked. In the Jewish Weekly News, number 20 of
August 21, 1942, I found an article on the confirmation of the star.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">131.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Serious warning<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
presidents of Amsterdam’s Jewish Council make further emphasis for Amsterdam's
attention to the obligation of Jews to:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1st to
properly attach the Star of David and wear it visibly;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2nd refrain
from entering gardens, parks and all the roads that are forbidden for Jews;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3rd not use
traffic ways without a license;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4th not live
or stay at other addresses than the above address mentioned on the identity
card.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Violation of
these provisions has led in several cases to severe punishment, even when it
was solely due to carelessness. Hence the repeated serious warning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is conceivable that Hilda has even tried to
get help from the Jewish Council, or at least tried to get to the Council for
information when Olga was not coming home. Maybe she told them that Olga was
wearing her coat. But nothing helped. This remains hypotheses, but I cannot
imagine differently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
received this letter from the RIOD:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In response
to your letter of 2 December 1992, I can tell you the following:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
collections of the RIOD contain unfortunately no more details about your mother
Olga Bock then you are already familiar with. For example, there are no
documents that have been preserved, which relate to the arrest of your mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">132<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">THE JAILS
ADMINISTRATION HAS NOT BEEN RECOVERED
AFTER THE WAR*<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of the
documents relating to the Westerbork transit camp, the proof is that Olga Bock
was indeed deported on 11 September 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would have
liked to have done more for you. I'm sorry, that by the limitedness of the
material at my disposal, it is not possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sincerely, Ms
A van Boxmeer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where can I
still go with my anger and sadness? Is there a policeman ever punished for the
preparation of murdering my innocent mother? A driver for obediently bringing
her to her place of execution?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And today
happens again the same! Are people because of their origin, their religion,
massively persecuted their appearance, killed, expelled, put to flight. And
survivors should only see them ready to come out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Okay, okay,
it's all happened fifty years ago and I am only now so far, I can handle it a
little, to relive that time for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet it is too
much for me, as before, the same things are happening. My empathy should not be
stretched too far!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All and
sundry of the Dutch tribe celebrates rather extensive Christmas. So I
don’t need to .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*Capitals are
mine<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">133<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It brought to
mind again the note of Olga. There is no trace of reproach to Hilda. Instead,
she tries to speak to Hilda with courage, "Kopf hoch, Madel."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">History does
not change itself. Never has there been a point of return. “Who am I that I
look back with so much anger and resentment at a time, which cannot be compared
with this time, in this society, in this same country? And, I see through
examples today that terrible things happen with and through people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">May a man
fail? Weak and maybe a coward if he should suffer such intolerable tension, as
at that time? With, still, the examples of Yugoslavia and now in Germany?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Whatever have
been the consequences of the 'coat', who am I, that I would condemn. If I have
to forgive anything, I do hereby wholeheartedly!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It apparently
had .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> And if
not, then we have to accept that life is as it is and I am that I am. Do not
look back at what might have been if ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I want to
see in advance what is possible. What good things I can still contribute. So
what happened and what is presently happening east of our borders, will perhaps
not go repeating itself...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over that and
this way I will have to write back to Olly and Ilse.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I will.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
searched for my mother and found her. Even though I did not know how I would
find her, I knew that I had never taken leave of her. I did that now. And I may
mourn a youth that I and hundreds of thousands, even millions of children that
were taken away by the madness of power forces, who use the power they have to
create people that are immersed in grief, because they differ in color and
origin from what they propose as normal.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">134<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is the
letter I wrote to Rabbi Schachter:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">22 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Rabbi
Schachter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took me a
few days before I was able to write back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would first
like to thank you again for your concern of my wellbeing.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Enclosed you
will find the new Page of my mother with a picture of her and me as a child.
Thank you that you want to take care of her file.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want to
tell you again, so that no misunderstanding exists, I had to research the past
of my mother and me. I had no evidence that she ever existed, except this
picture and some papers, when in a short time two things happened. The book of
Elma Verhey "To the Jewish Child” was released and the conference “The
Hiding Child “, became public. I not only survived almost without memories, but
also with fear and anger that I did not understand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had to make
this quest. Not only for me but also for my daughter Jessica, a
second-generation child, so she and her mother will understand themselves
better and also to give her a past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I've told you
about my two sons, one of them died by suicide, by deliberately taking an
overdose of pills and drugs. That has to do with my past. And the second son
has his difficulties through that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And there was
another, important reason and that was to give a grave with her own name to my
mother. So she was no longer an unknown and unnamed victim.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">135<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I never
sought nor wanted relatives. Anyone who has survived, that knew of my
existence, never let that be known. Not even shown of their existence. I say
this not with anger or self-pity. But there is no room for them. I have my own
life, my (former) family, my friends and my work. With the latter I mean, I
(still) want to believe in the 'Global Village' and our shared responsibility
there-for. So I see my daily volunteer work. Here I have found my family and
friends. Believe me, I have no bitterness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I found my mother. And my own past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the same
time I have lost my fear of my memories. And thus so many remembrances have
come back. Not all, the most traumatic still remain hidden.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have among
other things discovered that my mother was arrested and thrown in prison and
later via Wester Bork in Auschwitz is murdered, that the coat she was wearing
at the time, with the pinned-star, was the coat of her sister. She probably
borrowed it to get something quickly for her sister’s baby. .and did not
return. And sister survived and has not looked back at me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That makes
this discovery very difficult to process. Do you understand?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The whole
story of my quest, now by friend Paul typed and edited. I will keep my promise
and send you a copy. That is if the book is finished. If it is published.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A miserable
side effect is that this quest is taking place at a time when all that misery
in Germany and the former Yugoslavia is now happening. Where the Serbs are
doing the same things against non-Serbs, especially against Muslims. It is very
frightening to believe that humanity will never change, no matter how big the
technical progress and the communication possibilities for humanity nowadays
have become. On the contrary, it seems that we just want to use it to destroy
ourselves and the world. There was a time, not so long ago; I had the idea that
humanity was becoming better and wiser.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, I'm
wiser ... and sadder.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">136<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regarding my
Israel I had the hope that the war with the Palestinians would come to an end
with election of the Labour Party. But there is still no sign of peace. On the
contrary, the PLO and Hamas will work together and I'm terrified for such
cooperation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judaism and
Peace.... will it ever go together?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last I read
in a newspaper a statement by a Serbian word carrier: "War makes sense as
long as there is a possibility to make a profit." Is that not cynical? Put
the word 'peace' in place of 'war' and we can have the most delicious world.
And then of course an all-out ban and
closing of all weapons factories because
they destroy our world and kill our children, our fathers and mothers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But these are
simply philosophical thoughts of mine. I expect no one, to make this a reality.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
leave you. Thanks for everything you've done for me. Receive my best wishes for
yourself. Forever,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Your Erica
van Beek.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">37<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A while ago I
wrote: "In the past is the present, in the moment what is coming." A
cliché, but how true!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The hatred is
now grown by supra-nationalism and social discontent is the seed where fertile
soil is found in the victims of today and future generations. The raped women
of Bosnia bring forth children who are already hated for their birth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The fruits
thereof may be new wars again, in about 25, 50 or 100 years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tribal strife,
religious wars, they are now and always will be. Because we are only human,
obstinate and unruly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And all
surviving victims will be able to write books like this ...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Peace on
earth is a dream, we have to face the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe that is
the lesson I had to learn and if necessary why I had to write this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
"Global Village," which I dream of is the dream of a relatively small
group of people. With little power. And our world will continue to run maybe a
little longer. But will they survive?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To believe in
it, I would have to rely on the fundamental goodness of people. The fundamental
sense of responsibility for each other as human beings. The I = you feeling.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I must
begin with myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sigh..... I'm
not there yet.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">39<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jood<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">141<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">January 29,
1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally I
have written draft letters to Olly and Ilse. Maybe I can finish them Sunday and
send them. The text I want in any case to record here.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took me a
long time to learn to live with what is written in your last letter. The
thought that Olga had the coat on of Hilda was very hard to bear. It is even
reflected in the title of the book about my childhood, that will be called Two
women and a coat.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now the time
is ripe, now I am able to live with it, as with everything that has happened.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The period
from 1939 to May 1945 was on the Continent a time of incomprehensible terrible
events. Where the people who survived were injured for the rest of their lives.
Hilda was also briefly in the
concentration camp Westerbork, together with Ilse who was a baby.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am
convinced that Hilda has gone to the Jewish Council in Amsterdam when Olga did
not return. And she told them what has happened. I am so confident because I
read in the Jewish Weekly from a few weeks later an article warning people
extra not to pin the star, but to sew it on: "Several people that are
pinning have been severely punished.” What I would have to forgive Hilda of, I
have forgiven her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">142<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As you said,
life has not exactly been kind to me, but Hilda had to live with her grief and
her anger, and get on with her life. What's maybe never really happened, to
which maybe she was not able to.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I tell you
(including myself) once again: life is as it is. I've learned to accept that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is
possible that Olga on that (rainy!) day in August '42 put on Hilda’s jacket
just to get something quickly for the baby, and she was arrested (and taken to
jail and later to Westerbork etc.) almost as soon as she came out on the streets. Her face was so
truly Jewish, that I doubt that, even if for her a hiding place was available,
that she might have survived.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Therefore, I
cannot understand how Ilse, Inge and Kurti could know nothing about it, even
after Hilda and Louis died. It was still not intentional Hilda; it was
carelessness, with incalculable consequences.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
decided to send a copy of your letter to Ilse. Maybe that's a consolation to
her. She is still with sadness and anger from the past. There were so many, too
many things that she could not understand. So much that she was unable to go to
the conference Hidden Children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Can you
imagine what war does with small children? Even those events that you cannot
understand, that feeling of "I could have better not have been born,"
which remains always. That entire trauma, your whole life. Until you have learned
to find words for and to use those words for yourself. This is done usually not
before your fiftieth birthday. And then the past, has long since used or deformed your character. And your
life decides. The fears and anger have become a part of you. How do you deal
with that? That is for an outsider very difficult to understand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Life has also
not been easy for you, I suppose. But you, your family and the children were
not hunted in England as wild animals such as Jewish people in the Netherlands.
You were pretty safe there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you
understand, there is no more reproach. To anyone. It all happened. As it is
happening in Yugoslavia. We never expected that it could all happen again. But
it does!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">143<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have now
also been able to give my mother a funeral. In Jerusalem, at Yad Vashem in the
Hall of Names. And my whole childhood became memories to me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was the
purpose of the quest and no less for my life that now has to continue, more
than ever. The whole has to be a book that is worth reading.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I send you my
love and greetings and thank you for your help.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hoping again
to receive a letter from you,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Your Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Ilse,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It has taken
a long time before I could process what I came to know about the past. Like so
many Jewish people, I have processed it- with a friend in this case in a book,
which will hopefully be released.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is much, very much, that has become clear.
Also regarding aunt Olly’s feelings towards your mother. Do you want me to tell
you everything or would you rather just read my last letter to Aunt Olly? You
can also wait for the book. The title is Two women and a jacket.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Only
now am I able to discuss with you anything you want to know. Your sadness and
anger have become clearer to me. As for me, I have now learned to accept life and
let go of the past now that I have found words to describe it. That is also
thanks to you.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We cannot
change the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">144<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm now
finished with it all. And I hope you find the courage to do so too. Maybe my
letter to Olly will help you with that. Otherwise I will let you know when the
book comes out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do not
hesitate to write me, call or visit, if you have questions to ask. I have now a
different perspective than 'then'.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I hear from
you?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These letters
I now send as soon as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">145<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">February<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">146<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">147<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">28 February
1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Letter
received from Aunt Olly, which made me very distressed. Of course she's right.
But Elma and Paul found it too: Now I turn and I should be able to let it
sink a while.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here's the
letter.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Erica,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This time, I
find it hard to answer your letter. But first, I wish you luck with your book.
I had no idea you were a writer. But you have abused my trust. When I told you
about that incident with Hilda’s jacket I prompted you not to tell Ilse.
Finally, it was her mother's fault that may have led to Olga’s death, even if
it was indirect. Now it is in your book and Ilse will read it and she could
tell Inge. You cannot tell me that it was necessary to make their memory of
their mother worse.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I can only
hope that Ilse will not be too much affected.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe it can
be prevented that Inge will know. She has enough to worry about with her
husband's illness. In any case, I do not think Inge suffers from her memories
of that time, because she and I only know of the events through other people.
Our only concerns were the war cases, we Jewish people, even strangers, were
treated the same as the English themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I only hope
that now you are able to put the past behind you.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Best wishes,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">148<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course her
trust is, in terms of the jacket, ashamed. But how do I make it clear that I
did not just think that was precisely the point where everything revolved
around? For fifty years, my mother is dead in silence out of shame about it. Is
it not time that it is written, spoken and processed? Out of concern for them,
the now adult children of Hilda, I may panic again, keep my mouth shut, I feel
guilty for events in which I have had some part. I became the victim, not her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Apparently
she was so angry (or confused) that she could not place the name on the
envelope accurately.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">149<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">March<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">151<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 March 1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Visit to
Westerbork. Search for Barak 41.0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At five past
eight Jessica and I met at station Batau-north in Nieuwegein. The train to
Amersfoort at 8:44 we reached easily and we got there at just after nine. A
terrible station. With that in Apeldoorn, I think, one of the worst of the
Netherlands. A type of aircraft thoroughfare that comes out in Amersfoort-Never
land. It took a while before we could orientate and we even had to ask the way
to the Amersfoort station, where we should wait for Dorine to ride together in
her car to Westerbork.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The weather
gods had the first day of spring and made that the trip became an almost
festive experience. Despite the gray tones that marked the destination.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Just before
Hooghalen we decided to eat coffee with a treat. But it was only to get a
sandwich on stale bread.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The parking
lot of the Remembrance Centre in Westerbork lay still in the early afternoon.
And when we got out the full gravity of our goal fell like a gray blanket over
us.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Inside, in
the open lobby with visitor reception, the almost sacred atmosphere was
shattered by a whining barking dog. Moments later, the sound of Christmas songs
....nota bene, belong to a video film further on. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
exhibition is almost complete. Only my mother was, also here, not to be found
in any picture, in any film. She was here as well? All the daily and weekly
horrors. More than sixty thousand people, including Olga my mother lived here
for a longer or shorter time before they were transported for slaughter in
cattle trucks.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">152<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's all
displayed there, with matching sounds. Only missing the smell of fear.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the end of
the exhibition, I was surprised by the fragment of a poem by Leo Vroman:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Come this
evening with stories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How the war
is gone...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And they
repeat a thousand times<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All the times
I will weep<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was too
much. Internally I was at that time a lost, screaming and frantic child
appearing as usual, I think. Very controlled. Jessica and Dorine were not done
yet. But I could no longer see clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later,
outside, the worst point of pressure of the boiler could be taken. Through an
emotional spot, tears: "That poem of Vroman that they should have left
out...." Nonsense, of course. It hung there not for me. But it was the straw
that broke the camel’s back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Walking
through the forest of the Observatory we tried to reach the Memorial Field ,
the former camp. I was actually secretly glad that we were a bit lost. The
final over tired body did during that seemingly endless walk make my emotions
fly away. At one point I heard and saw again and I could hear birds enjoy a day
out in the first warm rays of the year.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We reached a
crossroads. Where was the Memorial Field? Left? Right?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We decided to
go left.Mistake. An endless road without any traffic. Until finally a boy
approached with a transport container behind his bike and revealed to us the
secret of this traffic-free road.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine had
wanted to pick up the car in order to go to the
Memorial Field . But here, on the site of the Observatory , whereby this
road also belongs cars may not drive. Because it causes interference in the
reception of space signals. Later we would be on the field, and perceive for
ourselves the enormous steadily rotating satellite dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">153<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There was nothing
to do but continue to walk back and by the Memorial Centre , step on the bus to
the field. A bit of a bad feeling for me, because I was at the first
confrontation with the bus chauffeur several hours before quite emotional about
the sign on the front of the bus 'Kamp
Westerbork' in large letters. Did that now may not be: former Kamp Westerbork?
Or Memorial Field Westerbork? He responded quite shocked, he had never thought
about it. The driver was a nice guy who even picked us up again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the sun
kept its profusion spreading above us.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Memorial
Field is only recognizable as ‘Camp
Westerbrok’ through the eyes of the mind. That means that on this radiant day,
close your eyes and try to imagine that every slight rise in the ground was a
barracks or a house, the roads were muddy pools, the air was cold and menacing.
And where there now is a floor in the area, the locomotive was with cattle cars
behind it. Dark, wet, cold. Screaming, crying, fear of death. Animal apathy
too. Human survival instinct in all shapes, smells of fear, impoverishment and
damp peat.... But also superhuman courage and optimism against their better
judgment. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> We searched for Barrack No. 41-0, where
my mother had stayed, but there was not
before every barrack a mushroom with a
number. We dwelt at length on the former apple instead. For every Jew an
asterisk for each Shinti or Roma (Gypsy is still a nickname) a fire. An English
boy picked up a loose star to take it as a souvenir. "You shouldnt do
that," I said and he obediently put the star back on a stone. For how
long?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Walking along the ancient monument of the bent
rails, along the paths and fences, along the partially intact kept ruins of
barracks, my courage sank in shoes. Would I find the place where- about -Olga
had been? Along the way I picked up a piece of debris on gray cement with
pebbles from the side of the road. Something from the bottom, the base of the
former barracks. It has been given a place with just such a piece of debris
from Auschwitz, at home in a ceramic pot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then, with
the exit in sight and already standing bus, Jessica screamed. ‘Forty-one!! '
Dorine and I reacted sluggishly, for we had not expected it. ‘Ma, Dorine,
please look: Barak 41.’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From a huge
sense of relief that there was yet again a proof of her existence, I looked at
Jessica and Dorine to the mushroom which indicated that this was a house in a
long line. Did it mean that she ended up with friends or acquaintances? The
panic, which she must have known during the three days she was here? Immediately
afterwards I realized that I'm here, as her daughter and standing with her
granddaughter and my good friend, after fifty years, to bring her a final
tribute. As at a funeral. This is where I spent my last salute. That is so
Erica That I had to grin in spite of myself. My dead loved ones live in my
heart that was never tied to one place. But the relief to have laid the last
piece of the puzzle in place, having finished the quest, was great. I kept
grinning. Jessica was delighted that it was she who found the place, Dorine was
happy for me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The purpose
of the journey was found. And in the van to the center I told elated to the
astonishment of the other occupants, ‘I have found again the place of my
mother’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The return
trip to the West was quick. And the thread to the past snapped when we were
tired and hungry and could find no place to recuperate, to get something before
we had to take the long journey home. Dorine decided to drive to Amsterdam. She
put Jessica and myself out at staion Amersfoort. Her children were too long
waiting for her, it was getting late.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My daughter
and I decided to first eat in ’The Old Tram 'opposite the station.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">155<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The waiter
was a friendly young flatter . The food was not even reasonable. Then he asked
in clearing if it had tasted, I could not help saying that the meat had been
too long in the fat, because the steak did
not taste good.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The train was
ready. Only in Hilversum, we discovered that we had taken the wrong train.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">157<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">September 2,
1994<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To create a
book, that was actually not what it was about. When the need was there, Erica
wanted to force in herself a breakthrough. Writing was just a tool. Has it done
her good?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">"I can
now talk about myself, not as before , then you had to bring everything
out," Erica said. And I think:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You are now<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Different<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">yet<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> the same<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Paul<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Twee vrouwen
en een jas</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dedicated
to the
Jewish social work ,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine de
Gruyter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">in memory of<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga, my
mother<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And with
thanks to Paul Groenendaal and to Elma Verhey,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> without whom this book would not have come
about<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Foreword<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On the 1<sup>st</sup>
September 1992 <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica writes
hesitantly in a nice small, silk-bound booklet, "was very cozy ..."
and she ponders further on the title of the diary that she wants to track the
reporting of the quest which it has decided.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The reason is
threefold<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">An inner need
which has become increasingly stronger in recent years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> All the chaos of her childhood surfaced.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">she sits at
her kitchen table looking out over the gallery railing over Nieuwegein. In this
house she lives satisfied. Now is time to dare.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And she
begins to write and muses. The title….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They could
not have suspected in the summer of 1994, at the same kitchen table but much
happier, with a sigh of relief and glad to work on her book with friends, the
manuscript would shut and satisfyingly say, "Right, now we can eat. I have
a beetroot salad. Jewish recipe. Do you
like it? "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They would
certainly not have suspected two years ago, that her book would be in the shop
windows in 1994.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet that is
so. In August 1994 she was eating beetroot salad with two editors. Twice
repeated she had to go through exhausting the entire confrontation with its own
past, word for word, to make a diary into
a book. Popular portions, clarify things that diarists always perceived
as historic.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was one of
the editors and I can assure you that the whole process from September 1992
until now, two years later was a hellish emotional period for Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Paul Groenendaal<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leiden, 1 september 1994<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">September<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">15.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have made a
decision. I will ask Dorine to help me-finally- to go back to the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have told
that to my friends Piet S. and Corrie van R. Corrie is an old girlfriend that I
know from the anti -racism work and Piet is chairman of the club where I am a
secretary. I have told them that if I continue to function that I will need
their help. That is why you are my friends? Through difficult times to help
each other?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With Corrie I
had a good talk, among other things, the power that comes from daring to
continue to be vulnerable. She is currently in a difficult period and suffering
physically and mentally.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I gave her
calcium and magnesium, herbs and vitamins. In her family I am “the herb lady”
not completely unjustly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Piet gave me
as an answer a mountain of work that by tomorrow morning had to be done.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for the first
time I realized that my teeth bit together when I heard my own keys rattle
while I opened the door to the deadbolt. Memories of the Martha foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later that
evening. The memories become clearer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The leader, Ilsa Love, had the compassionate
habit of using her keys, if she wanted to "admonish" children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1943
-Nieuwersluis?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We stood in
line one behind the other, naked, with a towel and a washcloth. Forty children.
Two at a time we were washed in a cold bath. Now again I smell the scent of it.
And in the dorms, there were many bed
wetter’s. Beds which were, roughly forty centimeters apart.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">16.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Woe betides you if you have not said or sang
well before bed your prayers. God's love also expressed itself as
"they" heard children still whispering : then they made you stand
before your bed, cold feet on the ground, and wait and see how long they let
you stand. Sometimes for hours. And you dared not to go to bed or to say
anything. I was always picked out. If I had not knitted well , I had to knit at
night sitting on the marble stairs. If she was back on time and not pleased,
you got there "seams" in. And sometimes she forgot me. I sat there
half naked, until she had to go to the toilet and just saw me sitting there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Stopping
blows. Every time going up and down the line. I
could never do it good and flee enough. When it was my turn , it was
time for slaps, until I was half unconscious. What made her even angrier was
that I could not respond. From fear, or also pride?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then you had
to eat on the penalty bench, the “biekenbank” and you were not allowed to play.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In was proud
of my father , who could get on with her. Who brought so many sweets that all
the children, also those that had visitors could eat sweets too. What was left
over was taken away by Miss Geert Knoet. She searched me to make sure that I
did not hide any. All the children called him Papa and loved him.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Emmie Veldkamp- as snow white so beautiful. Red
cheeks, pitch-black eyes and hair. She sat behind me in school and kept
pricking me in my back with a pin. Finally I had enough; I turned around slowly
and dropped solemnly my ink pot over her head empty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That day was
I beaten so much with the walking stick of Mr. van de Berg that I had to be
taken to the hospital. The children bullied me so much, because I never said or
did anything back. After the ink pot scene was that over for good. They saw
that I "just" only responded when it suited me. Nevertheless Geert
Knoete still saw me as a good victim, was why?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">17.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 september
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The name of Margaret G. Van der H. was
Greetje. She studied with me the Bible sitting in Alphen aan den Rhijn and
comes from the Martha charity. She made contact with me and we made an
appointment. Today at Central station in Den Haag. Neutral territory. We arranged to meet at the
third desk in the hall, at three o'clock and because we did not know each other
she would recognize me by a bright pink umbrella that I was carrying.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My train
arrived at a quarter to three , right on time. And while I stepped off the
platform and walked to the hall, I looked around to see if I could recognize
her. She should be wearing a red jacket. I did not see her so I waited <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And as time
passed, the passengers around me were together at the counter and rushed to
their trains and I saw homeless and drug addicts. I became despondent and more
despondent .What could have gone wrong?
After waiting an hour I took the train home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Money thrown
away, that journey and now I am skint. I can’t travel until I have money again.
Preparations for the municipal platform Global Awareness, where I among others
with Piet work, has so far cost nearly 100 euros on shipments, letters and the
like. It is voluntary work, therefore I have to see if I will get it back, and
if so when. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> So I have just called Margaret: It was my
fault that the appointment did not go according to plan. I had Thursday in my
diary and she as teacher could only get Wednesday free. Therefore she waited
for an hour on Wednesday for nothing. We have now an appointment for next
Sunday, 7 September. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then she
comes to me, not on neutral territory!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She told me,
via telephone, things about the Martha foundation that I did not Know any more.
About farmer Kwakernaak for example whose farm next to the home, whose calves I
could take care of. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh yes , I still remember
that .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ik doopte de kalfjes zelfs , en voor
de stier , die altijd in zijn hok zat en die vreselijk hard kon loeien, was ik
erg bang.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I baptized
even the calves, and the bull, which was always in his kennel and who could
howl terribly hard, I was very scared of. Margaret told of the shoe maker of the charity , over
the subsequent build-up of the group of children. And I told him about the
injustice that I, because I was allowed to study, was held responsible for the
behavior of the younger children in my group. We talked for a long time , but I
can not visualize her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There are a
lot of people of my age searching their
past. Rien G. is one of them. I know him only from the telephone. He too
is searching and has stories that for an “normal” man come across as
unreal. Rien is grown up in a Christian family and no one could explain to him
over his (orthodox ) circumcision. He has lived in Alpha aan de Rijn and later
in Boskoop. He remembered groups of children that rode bicycles in the Martha
foundation. I remember the kilometers long marches that we did in lines of
three ,to and through villages around Alphen. Very recognizable as asylum
children ,but bicycling ? I don’t remember that . The only bicycle that I
remember , I got from my father and that was stolen within two weeks! the
leadership will have had fun with that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Family Cote.
Father was vice president, mother was a woman that every child wanted. We were
children , without parents, without family ,without backgrounds. They were very loved by us girls
that were growing up .I studied with
Mieke their daughter and I still have a photo of her that she is in with other
friends from school.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Memories. Nieuwersluis. White, Sunday sleeved aprons,
black worsted stockings, clogs. White metal crib and curtains with lots of lace. Was that toys or
did babies lie in them? A very large house ,a park around about with a large
grass field.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">19.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Upstairs was
a hall: The toilets flooded over, stink
and filth everywhere. No memories of the layout of the house or the daily
affairs .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Later, after 1946, Alphen aan den
Rijn. </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The group
where I first sat , was right of the building. That was of the leader (of day of night) Geert Knoet. Later on I sat
above in the group M2… the electric cables hung loose out the wall. I got a
shock and was unconscious for a while.
on a bench in a small alcove in the hall I came around. In the hall of
M2 I learned other children songs and dances. I made a dance from “ zeg
kwezelken wildet gij dansen?” I still
remember that dance and in bed I told
the kids always (horror) stories , where
the others always huddled
together in bed. That could then apparently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Was it there
that I first got my menstruation? I was eleven years old and no longer in the
group of Geert Knoet. I must have been in panick when I found blood in my bed
in the morning. Scared to get punishment- or that I had a fatal illness. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But the
leader ( I don’t know which one) told me that I was now a Big Girl and no
longer could I play with the boys. She gave me clean sheets and strange-looking
terry "canvases" with a hole on each side and a waist belt. That was
that, that was my sexual information sessions and that of the girls of my
generation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The school
attic, which stood on the site. What I did there? I was there sometimes for
drawing lessons? There were antique busts and heads of plaster and marble and
it smelled and was very dusty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mr. Van Dijk
from the third class sat with his hand in my pants . If I reacted he told me to
“shut up” and pinched me hard.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These are
memories that come up. I don’t remember any of the other leaders except the
sadistic women Geert Knoet and Ida de Liefde
( the corpse if compassion , “so as we called her) she got later an eye
sickness , literally fire red eyes and according to tradition would go blind.
We called that the punishment of God. There were also good leaders , such as
the one Margaret called : Leny Zwaal.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Margreet
found it unlikely that I was made
responsible for twelve young people from my group ....I was studying and was
the only one that had a small room for myself- a former kitchen- where I could
do my homework. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“But” said
the former leader ( who?) “then you should make sure that the youngsters stay
sweet” or words to that effect. That I do not remember names! The result was
that I could not do my homework in the afternoon or evenings. I taught myself
from the clock tower that I could see out my window , to sleep and wake up ,
sometimes at four in the morning to do my homework. I had to be a good example
.Even now is six hours sleep enough! I had to go to bed at the same time as
the others and was controlled if my
light was out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That ”
privilege “lasted less than a year. Then I had to go back to the “dorm “ and my
room became a kitchen again. At least in my memory. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Slak van
Beek. That was me. That is what they called me. Slow, clumsy, always the last
in the line, whatever line. In the line by Geert Knoet , for every run in the
black stockings or knitting on Sunday gray hosiery. How often did I have to
take my work back and start again? And how often did I get beaten because I was
the last in the line?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">5 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Zij van Vlink
, a girl in my class, whose brother had a sort of animal magnetism for me. It
depended on her if I may walk with her brother over the school grounds. It cost
me my best books. Pure blackmail!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Rieke and
Liesje Olie and their brother , who suddenly after the war were called Olij.
The choir of Jo Toet , partner of Daniel Waayenberg, and the songs that we
sang:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The heavens
remains gloomy hung down <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A dead
silence reigns supreme<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Creation
grieves, she has no songs<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the organ
tone of the forest is stupid ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That has
always stayed with me. And now comes a thought to me and a singing game over
spring from princess Irene that we learned:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We are the
hares out of the woooods<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The small
hares out of the woooods<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and eating a
hazelnut….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I read
the Nieuwe Israelitisch Weekblad (NIW)from 28 August that was sent to me from
the telephonist from the Jewish social work . The tears are in my eyes as I
read the column from G. Philip Mok: “Am Jisraeel Chai.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am a Jew in
heart and soul. I realize this especially , because, even though
my past was by the Martha charity
very Christian and baffling , is very
agitated by the reading of the NIW and this column.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will anybody
ever bring my soul to her right place?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">22.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Margreet was
here. With a photo album full of photos of children from the buildings of the
Martha foundation. Truly also a picture of Geert Knoet! Margreet stayed till
five o’clock. I only recognized her when I saw her childhood photos. She is now
a grown up lady and a teacher. And I have been stated as being incapable to
work.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Although I am
particularly strained, there are still no emotions that come up with the
looking, talking about and recognizing of pictures from this time. Strange ,
actually. Names , names of people and places it was not more than that. Or not
yet? Just scents come back. And the tinkle of the many chains of Miss Corvase
the German teacher <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the face
of the pathetic spinster of needlework,-who
was also bullied by me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We talked
about the family Cote, also for Margreet a very loved family. It was a shame that Mieke had so little
attention , because her parents were caring for more than four hundred
and fifty children. And hospitality and love, that the children received from
no one else.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still 7
September , evening<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
asked Paul, my dear friend from the past
and still, whether he wants to read my
writings. And if it may ever be a book ,
would he be my editor?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the years
past I've never been able to tell him anything from my childhood. And
when I tried it sounded confusing and
incomprehensible to him . And still I
panicked , as he practically forced me to go into the past, how lovingly
and patiently he tried. It caused unbearable tension between us. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My strange
reactions to his innocent remarks, my off-track anxiety and panic attacks , and
I crawled into my shell when he became irritated. His bohemian - like attitude
toward my need for security. Love and security, very civil, are synonymous with safety for me. For him it means trouble, curtailing his
freedom. Doubly, as a clipped bird in a
cage. That can not continue to go well. And therefore did not go well.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After two
years of silence I made contact with him. This is also the way to tell him
about my youth, all those things, all those fears that surface. Will I persevere to the end? And will Dorine
, my friend from the Jewish social work , and Paul , my old friend , able to
provide enough support for it?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Paul also has
his stories. Stories from his childhood, how he experienced the
war. And the years after. His life is a continuous line, with peaks of course,
like an ECG., But his Memories are a common thread running through his life.
And me? I have the feeling that my life only halfway in my adulthood begins.
The way back from there is not even visible, but it must be there. I'm finally
not come into the world as an adult, or without background or parents.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The memories
keep coming. There is now no stopping them. When I was fourteen , in 1949, I
could stay whenever I wanted to at my uncle Bart and aunt Marie and their two
daughters ( Marie is the one that arranged for me to be taken from my father
and placed in the Martha foundation , But I had not realized that yet). After
staying there a few times they told me , that I May leave the Martha foundation
and come and live with them, if I promised never more to have contact with my
father! I did not realize that she therefore would experience the ultimate
triumph, by taking my father’s only child away- for good - after years
before, my father had me taken away from her. He told me once how he
accidentally had witnessed how they mistreated me and how he then took me, but
that's another story. Aunt Marie thought she’d
have cheap household help from
me? Until that point I knew no more about housekeeping than drying up .
After a short period of reflection I refused to give up my father. I had to
return to the Martha charity and I never stayed there again! They cried with
anger and disappointment but I never regretted my decision. Even though I was
thus in the Martha Foundation, and even though I was not yet aware of the
purpose and background. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet I was
then, just as unconsciously, an arrogant weight. I must have been nineteen
years and I just started working in the council office in the town of Woerden.
I had left the Martha foundation and was free to visit my father. With him in
Amsterdam, also lived uncle Coen (his brother) and his wife Aunt Cor. Uncle
Coen was a park worker and I worked in an office. I suggested that he was a
staff member and I officer. Absurd and ridiculous. We had words, it was not fun
anymore. Maybe I wantedto offend them by punishing them for leaving me in the
Martha foundation. In my childhood I stayed
with my father and with them?
Then they had to stay together in a house and were busy trying to get my father
, who was alone out, because they had a family. Grandpa was already dead….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">25.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Grandpa !
That small house that I can still smell. Grandpa , whom I passionately loved,
who sat me on his lap , read and played with me, who cut all the cartoons out
of the newspaper and pasted them in a big book for me and upstairs there was
more big books and cartoons and other things were I was allowed to play . I
realized that in later years my grandpa and my father , played a smaller role
in my life , among other reasons , because, they both did more for the
youngsters of number 88( grandpa lived at number 90 on the Plaatijzerweg) and
for their mother, auntie Ella. I felt that I did could not come between or be
involved there .But the short time that I lived with my father and grandfather
and came to auntie Ella’s and played with the youngsters , Henk and Erich ( it
was not longer than a half a year), was the only rally happy time of my youth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back to the
Martha Foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's the
feeling. No conscious memory. It must have been dark, cold and wet. Rain and
wind, when I arrived in Nieuwersluis.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have the
same feeling when I think of how I was brought
from one hiding place to another
to a person's hand, with maybe a briefcase or a bag in the other hand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Actually I
can’t remember real memories out of that period. It is like a thin black veil
which is located over the entire past. You see it and know that there is something behind, but to see
through it is so difficult. There is nothing, even for only a moment,
illuminated, allowing you to see everything clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was there,
at Serreschans, in Nieuwersluis. It stank and was noisy and humid. In the
evening we folded our clothes on our shoes ,
some wore wooden shoes - so that we could flee if necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">26.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I had nightmares, others banged evening and
night with their heads rhythmically against the headboard of their bed. I know
of at least one time I'm sleepwalking into the dining room to sit and sat there all night, with my arms folded. Until the group came for
breakfast and woke me up. That is how it was told to me later on. Geert Knoet had to – with cold water- wash and
dress me completely.I seem to have come far away.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">During every
air raid, all attacks on or near the railway line Amsterdam - Utrecht, we dove
at night under the beds. Or during the day, under the tables or in the ditch.
And when we gathered wood in the forest across the street, we looked panicked
for a tree to stand against.Their was a farm in the forest. If we were there in
the area we pushed in and stood against the wall. One child from the group once
stole something there. For that , later on all of us got one at a time , a beating. Geet Knoet knew how to give a
beating. And I never had the impression that she did so reluctantly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Two
dormitories. Hepatitis broke out, jaundice, diarrhea and vomiting. Then we got
punishment. If you had to throw up everything was shoveled back on the board,
different food put over it and you had to eat it .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For days you
were given the same plate of food . That really happened.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On Friday
afternoon we went for a bath. Very soapy water, probably there was no real soap
anymore .All forty children went into the same bath water at least that is how
I remember it. I definitely remember on a Friday after the bath , leading
everybody to their knees beside the bed
. There we were in our our nightdresses or pyjamas , and I spoke facing where I believed East to
be out a prayer. Where did I get that from! Even Geert Knoet later on knelt and prayed with me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">27.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In that time
, I had also knowledge of everything that was eatable, and there was a lot edible
in the big garden around the grounds of Sterrenschans. I seemed to know
what wild rye and wheat were, which fruit was edible, which mushrooms were
poisonous. There was a bush with bright red fruits that we definitely had to
stay away from .But somehow or another I knew that the fruits were definitely
not poisonous. And they were really tasty. Since I had eaten it, they had ,
probably with fear and trembling, waited a day and then the bushes were looted.
What was left over was made into jam. The strange thing is that I lost some of
that knowledge after the war and was only returned in my high school years. How
could I, a city kid from Amsterdam and Wenen , know all those things and use it
too?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Cold ,
wetness, stink and fear. The feelings prevail over the war violence.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why, dammit,
do I not remember how and by we I was
taken away from my father? Or how I was taken away from my mother ? I feel
darkness. Screaming and shouting from every side?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The panic of
then is again totally back. Bugger up all! Leave me alone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The past
won’t leave me alone. Now I have started voluntary work in abundance. I speak to a lot of people who want to talk
about the flash that one has seen in me in early news. That was at the
conference ”The hiding child” . That lasted three days , but the first day I
could not handle it, and I left in the afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now their
stories are coming out. …. The stories from people that can’t forget how their
friends, and their classmates disappeared. How the rumors about treason and
hiding of teachers and teachers who disappeared and aunts and uncles and so on. Me they had never associated
therewith.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">28.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">18 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's hard to
get hold of this book.I don’t feel physically fit and the doctor won’t allow me
to give blood for the red cross before he has his self-done an examination.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still I want
to go back. Not to the time of hiding, but to the time before that. What do I
really remember from the time with my mother? Blank memories come up, real
memories!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We lived in
the Vrolikstraat in Amsterdam. I am in the living room playing with my dolls
house with real lights. My father made that. The curtains are closed, the
lights are burning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the back
room there is singing with guitar and mandolin en…violin? Austrian (mountain)
songs, Dutch hiking songs, operetta songs. I feel good about it, even though
I'm alone, but with Kareltje- Karlchen will have mentioned him- my big wooden
doll out of Wenen, whose legs moved back and forward when you moved his legs.
When we went for walks he walked beside me, then Mutti or someone else held his
other hand and we waved them back and forth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jetje my
neighbor .We play in the garden .Jetjes mother is with my mother. We ran on the
veranda , into the kitchen. But Jetje stepped in the wooden veranda onto a big
nail. I feel sick, because she had so much pain . Typical, such a reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We play at
Jetjes in her house. She has a grandpa, who lives in the back room. One day
grandpa does something “dirty” . He takes his willy out and hold it against me
and Jetje. We were not allowed to talk about it. We found it so interesting,
that straight away we tell it to Jetjes mother…..The next day grandpa is gone
and Mutti wont talk about it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Auntie Hilda,
Mutti and me walk in the Leidsestraat. Mutti has a yellow dress on with small
blue roses. I am playing hopscotch , pavement on , pavement off and sprain my
ankle. That hurts so much that I nearly faint. Mutti takes me in her arms .
Then I pee on her beautiful new dress and from shock I begin to cry really
hard.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have warts
under my foot and was with her at the doctor. He burns them away and I
scream out. When that is done , is Mutti
talking with the doctor and I walk around and stand on something that is glass
that cuts my foot open. Mutti was upset and apologized extensively with the
doctor, but does not look at my foot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With a lot of
kids at the same time we are at a clinic. In the entrance of the door stands a
doctor,who will cut out our tonsils. He gives a speech, where the mothers are.
He promises the kids (I think he overlooks me) a scooter with square wheels, if
they are very sweet.I am furious. I also want a scooter with square wheels, but
he has not promised me anything and I don’t want to go with them in. Without
mother , all doctors and nurses and strange big stools….And PAIN! With force
they opened my mouth, there is pain and blood in my throat. Panic!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Later on I got a present from Mutti, but not a
scooter with square wheels.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The front
room is the children’s room. The curtains, the cushions on the home made
plywood stools, the tablecloth, the curtain for the home made cupboard- everything
is covered in thin light blue material with small yellow and pink flowers. I
have a lot of toys, more than other children. My father makes a lot . I think
that he also made the furniture and the lamp.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But I am
rather at my auntie Jo, who lives behind us and has eight children. There it is
always busy and cozyThat is where I would rather eat, not at home, sometimes
Mutti eats there too.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Looking back,
it seems like I come from far away. Another time, different atmosphere. The noise outside
overwhelms me here. Then the reassuring noise
of the refrigerator takes over.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back. Other
memories.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Across the
street is a sweet shop. Sometimes I get a whole penny to buy sweets.Then I go
with Jetje or with a girlfriend to look for what I want.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We always go
with a group of children, with a grown up , to the Frobel school. Then we pass
by a wasserete . Mutti is so beautiful, I am so proud when she comes with us.
Or if we go somewhere else. We go out a lot, also on visits. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Memories of
scenery, stage curtains, hollow-sounding voices and ballet practice rooms with
piano music.I am in a ballet group with other little ones But Mutti is
also very musical: she can sing and
dance and loves the theatre…<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">( Years later
I went with my father on a visit to a family Schubert. They came out Wenen and
knew my mother. And me as a small girl. Their home was a revelation, so
well-known and familiar to me. But the people, Mr. and Mrs. Schubert, I did not
remember.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti is
proud to make me beautiful. I remember a pink and white woolen skirt with very
nice buttons. A tartan dress of silk with a white lace apron, white silk socks
and black patent leather shoes.I feel the material now as I think about it…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Images… They
keep coming, tumbling over each other in their haste to reveal their self to
me. I write key words in order not to forget them, not one can escape now, how
they whirl together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">31.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Argument
between my parents. The swing hangs from the doors to the veranda in the back.
They sit together around the table, maybe playing a game- and so I try
to swing that I can catch my father out. That poor sweet man.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
vision. I am in a holiday camp in Petten on the sea. Specially set up for the
sickly. I get there a sickness, perhaps nostalgia. It must be winter, a hard
winter. My beautiful Mutti is brought in with bloody legs and lies beside me in
the hospital ward. She has walked
far through deep snow and the hard top
layer has broken her silk stockings and rubbed her legs broken
.But she is with me again. She has to stay in bed longer than me. I don’t
remember any more, apart from that I don’t want to lose sight of her again.
Except when I go to the Frobel school. I made so many nice things and have
brought them home for her: a doily for the tea chest (with the coffee set) made by folding a countless number of times silk paper; and beautiful
things made of wire and colored
beads, such as a swing with side posts and a doll ( with a picture) on it. The
picture I made again in the Martha Foundation , I now remember.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
Frobel school , I remember a party. I have to run with a young boy to win a
glass of lemonade .There is two glasses: In one of them is real orangeade, the
other is colored on the inside. I win! And I pick the good glass too. He is
very mad. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A warm spring
morning. The sun has just risen. I stand with Mutti by the Bata. My father
works there. Airplanes fly overhead. Noise , bomb craters .My mother falls to
her knees , throws her hands before her face and begins to scream and cry.
War “Oh no, My God no!” Everywhere
people, everywhere panic. My father? I don’t know. My sweet , beautiful Mutti
is bleeding and crying. In my memory I am completely rigid and only see the
image and hear noise. horrible noise.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">32.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Swimming in
th e sports fund bathson the Heiligeweg. I heard later that as a baby I could
swim. But there is panic, as I a toddler climb to the top of the diving board
and was suddenly discovered on the edge
of the shelf.UI was caught by a man. Mutti cried from shock.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We sleep in
the alcove ,the room in between . Beside
the back (living) room frosted glass sliding doors, which could make the
living room bigger ; beside the front
room with a wooden door .On both sides
was a bed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti often
wears a brooch from the Stefan Church in Vienna, where we must have lived. I
see the colors now before me. I find that the most beautiful thing and I climb
up on her lap often , just to see it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Vienna. From
Vienna I remember little or nothing. A large, gray, barrack- like building
where all voices sound very hard. A big garden like a park. Or is it a park?
There I also have an Omama, that in my
memory is very big and stately, Many and very big stairs and very high. You
still see that in old films.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As I dive
into the past again without clear memories, at least without images.The feeling
of very fine porcelain The scents, the
scent of earl grey tea ,bergamot, roses, the under scent of certain perfumes, from
freesia’s: That was the scents of Mutti.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I must have
been a smart child. Bilingual, with a large vocabulary in both Dutch as East
German. And with only a faint notion of the dramas that took place around me
and the tension of the impending war. Then it was just very lucky.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">33.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And suddenly
it was over.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One of the
last things I remember from the Vrolikstraat, the bomb crater is nearby, at the
corner of Van Woustraat. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">19 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After all
these years, is now (of course completely unjustified, I realize that though)
great anger towards my niece Ilse, her half brother Kurt and half sister
Inge (my cousins ), not even a little
time to share with me .After Vienna- and from there I only have a photograph- I
never saw them again. Anyway Ilse has regular contact with Inge .Or is Hilda, her
mother and my aunt ( Muttis sister) responsible for that? Ilse has stayed in
England at Inge’s and sometimes Inge comes to Amsterdam. Ilse has worked on a
kibbutz. Ilse has kept her mother. Ilse is not to balame , no one is to blame.
These things just happen like that. But she has kept a whole family. I lost
everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">34.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Would
her mother not be responsible for the only child of her
sister? She survived, my mother was
killed. Maybe I was not really happy at hers , but I had family. Family in Amsterdam, in ,England, Austria( Vienna) and
Israel . Ilse kept those contacts. I never had them. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bitterness is
not necessary and not good .But I still have to get rid of it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight I
read on teletext about the first really
anti-Semitic demonstration in Eastern Europe. And the decision by the Arab
countries to engage in a "holy war" against Serbia (for the Muslims
in Bosnia).<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fear strikes,
Nostradamus was right? Literally, also was the misery in Iraq predicted by him.
In 1994, Europe would be at war with Islam, and warnings would not help.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Wait and watch as Europe and Israel will
perish and America will get involved too late? So then we get World War III.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Teletext ,
Page 312. Budapest. Tens of thousands of demonstrators against the president
and against the management of the Hungarian television. The Democratic Front
had warned against Jewish power.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Teletext,
page 313.If this "holy war" would continue - there is Iran an army
ready, says teletext- and if only if Saudi Arabia is against, what's going to
happen here? All those tens of thousands of young, rudderless Muslims who are
aware to be Muslims if they want nothing "to do", they will find a
purpose in this so-called holy war? A purpose to live for, an ideal? Ah heaven, then Europe will indeed be
overwhelmed by Islam, but other than
Nostradamus meant . Who predicted that the threat would come from Iran.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">35.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There is an
enormous depression coming. I have to see . But what is the usefulness of the past, if there is nothing good to expect from the
future? I wrote that in a poem in 1956, when there was an uprising in Hungary.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Perhaps there is no future to live in<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">So we almost stand still naturally.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">It seems to me, it is
far better to stay<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Than to perish in the future.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I'm just here to do something else. Read Paul's
letters. He has everything I write on
the computers , and sends me the prints with a letter. Memories and things that
happen to him now, that never were related to me. About how he and his friends,
shortly after the war, were driven by nerves and panic to cause a massive blow to the garden of the Jewish family of Juultje .How much he regretted it later. How easily
he rolled over the war, his memories are
colored by his awakened wanderers
spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the newspaper Het Parool from 27 August ( why have
I not read that before now?) writes Chawwa Wijnberg: “The feeling of sadness,
anger and despair, which we (the children) as it were victimized ...)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">She forgot to mention the fear and fundamental
loneliness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I dreamed of a shindig in someone’s room. There was a
beaten up bed.Nobody danced with me, I desperately did my best to look as happy
as the others that were available.I suggested to them that we sit on the bed ,
but they did not want to do that. On leaving, someone showed me out and I just walked outside in the darkness.
Left the others behind me, and they went the other way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">36.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> And I woke up
afraid. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And last night I dreamed of earthquakes and noise and
trapped between the people and I could
not go anywhere. I realized in the dream that that was the safest place
to be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I have written to Ilse , and told her what I can
remember, or thought I could. I have asked her if she can tell me more. Maybe
her mother Hilda has told her things about my mother, my grandparents , about
Vienna. Maybe that will help me to remember things again. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">21 September 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I want to try to continue. I have yet to discover a wide no man's land between
Mutti and the Martha foundation.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I
find it very scary and it's all very murky. If I cannot find it, I must use violence. It wears me out, but also makes me stubborn.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">At the beginning of this week I close this book and
send it to Dorine to read. Then after we have spoken about it , I take it back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">24 September 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Dorine agreed to once again pick up the image of my
mother. Like that , that is potentially imposed by my father and my family.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And try to find an answer to the question to what
extent it has affected my self-imposed image. And so my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Where I'm going and where I come from?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">37.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Despite sleeping pills I have not slept in two nights.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I'm too busy with voluntary work and
obligations thereabouts, then again, I also feel the desire to let that go and
come to myself. Does not work. Tired,
muscle and bone pain. I get up again at
05:15 and have put on coffee.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Pondered
about errors and heartlessness present in others, about shortcomings in my
work. I talk too much. I've never been this way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">39. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">October<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">41.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">1 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I have fallen
into a massive depression and have layed everything (temporarily) down.
And I again feel guilty about that .... I was yesterday during a meeting
sitting at home so nervous that it was not fun anymore.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">It is necessary to prepare an event for
17 and 18 October, but I stuttered, could not get my words out, belittled
myself and understood little.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I
feel spiritually paralyzed me and have pain all over my body. Why? What is
happening to me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Jessica, my daughter has read the memories to Mutti.
She was happy , she said .It has given
her more information over her unknown grandma and more understanding for me. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">4 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I could not do
anything the last few days. There was actually
so much work to do that I was
torn to continue, between my
desire with this book and my "love and devotion to duty" for the work
that must end 17 December, when the
municipal Platform Global Awareness is installed.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">All preparations for this swallowed my
time, my energy and my money.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> I had already given up the trade union work in
the past month, as well as my contacts
with council and commission.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Jessica had warned me that my dive in the past would
take my energy. She seems to have been right. It is still scary and it is still
not known if it is really worth it all:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I, the Jewish middle aged daughter, grew up in a
"Christian" environment, have come during this quest at a point where
I am searching for my Jewish roots. But precisely because of my past I hear,
and I feel, no longer at home in the Jewish community. What the latter may be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">42. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Anyway, here we go: the image I have of my mother. A
real image I have not so clear. A small, muscular woman, slim.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And quite striking, very large eyes,
well dressed, sometimes chic.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Sometimes happy, sometimes aloof.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I don’t remember hug parties, nor things we did together.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">However, we were inseparable, which is
pretty normal for a single mother with a child.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Yet there must be, outside of the described memory, an
image that appeals to reality.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Though
the knowledge from the past (not the
Memories), the fleeing and the fears of
the rising anti-Semitism before the war, persecutions, bring back real memories that I'm mentally
maimed by them. The image stays the same: My beautiful , sweet Mutti.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">My father has told me about the fleeing to and from Vienna . He told me
about Hilda , whom we went together to
visit.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And
he also told me that, years after the divorce, when he was long
just friends with
"mother" that he still loved
Olga . Her eyes, he could not forget them. At the same time, he really gave me
the picture with a woman, who was immensely irritated by his lack of willpower,
Only in 1963 I was, here, facing my past. I received from the Red Cross proof
of her death.perseverance and ambition.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">She herself had, after all, despite social opposition,
won gold medals at the Workers' Olympics in Budapest.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That were immediately snatched away at
the border control in Germany, was another matter. He, my father had on his
marriage abandoned his studies in state economy to support his family. He could
not find any work in the crisis. For the support he worked in the DUW (social service’s)., but I don’t know if his
marriage was already over or not. That was the picture my father gave. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">43.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Although he was a sweet, gentle man, he did not make
it with Olga, who must indeed have possessed so much more perseverance and
rationality. This is clear from what she has achieved in athletics, her
survival instinct, but also from the circles in which she must have been. Artists, theatre, musicians and the likes
of did not fit at all with the soft,
pliant and pure leftist worker boy who was my father.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I actually believe that from Olgas side, that it was a
marriage of rational considerations. However, he was lost from the moment he
saw her.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That
he called her “hard” afterwards, I can understand now but it does not change
the image I have of her. That has something of defenselessness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">So far as I remember , we never talked about her in
our family. She is hushed and I was “the
poor small child” . Literally hushed .When I was at my first hiding place , at
the aunt from my father’s side, I must have asked when Mutti was coming back.”</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Do not complain, we'll see when she
comes back. be quiet, now it should be
over. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">No proof of her existence ever after.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A little understandable when one remembers how it was
at the time. At each address it must
look as if I belonged. And a child who complains about when Mutti was returning, was a danger
for her surroundings. The questions and even the memory was so very
quickly suppressed and eliminated by the mental and physical coercion from
outside.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">And
the multitude of impressions, all relocations and new environments and the
induced fears, the memories indeed disappeared. Nobody, apart from my father ,
had ever talked with me about my mother. Also after the war. It was- suddenly-
aborted. Only in 1963 was I, suddenly, confronted with my past. I
received from the Red Cross proof of her death. .A “Wiedergutmachungsgeld” from
Germany, which I can use to benefit my family.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Only in that time, when I had received that relatively
small amount, I was wondering if there is somewhere maybe someone still alive
who my mother was.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Despite
the obituary. Because I had two small children and a million
questions. I looked at every Jewish looking woman – Maybe she was the one? I
wrote to Israel, when I saw on television a woman that I thought looked like
Olga.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">44.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">As I got older, my feelings denied this
understanding of this.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">There is bullying children's game in which the
children stand in a circle with a child in the middle.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That one child with a hard push is
hurled to another. After such a shove you try to regain equilibrium, but before
you succeed in it, you get pushed again by another child. When you
think you are standing well
, you
are pushed before you can regain balance. That is the image I
have from my childhood.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Once
I was with someone, I could hold someone. That brings a new memory in the
light. Me holding Mutti’s hand, always.
In the tram on her lap,</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">me
doing most of the talking. I belonged
with her, I held on to her. The image I have of myself from earlier years,
after the disappearance of Mutti , is of
that child in the center of the circle.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Here in this falt in Nieuwengein, where I live from
1981, there has been change.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Divorced from my second husband, the children grown
up,I</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">left
my soul in ” prayer” in charity work.
That is also a way of hiding from myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";"> But I am
myself, Erica van Beek.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A
woman for whom I could respect, despite her bouts of depression, crazy
reactions, and panic states.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">There Paul and Dorine have played a big part in. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">45.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">9 October 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Yesterday I started with Dorine the
processing, and we agreed
that they would inquire about my mother
at the State Archives. The next time we will discuss when we will look for Olga
in barracks 41/0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A picture of me as a toddler with a hat
on, has on the back the year 1939 .I was then four years old and back in
Amsterdam.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">A
fact that raises no recollection .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">46. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Erica in 1939<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">47. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">From Olgas letter from Westerbork to Aunt Hilda, I
took it that they had to report to the prison at the Amstelveensweg, because
she had not sewn but had pinned her star.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">From there, they should be sent directly to Westerbork
and Auschwitz.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">When
Olgas sister, my aunt Hilda died, I received from her daughter Ilse, out of her
legacy, a letter and a telegram written from Westerbrok. It was thus that I
finally collapsed and could do nothing
with the feelings that arose.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The telegram from Olga from Westerbrok<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The facts as I know them now at a glance:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">8 September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Letter that she is transported to Westerbrok:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">10 September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Telegram from Westerbrok;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">14September 1942:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Official date of death in Auschwitz.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">48.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">The first hiding place:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Bestevaerstraat 19 -high. Before that I was for a time
in the Bellamy- straat, anyway on the 11 August 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Mutti must have disappeared around about my seventh
birthday.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Since that birthday fell on a Saturday (found on the
perpetual calendar) there is to think of a family member , in this case
certainly, that took me in because Olga had to report on Monday, 3 August 1942
at the Amstelveenseweg.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then, on September 8, she writes that
she's " deported" to Westerbrok.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That was a
"Wednesday". The telegram of September 10 was in vain. The next following day that the
train left to Auschwitz was Tuesday 14 September, the same date as her official
date of death!</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Indeed,
the trains always left on Tuesday?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That can mean two things. The first is that she did
not survive the journey . The second , that she indeed was “murdered” directly
when she arrived. However, it could mean , that she never arrived in Auschwitz
dead or alive….or never even left….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Help. I don’t understand!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then in the
Bellamystraat…. Was I there for a short time by Hilda and did I
arrive on 11 August 1942 in the
Bestevaerstraat by Marie and Bart? Or at her parents?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the Simon Sttevinstraat, in my memory a street
behind, I was by Marie and Bart.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Between 11 August 1942 and 15 December 1942, there is
a series of addresses. After the Simon Stevinstraat the Keizergracht. By whom?
After that the Prinsengracht, I also can’t remember . De Eerste
Leliedwarsstraat, in the middle of the Jordaan. A crooked house with sloping
floors.It stood under construction for many years.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">I remember that I must have been at a
cousin of my father.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">That
the sloping floor was broken and the furniture too and smelly. Wooden floor and
a damp stinking kitchen. The people there could not do anything about it : The
houses were not maintained. In a room lay a pile of patches or blankets, that
is where I slept. In another room there was a window that looked upon a house,
where Chinese people lived. Sometimes if I look outside and
saw the boys with their beautiful white shirts and their black trousers. I
found them soooo beautiful!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">49.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">After that in Hoorn , Keern number 32 or 24. A sister
of my father, aunt Bets, married with Aart den Ouden, three children. That was
a real family.I slept with their daughter in one bed.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">We went after the harvest searching
opium poppy. That was in the Kennemerland. The stubble in the country
short mowed grass caused bleeding legs and feet. How was
the reaction to that? I don’t know anymore. All that we
could find we put in the pants with
elastic in the legs and was given at
“home". Sometimes we kept apples or pears for ourselves and we eat them in
bed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In the town center was a peacock cage and the school
was nearby.I went to the school with a neighbor boy, whose parents were
informants. This is less of a memory than what I was told later. The Germans
marched by our house, singing ”Auf der Heide bluht ein kleines Blumelein und
dass heisst Erika…” And me, with my
Austrian background pulled on the trouser leg of the sergeant and said: “Ikch
heiss auch Erika.”</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">However,
on the shoulders of the Germans I've been several times to school. Then I was
soon gone from Hoorn.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Then I again ended up with Marie and Bart. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">In Amsterdam North, Vijfde
Vogelstraat 17. </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Marie
was hard. Father said that he had fled
from the “Arbeitseinsatz” and came home.
He lived a distance of twenty five meters away and came to visit me, and caught
Marie , just as she was giving me a beating. It must have been a hard quarrel
before he retrieved me and took me to grandpas. I was not allowed to see Marie
again. That was not necessary; I now had grandpa and the two neighbor boys Henk
and Erich. And I had the only happy half a year of my youth, since my mother’s
disappearance.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Marie took revenge and reported me.</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Adobe Arabic";">Probably at the Council for Child
Protection. On the 15 December 1943, a cold, wet, dark day, I was again removed
and brought to the Martha Foundation, then in Nieuwersluis. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, there
is a very clear result. That Rivka (Ella) has informed several times to me.
That I have interested! Family, only it never was told me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What remained
was a lie. And denial. In this case, two different things. But that’s another
story.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
immediately written back to Ilse and told her that I have received a letter
from Olly. I hesitate to send her a copy of it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> 6 November 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Ilse,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am writing
back straight away. Thank you very much for your letter. Now I can write back
to Schachter. I had already written
evidence about mother's death, but now I can explain to him how it is.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the meantime
I have received a letter from aunt Olly. I will send you a copy, but hesitate
because she did not- how shall I say this- write so friendly about your mother.
Let me know if you wish to receive the letter-and you can.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As for me, I
want to find the truth. Olly is not so young anymore and it was a hectic time
then. But I must do it with hypotheses. These are often 'ouch'. Would I
however, be reconciled with the past, then I will have to continue for the time
being to write. A journalist friend wants to make a book of my quest. And the
KRO wants to dedicate a radio show to it.
This came about because of ads I've posted in the hope that there are
still people alive who knew Olga .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, nil comma
zero reactions. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the book
that I am writing, about the hiding, the Martha Foundation, and the like
are discussed, but mainly my search for
Olga.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Meanwhile I
have, thanks to you, a past back that is mine. A kind of wholeness, whereas
before my life began only in my early adulthood and all that had happened to
"another child named Erica '. You understand? Thanks again.
Wholeheartedly. We are getting closer, you notice that too?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Very cordial
greetings and until the next letter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">77.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Indeed, I am
aware that, where this story began as a personal process, it is now my mother's story. I think it is about the
fact that I want to know these things, she could have told me if she not- so
young - had been killed. Others, including Jessica, hear the stories of home
and about the past. That is the most normal thing in the world!! ouch- in this
paradise, that is called the
Netherlands.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's very
selfish and I have never felt so self-centered and prepared. But I consciously
try the pain, the anguish, the misery and the flights and keep fleeing from day
to day all those millions.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Because I
have to live in my life. And so far it has not been. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tomorrow
firstly I will write back to Schachter
and aunt Olly. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">11 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The anniversary of Jacobs’s death. I am thinking back to that hopeless, terrible
day, six years ago. Looking for the poem that I wrote. And another, that I
wrote as I was mourning for Jacob in 1986.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">78. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jacob<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have known
you- and not known you my child <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- I have a
picture of you, that is called Jacob;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And image of
rebellion, fury and suffering<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That binds
you to my past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I have built a picture of you, my child,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That put his
arms around me and held my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not the boy
who destroyed his life<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> But
one who finds life fearful and unlivable.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That scared
and angry and on the run<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> in life never found a shelter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and disbanded
from his fear by his death<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I loved you,
my child that we knew.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
powerless, I watched how you<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">have wounded
yourself so deadly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Nieuwegein, 1986<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">79.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who wants to
hear<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">how trumpeter
grief<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who will not
run away<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my
nocturnal crying….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hear how the
land<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">shakes under
my feet thumping<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">looking
crying<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Screaming for
my children....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">their hunters<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">continue to
be injured<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And flee<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my
boundless grief ...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">About him and
his name<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">can turn
around<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Flights as I
approach<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">come seeking
solace…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want their
names<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">not know him
forget<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Never love
again no more<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">do not be
complicit….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do not come
closer<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I liked you
even trust<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Again
memories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">should be to
what was….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And who wants
to hear….<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">80.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">11 November,
later<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I still have
written the letter to Schachter. With "urgent" on the envelope.
Because in the mailbox was a letter from the 'Division for Personal
Commemoration,' say 'the department Commemoration of Persons ":<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">"We
propose to inform that one page witness statement to commemorate your loved
ones, family and friends, who lost their lives in the Holocaust, are added.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Pages of
Testimony will be included in the computer and stored in the Hall of Names at
Yad Vashem. A second notice with the names registered shall be sent to you next
month. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, hasty
and erroneous data<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If I have
ever had the illusion that humanity has become wiser and better, it is now
absolutely over. At the time of Gorbachev, I still had hope. Ethnic and
nationalist wars that since robbery and especially in the 'civilized' Europe
have broken make me realize that humanity has learned nothing. I have always
expressed the opinion that the "masses" consists of individuals, who
each have their responsibilities with respect to themselves and their fellow
men. I take the view back without extreme bitterness, but with the sad
realization that it was an illusion. The "dumb masses indeed. The masses
seem to have a need for a negative individual, projecting above ground level,
head and shoulders. His pursuit the ideals of the global village? The only
thing that still exists thereof is the data of the news distributionA message
from the newspaper yesterday, a headline: 'Bosnia Muslims are actually
threatened with extinction. ‘<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the world
is watching.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
passed the pieces from my tray from the town hall. And immediately an alarm
bell was raised. For the new municipal
identitieskaart is a counterpart of what the (jew) got on the Ausweiss: an
asterisk with a number (eg * 76 468.) For Moluccans!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">'Moluccans'
indeed have a 'special status' in the Netherlands. But the name and picture
together should be sufficient recognition? Along with the smear campaign
against so-called illegal immigrants gives me the conviction that the
"Ausweiss bitte," mandating us of wearing - and showing-
identification at any request is only a matter of time. And then the shift to the
right and nationalism also struck here. Because only 'real' Dutch have a
municipal identification.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course I
have taken the necessary steps. Also to get this publicity, but you have to
wait and see how it is picked up and whether one sees the danger.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Below the letter in translation I wrote to
Rabbi Schachter enclosing a copy of Olgas note, her telegram and the evidence
of her death.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
11 November1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Rabbi
Schachter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My heartfelt thanks
for your letter of 16-10-'92, but above all for your loving attention.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As you can
understand it for me indeed a shock to have read and found out that there is
already a Page. I needed a few days to get over the shock and to discover that
the story in the Page was wrong with the reality.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This morning
I received a note from the 'Division for Personal Commemoration,’ my mother is
registered on the basis of your story. Please, undo, it was too fast, too
hasty. I do not blame you, you were full of good intentions and truly believed
in what you found.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Truth is, I
send you:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 An almost
illegible note, which my mother wrote on the way to Westerbrok on Wednesday 8
September 1942, to her sister Hilda. The original can be found in the
Resistance Museum in Amsterdam;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2 A copy of a
telegram that my mother sent to her sister from Westerbrok on September 10,
1942. The original of this is found in the Resistance Museum in Amsterdam;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 An excerpt
from the municipality of Amsterdam, which shows that my mother, Olga Bock, was murdered in
Oswiecim (Auschwitz) in Poland, and that she was the daughter of Jozefa Karpfen
and Armin Bock. Also showing that she had been married to Jacob van Beek, my
father;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4 Finally, a
letter from the Dutch Red Cross information office.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last two
letters I received, as you can see, already in 1963, when I was married with my first husband. They were the only
evidence, then, that I had, that she had ever lived. Many years later, when my
mother's sister died, I received that note and that telegram. And that was
that. Make from it your own story...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now, after
receiving your last letter, I tried to get in touch with Ilse, the daughter of
my mother's sister. That sister survived and died about ten years ago. I
translate for you part of the letter I received:*.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Until there
the letter I received from my cousin.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When I
received your letter, I thought that I was crazy or had a wrong picture in my
mind of the past. It took a while before I realized that that was not the case
and that no second Olga Bock existed with the same background. One possibility
was then, that the Israeli cousin had her own story about my mother, which I
discovered, was true, as you see. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> As for my father is the following. He was not
a Jew, but he did not get me after the war to take care of me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*see page 74.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">83.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda would
not do that *, as I have discovered. So I had to stay in that very Christian
orphanage until I was 19 years old. And I had to forget everything (had
forgotten all) of my first childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The truth
about my life and that of my mother is really complicated. I have to rediscover my past and my memories now.
That's why I try to write down on that quest, everything about that trip to the
past. A good friend, a journalist, is willing to make a real book. Not to get a
bestseller, but for my children, my ex-husband and my friends: who are
interested in my mental journey.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I hope you that you will give my mother the
ultimate right in the Page, to fill in the new found truth. This letter is the
report for The Hall of Names. I will be very grateful if you would change the
existing one.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A picture of
my mother and me as a little child (I have changed a bit over the past fifty
years) is now re-created and if necessary I will send it to you in due course.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
unfamiliar uncle or cousin, I will not write, but maybe would you be so kind as
to tell him what I have written?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally, I
would like to express my greatest gratitude, and I hope you will write me back.
You are at this moment the thread that connects me to Yad Vashem, the place
where my mother will get a fair and beautiful place, where she is at home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* Or had they
no authorization for that purpose? There is evidence? I could not find any..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">84.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">13 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today the
papers are again full of terrible things that are happening in the former
Yugoslavia. Murders, mutilations, rapes.... How will the survivors continue to
live? Demonic primitiveness still requires an equally primitive response:
Bombard the so-called purified areas where Serbs live alone. A little each day
until they surrender. Naturally, hundreds of innocent will die, but on the
other hand maybe the horror finally ends and the other population group not
only feels avenged, but not otherwise is wiped out and can return to their
place. That is never going to be good between the people and the neighboring
countries. Now if there was only intervention! Before Muslims come to 'help'
from the Middle East. Oh, poor Yugoslavia, what should it be?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In the Netherlands there is still hope left.
Saturday, November 14 at the Tropical Museum in Amsterdam a meeting of the
Labour Party 'adorned' with a pocket
line of AFKA, Anti Fascism Committee Amsterdam, to show that not all the
Netherlands is behind the smear campaign against illegal immigrants.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Good, further
with my mental journey. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">14 November <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet to go
back to yesterday. The meeting of the Labour Party was due to 'circumstances
‘not in Amsterdam but in The Hague. And according to the, I would say,
naturally present ME, there was only fifty autonomists that demonstrated and
therefore naturally were beaten away and had to be arrested.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fortunately
it penetrates to the media that the smear campaign against illegal immigrants
is wrong. Refugees or not, but everything is lumped together! An embarrassment
for politics? Am I not a voice of the people? Such things affect me deeply!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">85.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Following is
the translation of the letter I wrote today to aunt Olly in London. In itself a
partial evaluation, actually only scheduled for late December.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Thank you
very much for your letter. It answered very many questions that I had all my
life. I am sorry that you know so little, but what you do know, brought back so
many memories again and made me aware again of many things.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is a
very long letter, prepare yourself then for?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ilse has also
helped me a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
tell what I remember, or have come to learn or have read.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My father,
Jaap, who died on 28 November 1976, has always told me that he continued to
love Olga his entire life. In 1938 (of'37), he begged Olga to marry him again,
for her own and my safety. She refused, probably left Vienna when he came there
and told him according to his own words, to marry Hilda, because she would,
with her two children need him a lot more. That would be the reason (can) he
married Hilda, according to him, just to help Hilda and her two children. I
suppose neither Olga nor Jaap knew anything about the fact that you would take her
with her two children to England. As it is told, Jaap went to Amsterdam and
Hilda soon followed. They had both before and during the war, often the same
address, but never lived together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga and I
came back later to Amsterdam. As Hilda told Ilse, still a little
surprised: "She came sailing down
the Danube." Ilse had her own image
(by the way it was talked about)
from the book Uncle Tom's Cabin: Eliza, jumping from ice floe to ice floe on
the Ohio River, to escape the slave trader and to save herself and her child .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">86.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It must have
been a very traumatic journey and an escape in the nick of time to Holland.
Jews were then no more allowed public transport, train or bus travel. I have no
memories of that, even though I was there. Never mind. I will leave it at that.
Maybe my fears, panics and bad dreams are the root cause.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When Olga was
taken away in August '42, she assumed that I was safe with Hilda, according to
the note she wrote just before she reached camp Westerbrok. Shortly after began my life as a so-called "Hidden
Child.” There followed a number of addresses, where I, as a Jewish child was
not really welcome. Until I came in the winter of '43 to that very Christian,
very cruel orphanage, where I remained until my nineteenth year. When I was 'free'
from there , I had to my knowledge no
other real family other than my father,
who over the years, faithfully visited me each visiting day. Oh yes, I knew
Aunt Hilda, Louis and Ilse, I had some relatives on Jaap's side, and to kill
some time I had visited them with Jaap (very rarely I had permission to go with
him for a few days in my summer holidays).But there was no family ties,
not with Hilda, nor with Jaap's side. I
also don’t remember anything about the brief encounter with you and Inge. There
must have been from the beginning simply too much sadness, anger and trauma in
me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Now I have to deal with that past. There is
indeed much to forgive, especially Hilda, who during and after the war
abandoned me .Her child and she were quite safe because she was married to my
father, a non-Jew. Yet Ilse and Hilda sat in Westerbrok for a time, but came
out safely, through that marriage, I think. After the war, Jack and Hilda got
divorced straight away, so she could marry Louis.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last
eleven years I have been very active for ‘disabled *’ for refugees, gypsies,
for society in all its forms.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">87.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As a
volunteer. I had and have no ordinary pension. It is a pension for victims of
persecution, especially Jewish people. Just like my grandmother Joszefa (Ilse
wrote to me about her), a militant woman of the labor movement. I have even
been, for a number of, a member of the Communist Party of the Netherlands,
which no longer exists. I chose the wrong husbands and separated from them. The
wrong lovers and discontinued that relationship again. Now I'm grateful that I
live alone since my now adult daughter Jessica has left home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Returning to
Hilda: I, but also, Inge and Kurt have her, I think, to forgive, a lot. I will
reach that pointof forgiveness in the near future. I am slightly conscious of
the fact that I'd never have been the same helpful woman, if things had turned
out otherwise. Do you understand what I mean? Life is just the way it is and
I've been through it, for whatever reason. We will have to accept and live our
lives. While the rest of the world is just about on fire. I agree with you,
that it is terrible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back to your
letter. I think it was the excuse that
Hilda could not get me back because she had been married to my father. * But I
want to believe that she was unable to bring me up because of everything that
had happened before and maybe Louis did not want me. Ilse has never been able
to understand this and despite her loyalty to her mother, she is in her heart
still angry, about much bigger things, but also because of me. I can understand
.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*however, it
may have been true. Only recently was it publicized in publications that the
Child Protection used that excuse at the time. Better Christian than Jewish,
they found.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">88.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now about
Olga. As I have discovered recently, the
following things happened:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-On September
8, 1942 she was released from prison in Amsterdam, where she was detained for
the simple fact that her 'star' was pinned instead of sewn. The Germans are
still very 'gründlich' as you know.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-On September
10 she sent a telegram to Hilda from
Westerbrok to send her the Aryan papers of Jack, but it was too late,
because<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- On
September 11 '42 she died in Auschwitz. The journey lasted three days.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is true
according to all the information that I have, official and informal. So that
should be accepted. She fortunately only suffered for a short time. And now I
am able to bury her, to give her a grave and a Page of Testimony at Yad Vashem
in the Hall of Names in Jerusalem, for the victims of the Holocaust. And now I
am able to remember my mother and some of my childhood. That heals me in a way;
it makes me whole, so to speak. A woman with a past that I previously could not
remember because of the terrible things that had happened. With "Today"
writing, thinking and remembering. And with a future, long or short, but worth
living.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That is what
I mean by ‘whole’. And perhaps cured, healed, through that journey into the
past itself. And at my age, 57 years old! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Only that
part of Hilda keeps crossing my mind. I'll have to think over and over, until I
can forgive her. Can you understand that? Oh yes, I have still something to
ask.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From what
Jaap has told me about Olga, about you and about Vienna, I always understood
that you and Olga were great friends.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">89.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe indeed
just because of the sports club, as you wrote. But really not above that level?
How is it that Jaap admired you so much, almost worshiped you? Only because of
your part in this tragedy in Vienna? Or because you were good friends with Olga
and her family? Her best friend, whom she trusted, like Hilda trusted in Olga?
Maybe Hilda was very much a dependent, very childlike and she could not make
decisions for herself or defend herself? You and Olga must have been strong
personalities, you were well-qualified sportswomen. Maybe she felt more or less
forced into what she did, first by Olga and others, later by Lois. My father
had therein little to say. It would explain a lot of things, if that was so.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today,
everywhere with wars and misery in the world and especially in Eastern Europe,
with refugees, I am also not able to let
any of them stay in my house, legal or illegal. It would break me. Do
you understand what I'm saying? Oh, I want to reach that point of forgiveness!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Would you
please write me back? Even if you think you cannot really tell me anything of
what happened or cannot help me further.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Until then,
I'm still sincerely yours,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">15 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So, that has
put everything nicely in a list. Albeit superficial , about my lovers is not
quite honest .Only one of them was a jerk and I realized that almost too late.
The one that I cannot mention here, still has a big place in my heart. Life
itself made and end to our relationship. And Paul, oh well. I loved him very
much, but we did not fit spiritually together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">90.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> My frustrated soul could not bear his
affection towards his ex-wife and ex-girlfriends. Superficially seen, pure
jealousy. But it was not that alone. In a love relationship, I should feel
perfectly safe, and that I was not. I always enjoyed what he did, his writing
and his poetry; have learned everything I know of graphic art from him. But a
relationship, a lasting bond of love was something impossible. Fortunately, we
can now be close friends. Now I trust him so much that I have asked him to help
make this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A little
reminder comes up with a few notes during commercials.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Kommt ein Vogel geflogen<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Setzt sich nieder auf mein Fuss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hat ein Breifel in sein Schnabel<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Von der Mutti ein Gruss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leiber Vogel fleig weiter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nimm ein Kuss mit und ein Gruss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Denn ich kann dich nicht begleiten<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Weil ich hier bleiben muss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">En dan<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hoppe hoppe reite<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wer da fallt der schreit er<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fallt er in den Graben<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fressen ihn die Raben<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fallt er in den Plumpf Macht der
Reiter ‘Humpf’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There will
sometime come back more songs. It shows that as a child I had singing and music
played to me. About that fact itself I remember nothing. At the Mulo we learned from our German
teacher songs like ‘Das Standchen’ from Schubert and Weihnachtslieder as ‘Schlaf wohl, du susser kleine du' that I
knew how to play at once and that just
came to my mind now. It was already in there! Strange, that it just comes to
mind now. Hey Erica, remain rational<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">91. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have given
myself a bunch of phlox as a gift. It smells overwhelming. It is mid-November;
imagine it, an engine will not start from the cold and damp. I sit with my butt
almost touching the heater. Behind my back, it is almost winter and my nose
smells mid-summer. Crazy huh? That is only in this crazy frog country.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">17 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today was
again a puzzle of the past. First with
Dorine then later with Elma.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is
impossible to continue to do this rationally. My throat is tight and my head is
spinning still. Tonight my girlfriend An was here play a game of dice. I've kept it inside until
now, a quarter past twelve at night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine and I
went back to two key questions:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How did Olga end up in jail? And<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda, with some difficulty could she
have kept me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga was not
the type, that has now become clear that
would report under orders. It is possible that Hilda, Olga and I walked on the
street and were arrested by the (Dutch) police officer, if only because of the
stars. That Olga was picked from the street because her star was pinned. The
note makes it clear that Hilda knew! That makes Elma’s suggestion actually a
little off, that Olga was alone on the street. In the circuit to which Olga had
gathered around her there were only Jews (the names Schubert, mentioned
earlier, and Hirsch came back in my mind). They may have been someone else
walking in the street, who could have
escaped it and warned Hilda – at Olga’s
request. But the most likely explanation is still the first. They still had to
get their quantum of Jews? And she sat in a Dutch house of detention on the
Amstelveenseweg. It was at a time in the beginning of the straatrazzias, before
entire streets were taken away. Imagine how that happened. That I myself have
no reminder of that event, says nothing. Too traumatic things, at least to
me, are well shielded. But my heart is
pounding at this moment again from the fear: the most familiar and unwelcome
feeling of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">92.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga was
picked up by a Dutch policeman. They still had to get their quantum Jews? And
she sat in a Dutch house of detention on the Amstelveenseweg. It was in the
beginning of the street raids, before whole streets were picked up.
Imagine how that happened. That I myself
have no reminder of that event, says nothing. Too traumatic things, at least to
me, are well shielded. But my heart is pounding at the same time again of fear:
the most familiar and unwelcome feeling of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe I'll
get to do regression hypnosis before this book is finished. For all these
things to really face definitely.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Hilda again- according to Dorine and Elma
it is not impossible that Hilda was
really not assigned me by the OPK
(commission War Foster children) *. Because they thought that I was better off
at the Martha foundation than my own familiar family, who were not Christian.
And by a 'Pulse' had nothing more and had to start all over again. Hilda’s
guilt to Olga and later to me, rightly or wrongly - that I have no judgment on
may have meant that she later has not looked back at me. But also her character
and Louis could have contributed. I simply could not see into her heart and she
did not speak. In the next letter I write I will ask this of Aunt Olly and
Ilse. Hilda they barely knew, of course, I'm not sure if she made real trouble
for me. But those very "Christian" ladies and gentlemen of the OPK
and Child Protection Agency I can well imagine, there you need only to turn to
the book of Elma. If Hilda approached the Jewish members of the OPK, also
remains a mystery. For eternity. Okay, I want to give her the benefit of the
doubt; she has not had it so easy.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* A committee
consisting of mainly non-Jewish, very Christian people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">93. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet..... Why?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But that's
what life is sometimes, Erica. Tomorrow I will call Hedda van Gennep for more
background information on those months in '42.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A comforting
word for tonight, tomorrow is my daughter here to eat and we go happily to the
world shop, to buy groceries. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">18 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My daughter
now has read everything and actually without comment laid down the books.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I see how
important I think how she experiences it. Well, for her it is the history, the
intricate story of her mother's childhood and family. She finds it, like
Dorine, that I am changing throughout the process. I myself don’t have that
feeling yet, though I hope that it comes. Apart from Dorine I still cannot
really talk about it. It is, really complicated and the distance remains.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A result must
be, that I learn to trust again. And not to build a facade of self-awareness
and self-confidence in my personal contacts. With Dorine I can let go of it,
proud and happy with what I do and did and have achieved. With others I can
never talk about it, if it concerns me at least. About the work I did and do I
myself feel good, but I always feel as a sort of middleman and know exactly who
does things better. It has for example resulted in the identification of the
appropriate chairman of foundation * Property, which actually does it better
than I would ever do it. Or initiating and defending things that I really believed
in, but where others had to play the responsible role. Further I stay humble in the background, , and allow others the honor
that I get sometimes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*An
organization for the sole purpose of obtaining its own global center.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Am I chaotic-
still- to a demanding task with responsibility for me to take? Or am I just
"shy"?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">94.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Put me in a
room with eight hundred anonymous, it goes well. But personal contacts, with
all the warmth I feel for those people. I often hyper- ventilate. And I notice
that only when I am alone again. I realize it's not just a matter of
misanthropy, despite all the social skill.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The underlying cause is distrust in honesty of
others towards me. A wrong expression, glance or a curt answer, and I am gone.
Feel (again) rejected. Something from earlier time. I distrust such a person
for a very long time. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Fear that they see through me. That
is why I seek the attack: If you think "That man is crazy," I am at
that time also. But it passes by itself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The knowledge
of the past, of all that misery, leading to fear, significant uncertainty,
anxiety, that leads to depression does not help. It realized that again today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will that
also get better? It hinders my real development; it keeps me in second or third
place. Not that I'm ambitious. But it's a false modesty, and resulting from
fear to really stand out. It's something from the hiding and the Martha
Foundation. How do you overcome something like this? and is that really
necessary? Am I not so terribly tired of that eternal struggle with myself,
that I see ghosts? And am I not ready to take a step back and not take on
challenges or cross barriers anymore? That is the easy path. No fear of people,
personal contacts with the rest of the "family," which are not going
well currently. And no friends? I surely think to have. How uncertain and tense
that I am. It's not a solution, to become a nun? A hermit? Just now that I'm
complete? But what and how?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">95.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I not called Hedda van Gennep yet. Fear, like
with Elma, there again those fears. It was long before I was through that with
Elma, too long. How is it that I do not have that with Dorine? I then stay
rational? In the time. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I myself
think that it might have to do with being prepared. You do not feel robbed,
despite your questions.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today
Memorboek has arrived. ‘The plate’s atlas of the life of Jews in the
Netherlands from the Middle Ages until 1940’. A book almost as large and as
thick as the King James bible. All the pages reveal that this history is also
mine. I despite my not – believing but still a real Jew, unlike, yes, then
what? That I'm closer to that side than the Dutch side that represents my
father. Not so crazy, apart from the biological provability, to be a child of a
Jewish mother still being Jewish!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I made it
again today. In a regional meeting of the Association of Dutch Municipalities
over municipal global policy. I suddenly got the economist Adam Smith (right
and pure capitalist) under my nose pushed through by a VVD lady: "The
public interest is most profitably encouraged where each individual can freely
pursue his own interests."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I fumed with
rage, literally. So the world is not like that. The law of the jungle prevails
and only the strong will always be at the expense of the weak, which will never
be unimpeded or even could aspire. Think about this "Global Village,"
which is our world. I ask her this, as controlled as possible, 'How big - do
you think - is the percentage of people in our ‘Global Village ', that can
freely pursue their own interests? And is that – ethically speaking -own
interest not only appropriate to the smallest common denominator?'<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She did not
answer, but came afterwards to me to talk about it. I said- it was in the
meeting a municipal global policy, east- west and north-south relations - East
and West should never meet here because she was a follower of Adam Smith and I
of Marx.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">96.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Again there was silence, and then she said:
"But that does not mean that we have to hate each other, right?" No
it does not, but friends? At such a moment I feel again at one with the
persecuted, the oppressed, that is where I belong. Among the Jews, the Jewish
Marx, as well, if I'm honest, all oppressed peoples that come up in revolt who
flash through my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Links dead? No, but left and right do not let
the back of their tongue be seen, in order not to arouse resistance? Or are we
becoming a- political? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I should in the future be more wary of the
individual motives and self-interest, which should be pursued because in the
approach of the right it cannot go differently in practice, than at the expense
of the oppressed, in my feeling. The making of a new political awareness?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Hey discovery?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sticking to
the old values, which I - unconsciously have ingested and have tested the
breast milk and found to be correct in my adult life, Jewish huh? This is ebbing my anger.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Every day a
thread is a shirt sleeve in the year.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">20 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was putting
away my cart. An elderly man was looking about in a panic. I had seen him
before in the store when I was picking out Sharon fruit and he wanted to know
what kind of fruit it was.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It turned out that he had lost his bag of
groceries. Just put down to clear away the trolley.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">97.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
presumption that one of the clerks had taken the bag to the office, proved
correct. Radiant he appeared moments later with his bag. I had waited for the
results. He said that this was the third time and I warned him not to put down
his messages unattended anywhere. Anyway, I thought I'd go now, good evening
sir. My attitude turned out, in the mall, to make a volcano of misery. He had
been in a Japanese POW camp and was badly beaten. He had never seen his father and mother again. And
when he had found his brother, he also appeared to have died. Terrible, but he
had also been married for more than forty years and also his wife had died five
years ago. He had remarried and his second wife worked very long days so he did
the housework and shopping. A whole life just popped out there. I felt so
terribly small, to see such a man wipe away his tears. I should have left
earlier, but had to do with him. He also had a war pension, and ... Well ...
How do you make something like that loose?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today a
Womans Workshop by Women in Peace in Cunera. A long day over the former
Yugoslavia, the war in Bosnia. I had in my workshop a group leader a former Yugoslav. Can you imagine such a
thing.... they can never return. Lived here now for eight years. Family:
Bosnians, Serbs and Croats, both Christians (Orthodox and Catholic) as well as
Muslims. Everyone fought against everyone. Who is not dead or wounded, has
deserted spouse and family. The frenzy of lust, macho men that bring resentment
up thirteen centuries to find alibis for their bloodlust. The male scientists
that sit at the top, not politicians, along with the military, unscrupulous
murderers than anyone else in the world after Hitler. Those men. That anger in
me. I must do something with it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">98.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the
plenary session an appeal was made to the existing female MPs to accommodate
orphans and children of Serbian raped women in Dutch homes. That made that I,
no microphone, shouted: "And what when those children grow up?" At
first it did not go down well, but later, at the end, when I went to say
goodbye to the chairman jantien Achtseribbe, she revealed that she and Leoni
Spikes had understood me very well. They will try to keep the kids there.
Jantien told me that she was married to a Jewish man (I had my star on) and
understood me. What was somewhere in the back of my mind for a while, I
realized when I was in the rain bringing a few letters to the mailbox. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My father
told me; long ago that Olga had come for the first time to the Netherlands to
find work. I do not know whether she had any qualifications. Maybe she was just
very good at sports, who knows. So she came to The Hague, where a couple had
'hired' her, perhaps as a housekeeper like Olly, or a maid. She therefore came
as "illegal," for economic reasons here.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That night
the "Mr. and Mrs." Said that she must make herself beautiful, because
they would receive visitors. One way or another, she realized that she had not
come to an ordinary house, but a closed brothel and she managed to escape
through a window. She must have already known my father. How? Through a
socialist youth group? Or perhaps through international exchange, so then not
"illegal"? At least she had fled (already) from The Hague to
Amsterdam, to my father or to other members of that group. Shortly thereafter
she became naturalized by marrying my father.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was on
18 October 1933.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On 1 August
1935 I was born and in the beginning of '36, she must have returned from Vienna
with me. Until autumn and winter 1938, witnessed the photos, in winter clothing
which were taken in Oosterpark or Sarphatipark in Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">99.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Between
August '35 and Fall '38 they must therefore have been divorced, when Jaap could
marry in Vienna Hilda. Olly can now write that they did not know whether my
parents were then divorced, but my father certainly was not a bigamist.
Besides, the story is in that regard is clear enough. Moreover, I have a lawyer
and attorney, Plantage Middenlaan 88, in the center of Amsterdam, with a
telephone number. Probably the divorce lawyer from when we were still living in
the Czar Peter Street. So close by.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
couple of links to the chain. Or beads on the cord? We are now waiting for the
letter, which has to come from Aunt Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What else do
I need to get past some of letting myself be? Not everything has been worked
out, nor on paper or in my head.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">100.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica in
Amsterdam<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">101. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The scrap of
paper from Mr. Cooper<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">102.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The two
issues from my earliest childhood are still the flight from Vienna to
Amsterdam, and the abrupt divorce of my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
time, to the end of the hiding I can figure out the facts, which were a
predominant feeling of darkness and cold. Except for a few sunny memories from
Hoorn. The Martha Foundation, surely in Nieuwersluis has certainly brought
memories above which all the children of that time living in the west of the country must have had. And
besides that also the memories of the
house itself, the garden with its, lightning struck cedar, the lawn by the
pond, where we caught and made frogs 'tame', where we made from reed, skirts. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The owner and
his wife, who returned to their own country seat after the war, I visited
sometime around '85, to seek the past in a first attempt. They were old and
then accused me (!) that we, the children of the war had made a hole in their
hedge and that hedge was never properly mended. That was that. I had no
opportunity to see something of the house or the garden, but a weak cup of
coffee and a biscuit. Very genteel poverty.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Martha
Foundation in Alphen: a lot beatings, punishment and tasks, surviving
unconsciously, belittling and never being the best of the class. In the group I
was the worst and slowest, especially at stopping socks and knitting worsted
stockings. 'Snail' van Beek, apparently no one cared anything about her,
according to stories I heard decades later.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet also some
nice memories: I told ghost stories, later, to my peers, when we were in bed
and had to be quiet. I taught them dances and was very creative with beautiful
pieces of material and cardboard and paper, for example, I made diadems for the
hair. The kindergarten, how is it possible, nevertheless it bore its fruit. In
the memories of others I was a very serious, rarely smiling girl.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In my early
memory games pink rubies (or what I mistook thereof) encased in a brooch in the
shape of a bouquet, played a role.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">103.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last week
there was an art and curio market here, striking, especially as art deco
porcelain and old dusty materials evoke nostalgic feelings in me. And by one
stall there was a brooch that did not belong there. Strasz pink rhinestones, a
bouquet with blackened metal and bronze-colored stalks. I loved it; it called a
lot of old, good feelings awake. But it was expensive at fifty guilders. I
lingered at the booth, ostensibly to look at other things. The salesman then
said suddenly, "Good lady, for ten guilders, then." Well, I got it
and am still happy with it, though it is perhaps not even worth the tenner.
Every time I see that brioche, I think of the pink rubies, which I had found as
a child so lovely. I have placed it on the list with my mother’s photo.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
was in a curio shop in Utrecht and for
five guilders I bought a very old book. A
probably first published in Dutch version of the book by
Beecher Stowe: The negerhut. A translation of Uncle Tom's cabin. With the original engravings "to the twentieth
American printing from the English translation." On page 59 the engraving
with Eliza, fleeing across the ice! A publication of the Gebr. E. and M. Cohen, Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm too
impatient and thereby make the receipt of the facts more important than their
processing. Certainly in terms of my own life. I'm still waiting for three
drawn lines:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1. Answer
from Jerusalem;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2 Answer from
London;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 KRO radio
with Kalien Blondes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A fourth,
entirely in the background hit point, a new appointment with Margreet about
the Martha - Foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Meanwhile, I
am again eager to take action. In the Platform Modiale Awareness. With an
action for the former Yugoslavia, where
I have plotted the lines. I will convene a meeting to do something on
behalf of AFKIN* and the Federal Food Bond attracts harder: Women Committee,
work group "International Solidarity."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
start another book, where I can write about my work now to keep everything in
perspective, only for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why am I
still doing all this? Why do I not live a good life with my small pension, like
other people? Come on, I know the answer after all. If I was brought up as most
people with the same background, in the safe bosom of a loving family, I was
maybe barely aware of a different world than my little safe world.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's just my
own traumatic life that has made me aware of and empathetic to the trauma, the
fears, and the world of others. And if I can do something with it, for example
by writing about it, then surely that is a bonus? Even though I sometimes get
the feeling I am found to be a little
crazy, a voice in the wilderness. But if I keep quiet, I feel indeed
responsible. As with writers, journalists, protest singers and artists I have
my own way to express my dismay about the horrors of our time. And maybe too
emotional, but that is the way I happen to be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">26 November <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine
called. In the form of Yad Vashem was indeed stated in Hebrew "Olga Bock,
house wife, two children, shot in the street by a German officer because she
did not have her star on. In Amsterdam. Married name and name of parents
unknown. "<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tragically,
so many inaccuracies!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, Olly
knew even better than I was saved by nuns! How nameless and unwittingly can a
person live and die! Dear Mutti that after fifty years of your life and death
I can give you a name! Is that not a
miracle?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* The
anti-fascist committee of Nieuwengein <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">105.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight I
find the courage to call Hedda van Gennep. She confirmed Elmas suspicion that
Olga was alone when she was arrested. And that the Dutch police or the home
front did it. She has seen it happen, that she and her mother were arrested and
her mother was beaten in the street because she was wearing a box for her star.
By Nederlanders- in uniform!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So.... I have
never taken leave or said goodbye. Pfff ... and Mutti was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And then my
daughter Jessica came bye, for a quick cup of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hedda gave me
the telephone number of the National Institute for War Documentation. When Olga
was arrested and held prisoner and deported to Westerbork, I can maybe find
something about it there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
submitted a proposal for the Platform Global Awareness on support actions for
Bosnia. An amount per capita for joint financial operations and public action,
for games, work and labor for the Yugoslav displaced centers. Who are bored
silly, they do not speak our language, sit together and the only distraction
they have is the TV that news from home will bring, in their language. I wonder
if mayor Laan will positively pick this up. That was point 2. Point 1 is
realized on 10 December, and next week, Ad, a good friend, is here with me and
we will work on the content of the magazine Global, the periodical that the platform are going to send out around 15
December.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> This weekend to realize point three!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">106.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> With the 'reconstruction' of my book case I
come again across the white ceramic jar with lid, wherein sits a packed piece
of stone from Auschwitz, that a friend of Renco, my ex-husband, specially
brought for me. That now can get an honorary place.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Will I be
able once again to visit there, as in Vienna, or at Yad Vashem, there to find
my mother's name?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First search
in Westerbrok barracks 41/0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bring
telegram.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And fetch the
photo of Olga and me at the photographer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">27 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
photograph is collected. The price was 90% better than expected, the print was
disappointing. A bit flat and smooth compared with the yellowed original. Too
bad, but she seems to look younger in it though.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Surprise!
Paul was suddenly in front of me; he came for the second book. It was fine,
again to exchange so many things with him. There remains much old camaraderie.
He has grown and now goes (a little) in depth; even with emotions he dares to
talk about and show a bit. Something where he used to be closed about and a
thunder cloud formed over him, "Life is good, right?" He is a
complete man to be. And so I should prefer him throughout.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We also
talked about the reason for writing. Identity crisis? Yeah, maybe but I had no
feel for my identity. And when we entered into a relationship, he wanted me
holding that identity, gave no meetings or work to be with him. That would
oppress him. No, now I understand that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What am I
still glad that we can talk and write all about these misunderstandings. Now I
also told him that it was apparently still my nature to efface myself away for
the man I loved. And that was a huge threat to the adventurer who Paul wants to
be.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">107.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I thought it
was not so much a question of identity, but also and above all that I no longer
came out after Elma’s book and the conference ‘The hiding child,’ to finally do
and want to know the unwitting and the
unsaid things from the past and from to speak, albeit on paper. This quest for
knowledge and words became the mission of my life. More important to me than
anything I did earlier in my life for that unconscious burden I had to explain.
And previously used to hide behind for intimacy behind a so transparent wall.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now I can
talk, I can tell Paul all. There's a little sadness, because I could not
before. Now he could understand why I was how I was. But would he though have
coped? I do not think so.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regarding the
OPK where Elma wrote about: there is a note found in an archive box from the
Martha foundation, which said that the Germans gave permission to take me in at
the Martha foundation. That could, to me it is clear, also have been falsified
by the "resistance", to let me be safe hiding there. Finally there
were more Jewish children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> More research necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">30 November
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The RIOD *
called. Annemiek van Boxmeer. She has heard the whole story, but already knows
that there is no available data on the way my mother was arrested, the time she
has sat and so forth. All details of the houses of detention in Amsterdam from
the war are now destroyed. This also means that no Dutch police man has become
accountable for his conduct in the war. I will send a letter to Mrs van Boxmeer with all the relevant
information about my mother and she will very carefully look at what data
whatsoever.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*National
Institute for War Documentation<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">108.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In Westerbrok, she said, are found personal
things of the people that were there. I do not think however that I will find
anything there; she was there only three days.
By RIOD it is maybe also possible to find out how she died: on the
train, on arrival or in the gas chamber. On the note that was found at the Free
University for my inclusion at the Martha foundation: they consider it quite
possible that it was falsified by the resistance. But I have to search that out
at the university.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Moreover, I
am this weekend truly active for society. I have written participation notes
for Wednesday, December 2nd in the ABZ- committee (of Administrative Affairs)
and therefore will speak about the municipal identity card. Moluccans will be
put separately therein. I do not agree to that and just cannot! I will try to stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And there is
a silent vigil scheduled on December 24 because of the smear campaign against
illegal immigrants, where a piece I wrote will appear in the Molenkruier, our house-to-house newspaper.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have also
already the participate notes in January, the police report will be addressed
in the ABZ- Commisssion. Wow ... now nothing more please.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">109.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">December<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">110.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">111.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
talked to Elma. I have found at the
Nieuwengeinse recycling center New Work, two books that I thought would be
something for her. If she, as a journalist, needs for investigations or needs
old newspaper photographs, Our Beautiful Life, 100 years newspaper photographs
(Dutch) and a visual report with newspaper pictures of the great woman strike
on 8 March '81 may be useful. She is, I believe, happy with them. Next week I
will bring them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Elma said something that has stuck: I would
have to look Olly up in London personally. I can still do that, but I feel a
threshold. In a letter I can confront her with the past, but can I do that in
person? And then, I would see it as climbing a mountain. The night before I
dreamed of her and saw her as an old lady suffering with swollen legs. She is
no longer so hardy, she needs time. To write back. So I interpreted the dream
for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
gotten from New Work also a book of
Meyer Sluyser that I did not yet have :
There is growing grass in Weesperstraat and Leonard de Vries: Chaverien, is that a children's book?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I will hear
from Dorine if the library of the JMW (Jewish Social Work) has interest in
them. No mail from abroad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For a few
days I'm overly nervous again. Not just because of the participation in the
evening yesterday ABZ * - commission over the identity card of the Dutch
Municipalities. I was sure of my case and have also been vindicated. That card
is not, at least for now, going ahead!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* General
Administrative Affairs<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">112.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Where from then? Afraid because I go against
the established order? Mayor Laan personally assured me about that matter. Why
then? The weather, the high moon, the constant low pressure area? Causes that
are mentioned more frequently in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When Flik was
mayor here, I did open my mouth as needed. He took me quite seriously and I had
forgotten that I now have good-will on the city council. But that may not be
the only reason for my stress.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Perhaps
waiting for an answer from London? If that still will come? One reason to
consider sending a postcard about it?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No post from London.
No post from Israel.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">8 December
1992 <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally! Post
from London and from Jerusalem!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last
pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. Tomorrow I will tell you
everything. Now just as the overriding emotion when I read the translation of
the registration of Yad Vashem. "I ask you to give the survivor a"
posthumous citizenship "of the state of Israel, the undetachable sign of
solidarity with the Jewish people." She belongs there. I belong there.
Never before have I felt so Jewish. At heart and inseparably attached. Even
though the fact that the only attachment is to the JMW and Dorine, who let me
feel through the years that I belong. With no family, I am more a part than
with my children. Still I belong, with the Jewish people for centuries and until
the end of time. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It became
just too difficult, there were tears.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti, you're
nearly home. Then you may rest in peace
and this task is accomplished. "Ein schon Leich '* is made, a beautiful
funeral. Who knows, I may be I will bring you. And otherwise I will visit you
in Jerusalem at Yad Vashem. It is almost 1993, and since I do not speak Hebrew
nor ever observed the Jewish calendar, I raise my glass of herbal tea and say,
"See you next year in Jerusalem."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">113<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">9 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now it will
begin with the letters from Aunt Olly and Rabbi Schachter. I will start with
the second. The first is so difficult, so traumatic, that I have read it bit by
bit. And yet still I collapsed.... Sick with the shock, first with anger, a lot
of grief and rebellion later. I'll be back to the translation, if I can muster
up the strength today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later that
day. Rabbi Schachter writes:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs. Van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was on a
visit abroad, hence the delayed response.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was very
touched by your thoroughness and your desire to correct the registration of the
memoir, while my concern was not to further traumatize and bring you in touch
with family.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I enclose
some forms for you to register your mother and possibly other family. It will
be clear that we cannot destroy completed prior Pages of Testimony, we can add
a memo or note there with a reference to the 'added Pages in 1992, for example,
which will lead to your corrected Pages.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fill in the
form attached, please; address it to me so that I can add the Red Cross letter
and your letter there when I have received them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Rabbi J Schachter '<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* Yiddish<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">114<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The form is
filled in; I just need to wait a few days for a small copy of the photograph of
Olga and me to send.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And now,
there is no escape: the letter from Aunt Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Erica,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I wish I
could answer questions, but maybe at my age of 85 I forget a lot, or I did not
know a lot of things when they happened. I'm surprised your father seems to
have known me. I've never met him! Olga was really no more than a colleague of
the "Arbeiter Turn Verrein. She walked to Holland , I believe, before
Hitler's woes began in Vienna? Are you born in Holland? I was so happy to meet
here, Miss Palmer, a lady who wanted to guarantee my parents, Hilda and her two
children! But Hilda preferred to marry Jaap and go to Holland, Instead of
becoming a maid servant like me , and the children arrived with a
Kindertransport 'here and lived with an English couple. It took ten months
before I was given Inge to stay here with my parents and later with me. I do
not know whether Ilse knows these facts, but do not tell her, please.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another fact
is that Olga BORROWED the jacket with the star pinned from Hilda. It was
Hilda’s cloak! I hope Ilsa and Inge never hear this. Please, let them never
know!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Erica, please
try to forget what has happened. Forget and forgive!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I admire you
for.....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Furthermore,
I cannot go now.....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So this was
the big secret that has remained hidden for fifty years. Olga had worn Hilda’s
jacket briefly.... and she was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">115<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the guilt
and shame later on have assaulted Ilse and me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fifty years!
Fifty years straight it was hushed, nobody wanted to talk about my mother with
me, everyone has told me to leave the past alone. Also to Ilse. She would’ give
her mother sorrow ‘by asking questions. No, she would know the secret and maybe
tell me. That shame, guilt, we have carried our whole life, we did not know
what!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That anger
over the fate unknown, but no less felt, has given me and Ilse in our
adulthood, crisis dragged into crisis. How do you translate the moaning, the
pain that is felt in your head to your toes, the flow of adrenaline, which can
destroy your body, into words! Give me those WORDS!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda had
thus lost her cloak, the cloak that killed my mother, and that fifty years long
has covered everything, even my life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tell me how I
translate this literal pain in written sentences and I'll write a book thicker
than Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses and heavier than the Torah and the State
bible together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How do I make
the story in question to look like something that remains credible for myself?
Here it looks like a bad novel, with fictional personalities. But it's true. It
really happened! This was my life. And that of my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have to
pick myself back together. And continue to write.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For hours I
postponed it. I have tried everything: telephone calls, including Paul, talked
to Jessica, lounging before the TV, to come to my senses. With Dorine yesterday
I tried to place it in perspective in the context of that time, especially into
perspective...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Same day,
very late. Now I finish the letter of Olly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">116<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I admire you
because you have led such a strong, useful life and are still so helpful. That
must have been partly because of your Christian education. *<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
nothing to forgive Hilda of. After my
visit with Inge to Holland Hilda wanted
Inge and Kurti to live with her,
and Louis, with whom she was not married at the time. He must have been a good,
decent man, that he not only accepted Ilse, but also to take the two children
in. To help her, he even married her. I begged Hilda to be allowed to keep Inge
with me for two years so she could finish her education . Hilda refused that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> In any case, it seems that she gave up the
struggle for the children, including the conflict with the Jewish refugees
commitee that protected the children. And nobody saw or heard anything about it
afterwards .....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, Erica,
the bitter times that you have gone through in your life have made you what you
are now. A brave, compassionate person. Try not to think of the past; enjoy
your still relatively comfortable life
now, as I do. I try not to take note of what is happening around me in the
world (I know that's very selfish, but in my 85 years I have no more fighting
spirit in me). I live with my cat Shelly quite satisfied, waiting for Inge's
weekly letter. I hope that the treatment of Allen (Inge's husband) is helping
to fight his cancer. He recently had an operation and is doing well and
hopefully for quite a long time. Their three daughters live in England, but I
only see Sara occasionally. Kate lives in Sheffield, so quite far away. I
rarely see her. Helen shows no interest in contact with me. I have not seen her
since my eightieth birthday. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, dear,
you do well. Do not think too much about what has happened and make the best of
life. All good wishes,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* How did she
work that out?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">117<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, all
good spirits, help me! What should I answer the old lady? She means it
apparently so well; all my questions about my mother, she has indeed answered,
as far as she could. The conclusions are indeed my own responsibility.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the
shock, I write my first spontaneous reaction in fluent German. Afterwards I do
not send it, it was too hard for her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I shy off,
for the umpteenth time. Go to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">10 September
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I put aside
everything today to be well prepared for the establishment of the Platform
Global Awareness. Two weeks ago, I submitted a proposal to give a 'flying
start' to this Platform. Aid to Yugoslavian
displaced persons in the Netherlands and an amount per capita to be
voted by the council, for the large joint fundraising (rural) to Somalia and
Bosnia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I can cry
now. So I do it. After a little playful opening speech of the mayor, we
continued the meeting. And all official events were treated as the drafting of
an annual plan, joint events, bylaws etc. Nothing came out of the paint.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Participants
walked away. When barely half was over, my proposal was on the agenda. All I
wanted was my name swept underneath the platform and then to the City Council.
Well, you cannot expect in such a situation that the point is also discussed
but equally serious. The next meeting is late January. And then I have to come
up with a concrete proposal. As if this was not practical. And others thought
again that they first had to talk with their supporters about it, while the
Platform is designed precisely to take independent decisions. They have, it is
clear, no idea, what it's like to sit in the war.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">118<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh, next
month the need is still there?! Yes, and the fact that they are there left in
the shelters by us, let down this winter, means nothing. And that belongings
and money will only be available next year (maybe) is less important than a
rich regulatory conduct of meetings. I was so angry and bewildered that I'm
seriously thinking to do the whole action and only in a personal capacity. But
I just cannot physically and mentally. I have even taken on working for a
torchlight vigil on December 24 against xenophobia and smears against refugees.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So this was
the big disappointment today. The leaflet Globally, that this time must be
written exclusively on the Ad control, was again nice. I have written for that
a very small article and controlled and corrected it. On Saturday the
volunteers market and on Tuesday is the AFKIN- meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I know I'm
doing it myself, but I would love to continue to do everything, writing,
mourning and work. Help!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That
participation in the ABZ- committee has been a great success! National
newspapers and the Utrecht’s newspaper wrote about it. Elma was not allowed
to, but did have contact with the
consultative body of Moluccan Welfare and Lilipali from the parliament. That
has raised questions for the minister. The VNG downplayed the case, as
uncertainty of Mayor Laan. I was able to bring him the parliamentary question
and wait for the answer from The Hague.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That's my
life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But I long to
be again, completely busy with the past, with myself, so that I have written
this all. Hey ... it is with a feeling
that I, in this way have been able to tell about my mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The spirit
goes where it will- there for her no time, no distance. She moves in other
dimensions, other people, other times and conditions. Provided that it is
willing to be empathetic.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here I sit, I
can do nothing else, and who wants to go with me?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">119<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It could have
happened like this.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's August,
1942. It is a warm day, threatening to storm. Olga and Erica go to Olga’s
sister Hilda, who has a baby. That is not easy at the time, raising a baby.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga has a
star, a Star of David on her dress. She did not have a coat on; it's the height
of summer. If small Erica also wears a star? I do not know.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the end of
the afternoon the sky darkens, but nevertheless it's not raining yet. Hilda
discovers that she needs something for the baby. Milk? Flour? Or the teat is
broken, or the bottle ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And Olga
offers to quickly go and get it. Quickly , because it is nearly curfew. Then
there should be no more Jews walking about outside ... because the air is so
threatening she calls to Hilda: " I just put on your coat "and
leaves.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> And then she comes upon a Dutch policeman or a
border guard, who sees a yellow star and from that liberty takes hold of this
young and attractive woman. To his pleasure and her terror the star was not
sewn, but pinned. That is for him the reason, that he, under threat with his
gun-there were stories that she had been shot dead on the street, but that was
not true - to arrest her and confine her in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At home
waiting, in increasing panic, Hilda and the little Erica. And as it gets later
Hilda is more certain that Olga has been arrested. Because she did not have the
star sewn on her coat but had fastened it with safety pins.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It takes days
before they are assured. It lasts until September 8 before she receives a note
from Olga herself, who is currently on route from Amsterdam to camp Westerbrok.
Olga tries to encourage her sister even at that time. But on September 10 she
sends from Westerbrok a telegram in panic to Hilda, asking her to send the
"Aryan" papers from her ex-husband, it does not help. The next day,
September 11, she is stowed in the lorry, to Auschwitz, where she is
immediately killed upon arrival.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">120<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And then she
comes upon a Dutch policeman or a border guard, who sees a yellow star and from
that liberty takes hold of this young and attractive woman. To his pleasure and
her terror the star was not sewn, but pinned. That is for him the reason, that
he, under threat with his gun-there were stories that she had been shot dead on
the street, but that was not true - to arrest her and confine her in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At home
waiting in a great panic, Hilda and the little Erica. And it is getting more
certain that Olga has been picked up. Because she had not sewn on her coat the
star, but had fastened it with safety pins.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It takes days
before they get affirmation. But it is not until September 8 before she
receives a note from Olga herself , who is under way at that time from Amsterdam
to Westerbork. Olga tries to reassure her sister even at that time with
courage. But on September 10 she sends from Westerbrok a panicked telegram to
Hilda, asking her to send the "Aryan" papers from her ex-husband. It
does not help. The next day, September 11, she is stowed in the lorry, to
Auschwitz, where she is immediately killed upon arrival.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">120<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For Hilda the
nightmare would now have begun. This is irrevocably the last time that Olga can
help her. In fact die for her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What should
she now do with the little Erica? It is as hard as it is with the baby.
Fortunately, Erica also has a father, an 'Aryan' father still, who, to
complicate the story, at that moment ‘for appearances’ is married to Hilda.
Naturally he is divorced from Erica’s mother. His father, Jack, has a brother
who is recently married. And they want to look after Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But if Olga
does not return- and nobody knows whether she will- it becomes even more
difficult. Erica then suddenly becomes a Jewish child, a risk. And then the
wanderings of the child starts from hiding - to hiding place, until no one
knows anymore and she is back at her aunt and uncle on the sidewalk.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where is
Erica’s father at that time? It appears
that he is sent to work in Germany until he manages to escape in the summer of
1943. He is "married" with Hilda and according to the Registers and
Population of the town hall they live at the same address, but actually he
lives with his father, Erica’s grandfather.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When he,
after his escape, will look for his daughter and arrives at his sister in law ,
that's just at a moment when they are "beating" Erica (his words,
many years later). After a violent argument he takes his child to his home,
where she has a few wonderful months. The only good time actually in her
childhood, when she became an adult, could fondly look back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That sister
in law has not let it sit. Jaap show no signs of gratitude that she has been
part of the child's fate, especially since she was still a Jewish child.
Instead, he has quarreled with her, added her reproach and 'just' captured the
child. Calling for revenge? She can, so she turns to someone from the Council
for Child Protection, "because it's inexcusable that such a small girl
grows up by two men, moreover, it is a Jewish child.’’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">121<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The latter must
have been difficult for the Council for Child Protection, but there is someone
who has signed a letter that the Germans include Erica van Beek at the Martha
Foundation in Alphen aan de Rijn. The
Martha Foundation appears to be ‘started’ in Alphen by the Germans! In
Nieuwersluis some of the children were housed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On a cold,
wet, dark day in December 1943 is Erica then "safely drilled ' in the
Martha Foundation, where she will remain until she was nineteen.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And Hilda?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda with
her two older children can safely get away from Vienna. She gets the chance to go to England. But she
prefers to let her children go - with a girlfriend - she continue to stay in
Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After the war
she married Louis, after a divorce from Erica’s father. The baby from the beginning
of this story thrives on and has a father and a mother. A second baby, born
during the war, does not survive. Hilda with her child also sat for a while in
Westrbork but knew how to survive.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After 1945
she performs a short struggle with the Jewish Refugee Committee and the OPK,
the War Foster Children Committee, to regain her older children. She may have
tried to get Erica out of the orphanage. That did not work. And failure is
–possibly - based on the fact that she is Erica’s aunt and her stepmother.
Well, the OPK did their own standards and Hilda would have not have coped with
the possibility of raising four children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Has Hilda
been happy with her memories and her past?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">122<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Vienna<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It must not
have been easy living in Vienna between 1920 and 1933. There was the recession,
unemployment, poverty. There, as well as here. Grandfather, Armin Bock, refugee
from the Czech Republic, had become stateless. Married to the Viennese Joszefa
Karpfen (omama, my grandmother), his two children, daughters Olga and Hilda,
are also stateless. Although Jewish, there is no indication that they were part
of the Jewish community in Vienna. But Grandpapa had, due to the persecution of
Jews fled to the Czech Republic. What did he do for a living? Had he (right)
support when unemployed? Or did the family in the beginning a little capital?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Grandpapa
apparently died young. The family was a
member of the Socialist Workers Party. Especially omama seems to have been
militant in it. The youngest daughter, my mother Olga, was also an enthusiastic
member of the Arbeiter Turn Verein and even later won gold at the Workers'
Olympiad in Budapest.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The single
parent family seems to have been very needy. Reasons why Olga took the decision
to try to find a job in the Netherlands. She came to the Netherlands and found,
except for work and income, a man and later had a child from that marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The eldest
daughter had two children in Vienna. From a relationship with a man she could
not marry?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The story is
complicated.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hitler's hell
is visible in 1933. In that year, in October, Olga married in Netherlands Jaap
van Beek, not a jew, but a blonde blue-eyed Dutchman. (A few generations back,
one Lady Von Dalmann of German landed gentry, married to a Van Beek, so the
"Aryan" could not be doubted.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Almost two
years later, from the marriage of Olga and Jaap, a daughter is born, Erica. The
marriage seems to have lasted for a half a year longer. Olga goes back to
Vienna with her baby. It is not known whether Hilda is (still) financially
maintained, nor is it known whether, as the separation between Olga and Jaap is
final, Olga receives alimony. It can be assumed that Olga earns a living for
the family. At that time, Erica is so ill that she is hospitalized in the
children's hospital in Vienna and has a lot of children’s sicknesses
consecutively. Which cannot have been conducive to Olga to keep her job.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After
Kristallnacht not only hell breaks loose in Germany, but the panic among Jewish
citizens in surrounding countries.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jaap since August
1938 separated from Olga, goes to Vienna and begs Olga remarry him for her and
Erica’s safety. Olga refuses and points out to him that Hilda and her two
children are much more vulnerable. How is Jaap committed to marry Hilda and her
two children for their safety while he still loves Olga? Olga is a strong
personality, an athlete at heart, much stronger than Jaap and Hilda together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olga goes
with Erica and Omama 'on vacation' and when they come back, Jaap, Hilda and the
two children have left Vienna. That must have happened in the summer of 1939.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly
Weiss<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As said Olga
was a member of the Arbeiters Turn Verein. In the same building where she lived
with her family, also the Weiss family lived. And the family loved the little
children of Hilda, especially the eldest daughter Inge. Olly Weiss was Olga’s
team mate.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Olly sought
and found work as a housekeeper or maid in London. She also wanted her parents
to come and Hilda with her two children. She was lucky to find one Miss Palmer,
a wealthy lady who wanted to guarantee both the family Weiss and Hilda. This
event took place in the course of 1938. In '39 all was arranged.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But when push
came to shove, in other words, when Olly went to Vienna to pick them up, Hilda
now turned out to be married to Jaap. Rather than be a maid in England and take
care of her children, she went to Amsterdam with Jaap. While her children, with
a 'children's transport' travelled to London. After being there for ten months,
Inge went to live with the Weiss family,
where, after the death of Olly’s parents was raised by Olly herself. Her
brother Kurti was raised up by foster parents. Both children remained in
England, becoming adults and received British citizenship.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">124<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda’s third
child, Ilse who was born in the
Netherlands, stayed with her. It was after the war, so she got a (step) father,
grew up prosperously , but not without trauma as the second generation child.
And was actually an only child.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The war also
seems to have been for her parents an indigestible matter and when the daughter
was mature they decided to separate. Not long after that Hilda died, she was
burned out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">13 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am sitting
with my feelings back in the war times. For a few days now. Has nothing changed
in fifty years? The realization that the Platform, so Nieuwengein then , now
refuses to do something about the misery of the displaced-shelters in the form
of some distraction, or to advise B & W on a contribution per capita for
Bosnia ( where a hunger winter of '44
is on the way!) and Somalia .... Here
nothing can be done, knowing how it is makes me so desperate that I cannot
sleep and can think of nothing else all day. Although yesterday I have been at
the stand of Novib at the voluntary market all day with a friendly face.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You know, you
can only talk to people who know what you're talking about.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am glad
that the action against xenophobia, against illegal smear campaign, comes in
order. Peter has created posters for the twenty-fourth. Women for Peace and
Amnesty participate.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">125<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So I can channel
my grief and my anger without damaging myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sadness and
anger are not gone, oh no.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want to go
back to December 9, the letters.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I will tell
Rabbi Schachter the story briefly, why I am so determined to straighten out the
Pages. Does he not see it himself, that it is not a remembrance of my mother,
but the desire of my niece to have the name of her family member in this?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">N'importe
what kind of data? Not one syllable of it was correct, except the name. My
first feeling was therefore, that the Rabbi, felt a little passed over ,
because I did not respond to the discovery of the niece, who also knew nothing.
But that is not what I was looking for, I must make it clear. Reparation for
Olga, of whose life and death only Hilda knew about and who kept silent from
me. That mantle of fifty years that was revealed by Olly, with instructions
never to let Ilse and Inge know. I want that also in the Pages. I will have to
let Ilse know of that letter. How? I'll have to think, well that's no rush.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Other things
remind Olly that she no longer can place. But concerned about that time, she is
still, though she says that she does not have any "fight" more with
her 85 years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That means
that she had in that in the past, and that shows. The courage not only for
herself but also for others to find a safe haven, speaks from her letters. It
is a pity, a great pity that Inge and Kurti that I should have known so well in
Vienna have disappeared completely from sight. Actually just like Ilse. A
family band will I never have with them again, but it's nice that I have heard
about them again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over the
acceptance of ‘that coat ‘I am still not there, even if I put it in
perspective. How do you do that as a victim? I can say, Hilda, I forgive you;
the fact itself is your underestimation of the danger of your carelessness.
That is something that happens.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">126<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But it did
have my mother killed, as you ought to have been wearing that coat. And as you
have survived (but how?), so she could
have survived. She would have taken Ilse , combative as she was. Now my
life has given Ilse a home, but apparently not a happy childhood. Let me hold
on to that. Ilse has also become a war victim, her "home." And my
life has consisted of flights from nowhere to nowhere, me closing my past until
now. Here only I have found my home. Only after three children and two
marriages. My oldest lost through drugs and suicide-no mother who could reach
him, he was imprisoned in himself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jacob, my
child that hid under a coat until he suffocated. From a fear of living.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Leo, who is
alone and that maybe will remain that way, grew up with me and two fathers
could not be real fathers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jessica, who
is still fighting for freedom under that coat, which she now knows, exists.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I myself,
that I no longer dare to venture into a new relationship, after making wrong
choices five times. Thanks for the one who taught me to sublimate my anger and
grief into action for people, who like me suffered from oppression and
infringements of his human dignity, proclaiming rights for the incapacitated! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Is that the
key to my whole life after Olga? Oppression and disregard for my human dignity?
Finally, I was Jewish and, as such, was I- treated in the time when I lived. I
see now. And I have acted in the past twelve years, but for recognition of my
person and to restore my dignity<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From my
empathy with those, and for those that I I worked with, from what I have
experienced myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But also of
anger and sadness, which could not be captured in words, because I kept the
cargo from the past denied until now.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">127<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">15 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What is -and
what is the function of -a prophet?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Pastor Mook called me, ‘The prophetess of
Nieuwegein. ‘ That has lingered.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tonight
council meeting . In the break I was talking to J.H. He told me
enthusiastically about the worries of preparing for Christmas. And I told him
that I was not able to celebrate Christmas this year. What happens so close
east of our borders. With Bosnia and images of Somalia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
councilor said later, "You did not come to make us sad, huh Erica?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What should I
do? Stay talking in the form of politeness? I may not express my feelings, my
sorrow and anger and impotence in order not to disrupt the Christmas party? May
I not indicate that we cannot celebrate with a clear conscience and cheerful
mood while such terrible inhuman things happen this Christmas season?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Did Reverend
Mook mean that I am a thistle under foot? Or (calamity) prophet who disturbs
the peace of the conscience of Christians and non Christians?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> We, war children and adults know, yet have still
all experienced at firsthand? And yet are still scared, angry, helpless and
almost powerless? Almost, because only a small area, we cannot get involved to
resist the immense indifference, the ‘cocoon’. Pull that screen, that wall
you've built around you and just see what happens around us. Let's work
together to try there to change that. It is not for us, then for our children
and grandchildren. So that the blood on our hands of our indifference does not
come upon our descendants. Then we will be certainly guilty. Omama, as weak as
you were, you were a militant woman who meant a lot for the labor movement.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mutti, the
strength of your character, your perseverance and sportsmanship, your living
will to start a new life here, with all the menace of Hitler Germany. Give me
some of your perseverance, despite all resistance. I'm so discouraged now.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">128.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who wants to
hear<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Those who
wish to see<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who suffers
too<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not just with
me<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But with the
horror<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where people
like them<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Should survive them<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">or die?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I did not ask
for, nor can I shut myself away from it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
powerlessness over my past blends seamlessly into despair about the horrors of
today.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I thought I
could get away now, but every time that it takes longer, I am more a part of
them. I hear them, right here in my safe little flat I'm not safe there.
L’histoire interieure se repete toujours; comme l'exterieur. Et parce que cette
histoire d'aujourd'hui est l'exterior. Et parce que cette histoire
d'aujourd'hui est l'histoire de moi-meme et de Maman et Omaman et six miliones
des autres hommes. Et il passe aujourd'hui, après cinquantes années.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now back in
French, earlier to Olly in German. What comes up as I write this?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Say, write
what I know, what I feel. And make people participants of what happens ,
whether they like it or not.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The coat has
to go.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I fight and
wrestle with all these feelings, day and night. Sometimes it's sadness so great
that I have no spoken words, and if I find them, because of the interests of
others, my mouth takes over, without being able to stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Is this the
function of a prophet?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Or do I behave like an intrusive campaigner?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, that is
not me. But maybe they see me like that, if I do not keep my feelings under
control and thus contact others in their heart and conscience.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I do this
more than ten years-over declared unfit for work (sick and disabled), over
racism versus equality. If it would leave me indifferent, I would have no need
to write about it or talk about it. Sometimes they give me the feeling that
they think I am mad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So be it.
This is me, Erica, made up of a life that was dominated by an invisible and
unknown coat of fifty years now. Exponent of "lest we forget."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">129.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">16 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I just read
Ilse’s letter of 14 November again, where she tries to untangle the knot that
has occured upon completion of Rivka’s addition to The Page. The history of Olga and Hilda were
jumbled. This could imply that Hilda has also told Rivka facts - the jacket-
and Rivka has therefore become confused,
that is the misunderstanding . I try now
to put it in the time. Everyone was still busy processing, or stopping of the
flaring memories of the horrors. We were traumatized, and could not put into
words what kept us so busy. Maybe Hilda has told her story confusingly, which
was picked up as such. But when she wrote a letter about it, not only Olly knew
it, but Rivka knew then - and Ilse also now!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1.How do I
tell Ilse?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2.How can I
tell that to Aunt Olly?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh time, get
me in that matter!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Kalien
Blonden called. Relief: the radio programme is off. The editors did not think
it a good opportunity.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I let on to
her surprise that I find it fine,because
the only reason I had agreed, lay in the search for survivors, who would have
known her. That is now no longer necessary. Thence.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last data
is now coming in and the next week I hope, if not the real grieving process,
yet will I finish this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the last
few days, there were quite a few things that ran together, so it was difficult
to stay with this case. So emotional, I could not sleep and really collapsed
yesterday. (And promptly at half past three in the afternoon I slept until
eight o'clock this morning, with some interruptions!)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why my
emotions with me went on the run?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Among other
things because I cannot handle that people very carelessly spend millions and millions on Christmas shopping,
chunky tables, feasting, while just over our border and further, into former
Yugoslavia, history is being repeated. The same history, which I'm trying to
deal with in this book. Shut up, Erica, don’t make us sad, and do not appeal to
us and our consciences. Don’t you see that we want to celebrate, you disturber!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judging by
the signals I expected Thursday, December 24th not a big turnout for the torch
vigil, we organized as AFKIN.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I again
brought out in the library, the Jewish Weekly News. Searching for clues that
maybe I had previously overlooked. In the Jewish Weekly News, number 20 of
August 21, 1942, I found an article on the confirmation of the star.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">131.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Serious warning<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The presidents
of Amsterdam’s Jewish Council make further emphasis for Amsterdam's attention
to the obligation of Jews to:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1st to
properly attach the Star of David and wear it visibly;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2nd refrain
from entering gardens, parks and all the roads that are forbidden for Jews;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3rd not use
traffic ways without a license;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4th not live
or stay at other addresses than the above address mentioned on the identity
card.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Violation of
these provisions has led in several cases to severe punishment, even when it
was solely due to carelessness. Hence the repeated serious warning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is conceivable that Hilda has even tried to
get help from the Jewish Council, or at least tried to get to the Council for
information when Olga was not coming home. Maybe she told them that Olga was
wearing her coat. But nothing helped. This remains hypotheses, but I cannot
imagine differently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
received this letter from the RIOD:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In response
to your letter of 2 December 1992, I can tell you the following:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
collections of the RIOD contain unfortunately no more details about your mother
Olga Bock then you are already familiar with. For example, there are no
documents that have been preserved, which relate to the arrest of your mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">132<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">THE JAILS
ADMINISTRATION HAS NOT BEEN RECOVERED
AFTER THE WAR*<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of the
documents relating to the Westerbork transit camp, the proof is that Olga Bock
was indeed deported on 11 September 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would have
liked to have done more for you. I'm sorry, that by the limitedness of the
material at my disposal, it is not possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sincerely, Ms
A van Boxmeer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where can I
still go with my anger and sadness? Is there a policeman ever punished for the
preparation of murdering my innocent mother? A driver for obediently bringing
her to her place of execution?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And today
happens again the same! Are people because of their origin, their religion,
massively persecuted their appearance, killed, expelled, put to flight. And
survivors should only see them ready to come out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Okay, okay,
it's all happened fifty years ago and I am only now so far, I can handle it a
little, to relive that time for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet it is too
much for me, as before, the same things are happening. My empathy should not be
stretched too far!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All and
sundry of the Dutch tribe celebrates rather extensive Christmas. So I
don’t need to .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*Capitals are
mine<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">133<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It brought to
mind again the note of Olga. There is no trace of reproach to Hilda . Instead,
she tries yet to speak to Hilda with courage, "Kopf hoch, Madel."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">History does
not change its view. Never has there been a ‘point of return’. Who am I, that I
look back with so much anger and resentment at a time, which cannot be compared
with this time, in this society, in this same country? And, I have the examples that today terrible things happen
with and through people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">May a man
fail? Weak and maybe a coward, if he should suffer such intolerable tension, as
at that time? With, still, the examples of Germany and now in Yugoslavia.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">130.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last data
is now coming in and the next week I hope, if not the real grieving process,
yet will I finish this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the last
few days, there were quite a few things that ran together, so it was difficult
to stay with this case. So emotional, I could not sleep and really collapsed
yesterday. (And promptly at half past three in the afternoon I slept until
eight o'clock this morning, with some interruptions!)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why my
emotions with me went on the run?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Among other
things because I cannot handle that people very carelessly spend millions and millions on Christmas shopping,
chunky tables, feasting, while just over our border and further, into former
Yugoslavia, history is being repeated. The same history, which I'm trying to
deal with in this book. Shut up, Erica, don’t make us sad, and do not appeal to
us and our consciences. Don’t you see that we want to celebrate, you disturber!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judging by
the signals I expected Thursday, December 24th not a big turnout for the torch
vigil, we organized as AFKIN.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
again brought out in the library, the Jewish Weekly News. Searching for clues
that maybe I had previously overlooked. In the Jewish Weekly News, number 20 of
August 21, 1942, I found an article on the confirmation of the star.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">131.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Serious warning<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
presidents of Amsterdam’s Jewish Council make further emphasis for Amsterdam's
attention to the obligation of Jews to:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1st to
properly attach the Star of David and wear it visibly;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2nd refrain
from entering gardens, parks and all the roads that are forbidden for Jews;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3rd not use
traffic ways without a license;<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4th not live
or stay at other addresses than the above address mentioned on the identity
card.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Violation of
these provisions has led in several cases to severe punishment, even when it
was solely due to carelessness. Hence the repeated serious warning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is conceivable that Hilda has even tried to
get help from the Jewish Council, or at least tried to get to the Council for
information when Olga was not coming home. Maybe she told them that Olga was
wearing her coat. But nothing helped. This remains hypotheses, but I cannot
imagine differently.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">21 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I
received this letter from the RIOD:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Mrs van
Beek,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In response
to your letter of 2 December 1992, I can tell you the following:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
collections of the RIOD contain unfortunately no more details about your mother
Olga Bock then you are already familiar with. For example, there are no
documents that have been preserved, which relate to the arrest of your mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">132<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">THE JAILS
ADMINISTRATION HAS NOT BEEN RECOVERED
AFTER THE WAR*<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of the
documents relating to the Westerbork transit camp, the proof is that Olga Bock
was indeed deported on 11 September 1942.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would have
liked to have done more for you. I'm sorry, that by the limitedness of the
material at my disposal, it is not possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sincerely, Ms
A van Boxmeer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where can I
still go with my anger and sadness? Is there a policeman ever punished for the
preparation of murdering my innocent mother? A driver for obediently bringing
her to her place of execution?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And today
happens again the same! Are people because of their origin, their religion,
massively persecuted their appearance, killed, expelled, put to flight. And
survivors should only see them ready to come out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Okay, okay,
it's all happened fifty years ago and I am only now so far, I can handle it a
little, to relive that time for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet it is too
much for me, as before, the same things are happening. My empathy should not be
stretched too far!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All and
sundry of the Dutch tribe celebrates rather extensive Christmas. So I
don’t need to .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*Capitals are
mine<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">133<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">23 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It brought to
mind again the note of Olga. There is no trace of reproach to Hilda. Instead,
she tries to speak to Hilda with courage, "Kopf hoch, Madel."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">History does
not change itself. Never has there been a point of return. “Who am I that I
look back with so much anger and resentment at a time, which cannot be compared
with this time, in this society, in this same country? And, I see through
examples today that terrible things happen with and through people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">May a man
fail? Weak and maybe a coward if he should suffer such intolerable tension, as
at that time? With, still, the examples of Yugoslavia and now in Germany?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hilda,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Whatever have
been the consequences of the 'coat', who am I, that I would condemn. If I have
to forgive anything, I do hereby wholeheartedly!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It apparently
had .<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> And if
not, then we have to accept that life is as it is and I am that I am. Do not
look back at what might have been if ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I want to
see in advance what is possible. What good things I can still contribute. So
what happened and what is presently happening east of our borders, will perhaps
not go repeating itself...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over that and
this way I will have to write back to Olly and Ilse.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I will.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
searched for my mother and found her. Even though I did not know how I would
find her, I knew that I had never taken leave of her. I did that now. And I may
mourn a youth that I and hundreds of thousands, even millions of children that
were taken away by the madness of power forces, who use the power they have to
create people that are immersed in grief, because they differ in color and
origin from what they propose as normal.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">134<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is the
letter I wrote to Rabbi Schachter:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">22 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Rabbi
Schachter,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took me a
few days before I was able to write back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I would first
like to thank you again for your concern of my wellbeing.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Enclosed you
will find the new Page of my mother with a picture of her and me as a child.
Thank you that you want to take care of her file.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I want to
tell you again, so that no misunderstanding exists, I had to research the past
of my mother and me. I had no evidence that she ever existed, except this
picture and some papers, when in a short time two things happened. The book of
Elma Verhey "To the Jewish Child” was released and the conference “The
Hiding Child “, became public. I not only survived almost without memories, but
also with fear and anger that I did not understand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had to make
this quest. Not only for me but also for my daughter Jessica, a
second-generation child, so she and her mother will understand themselves
better and also to give her a past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I've told you
about my two sons, one of them died by suicide, by deliberately taking an
overdose of pills and drugs. That has to do with my past. And the second son
has his difficulties through that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And there was
another, important reason and that was to give a grave with her own name to my
mother. So she was no longer an unknown and unnamed victim.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">135<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I never
sought nor wanted relatives. Anyone who has survived, that knew of my
existence, never let that be known. Not even shown of their existence. I say
this not with anger or self-pity. But there is no room for them. I have my own
life, my (former) family, my friends and my work. With the latter I mean, I
(still) want to believe in the 'Global Village' and our shared responsibility
there-for. So I see my daily volunteer work. Here I have found my family and
friends. Believe me, I have no bitterness.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> I found my mother. And my own past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the same
time I have lost my fear of my memories. And thus so many remembrances have
come back. Not all, the most traumatic still remain hidden.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have among
other things discovered that my mother was arrested and thrown in prison and
later via Wester Bork in Auschwitz is murdered, that the coat she was wearing
at the time, with the pinned-star, was the coat of her sister. She probably
borrowed it to get something quickly for her sister’s baby. .and did not
return. And sister survived and has not looked back at me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That makes
this discovery very difficult to process. Do you understand?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The whole
story of my quest, now by friend Paul typed and edited. I will keep my promise
and send you a copy. That is if the book is finished. If it is published.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A miserable
side effect is that this quest is taking place at a time when all that misery
in Germany and the former Yugoslavia is now happening. Where the Serbs are
doing the same things against non-Serbs, especially against Muslims. It is very
frightening to believe that humanity will never change, no matter how big the
technical progress and the communication possibilities for humanity nowadays
have become. On the contrary, it seems that we just want to use it to destroy
ourselves and the world. There was a time, not so long ago; I had the idea that
humanity was becoming better and wiser.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, I'm
wiser ... and sadder.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">136<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regarding my
Israel I had the hope that the war with the Palestinians would come to an end
with election of the Labour Party. But there is still no sign of peace. On the
contrary, the PLO and Hamas will work together and I'm terrified for such
cooperation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Judaism and
Peace.... will it ever go together?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last I read
in a newspaper a statement by a Serbian word carrier: "War makes sense as
long as there is a possibility to make a profit." Is that not cynical? Put
the word 'peace' in place of 'war' and we can have the most delicious world.
And then of course an all-out ban and
closing of all weapons factories because
they destroy our world and kill our children, our fathers and mothers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But these are
simply philosophical thoughts of mine. I expect no one, to make this a reality.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm going to
leave you. Thanks for everything you've done for me. Receive my best wishes for
yourself. Forever,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Your Erica
van Beek.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">37<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">24 December
1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A while ago I
wrote: "In the past is the present, in the moment what is coming." A
cliché, but how true!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The hatred is
now grown by supra-nationalism and social discontent is the seed where fertile
soil is found in the victims of today and future generations. The raped women
of Bosnia bring forth children who are already hated for their birth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The fruits
thereof may be new wars again, in about 25, 50 or 100 years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tribal strife,
religious wars, they are now and always will be. Because we are only human,
obstinate and unruly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And all
surviving victims will be able to write books like this ...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Peace on
earth is a dream, we have to face the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe that is
the lesson I had to learn and if necessary why I had to write this book.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
"Global Village," which I dream of is the dream of a relatively small
group of people. With little power. And our world will continue to run maybe a
little longer. But will they survive?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To believe in
it, I would have to rely on the fundamental goodness of people. The fundamental
sense of responsibility for each other as human beings. The I = you feeling.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I must
begin with myself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sigh..... I'm
not there yet.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">39<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jood<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">141<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">January 29,
1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally I
have written draft letters to Olly and Ilse. Maybe I can finish them Sunday and
send them. The text I want in any case to record here.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took me a
long time to learn to live with what is written in your last letter. The
thought that Olga had the coat on of Hilda was very hard to bear. It is even
reflected in the title of the book about my childhood, that will be called Two
women and a coat.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now the time
is ripe, now I am able to live with it, as with everything that has happened.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The period
from 1939 to May 1945 was on the Continent a time of incomprehensible terrible
events. Where the people who survived were injured for the rest of their lives.
Hilda was also briefly in the
concentration camp Westerbork, together with Ilse who was a baby.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am
convinced that Hilda has gone to the Jewish Council in Amsterdam when Olga did
not return. And she told them what has happened. I am so confident because I
read in the Jewish Weekly from a few weeks later an article warning people
extra not to pin the star, but to sew it on: "Several people that are
pinning have been severely punished.” What I would have to forgive Hilda of, I
have forgiven her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">142<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As you said,
life has not exactly been kind to me, but Hilda had to live with her grief and
her anger, and get on with her life. What's maybe never really happened, to
which maybe she was not able to.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I tell you
(including myself) once again: life is as it is. I've learned to accept that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is
possible that Olga on that (rainy!) day in August '42 put on Hilda’s jacket
just to get something quickly for the baby, and she was arrested (and taken to
jail and later to Westerbork etc.) almost as soon as she came out on the streets. Her face was so
truly Jewish, that I doubt that, even if for her a hiding place was available,
that she might have survived.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Therefore, I
cannot understand how Ilse, Inge and Kurti could know nothing about it, even
after Hilda and Louis died. It was still not intentional Hilda; it was
carelessness, with incalculable consequences.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
decided to send a copy of your letter to Ilse. Maybe that's a consolation to
her. She is still with sadness and anger from the past. There were so many, too
many things that she could not understand. So much that she was unable to go to
the conference Hidden Children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Can you
imagine what war does with small children? Even those events that you cannot
understand, that feeling of "I could have better not have been born,"
which remains always. That entire trauma, your whole life. Until you have learned
to find words for and to use those words for yourself. This is done usually not
before your fiftieth birthday. And then the past, has long since used or deformed your character. And your
life decides. The fears and anger have become a part of you. How do you deal
with that? That is for an outsider very difficult to understand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Life has also
not been easy for you, I suppose. But you, your family and the children were
not hunted in England as wild animals such as Jewish people in the Netherlands.
You were pretty safe there.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you
understand, there is no more reproach. To anyone. It all happened. As it is
happening in Yugoslavia. We never expected that it could all happen again. But
it does!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">143<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear aunt
Olly,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have now
also been able to give my mother a funeral. In Jerusalem, at Yad Vashem in the
Hall of Names. And my whole childhood became memories to me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was the
purpose of the quest and no less for my life that now has to continue, more
than ever. The whole has to be a book that is worth reading.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I send you my
love and greetings and thank you for your help.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hoping again
to receive a letter from you,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Your Erica.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Ilse,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It has taken
a long time before I could process what I came to know about the past. Like so
many Jewish people, I have processed it- with a friend in this case in a book,
which will hopefully be released.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> It is much, very much, that has become clear.
Also regarding aunt Olly’s feelings towards your mother. Do you want me to tell
you everything or would you rather just read my last letter to Aunt Olly? You
can also wait for the book. The title is Two women and a jacket.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Only
now am I able to discuss with you anything you want to know. Your sadness and
anger have become clearer to me. As for me, I have now learned to accept life and
let go of the past now that I have found words to describe it. That is also
thanks to you.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We cannot
change the past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">144<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I'm now
finished with it all. And I hope you find the courage to do so too. Maybe my
letter to Olly will help you with that. Otherwise I will let you know when the
book comes out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do not
hesitate to write me, call or visit, if you have questions to ask. I have now a
different perspective than 'then'.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I hear from
you?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yours Erica<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These letters
I now send as soon as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">145<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">February<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">146<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">147<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">28 February
1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Letter
received from Aunt Olly, which made me very distressed. Of course she's right.
But Elma and Paul found it too: Now I turn and I should be able to let it
sink a while.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here's the
letter.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dear Erica,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This time, I
find it hard to answer your letter. But first, I wish you luck with your book.
I had no idea you were a writer. But you have abused my trust. When I told you
about that incident with Hilda’s jacket I prompted you not to tell Ilse.
Finally, it was her mother's fault that may have led to Olga’s death, even if
it was indirect. Now it is in your book and Ilse will read it and she could
tell Inge. You cannot tell me that it was necessary to make their memory of
their mother worse.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I can only
hope that Ilse will not be too much affected.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe it can
be prevented that Inge will know. She has enough to worry about with her
husband's illness. In any case, I do not think Inge suffers from her memories
of that time, because she and I only know of the events through other people.
Our only concerns were the war cases, we Jewish people, even strangers, were
treated the same as the English themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I only hope
that now you are able to put the past behind you.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Best wishes,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aunt Olly<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">148<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course her
trust is, in terms of the jacket, ashamed. But how do I make it clear that I
did not just think that was precisely the point where everything revolved
around? For fifty years, my mother is dead in silence out of shame about it. Is
it not time that it is written, spoken and processed? Out of concern for them,
the now adult children of Hilda, I may panic again, keep my mouth shut, I feel
guilty for events in which I have had some part. I became the victim, not her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Apparently
she was so angry (or confused) that she could not place the name on the
envelope accurately.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">149<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">March<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">151<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">12 March 1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Visit to
Westerbork. Search for Barak 41.0.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At five past
eight Jessica and I met at station Batau-north in Nieuwegein. The train to
Amersfoort at 8:44 we reached easily and we got there at just after nine. A
terrible station. With that in Apeldoorn, I think, one of the worst of the
Netherlands. A type of aircraft thoroughfare that comes out in Amersfoort-Never
land. It took a while before we could orientate and we even had to ask the way
to the Amersfoort station, where we should wait for Dorine to ride together in
her car to Westerbork.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The weather
gods had the first day of spring and made that the trip became an almost
festive experience. Despite the gray tones that marked the destination.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Just before
Hooghalen we decided to eat coffee with a treat. But it was only to get a
sandwich on stale bread.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The parking
lot of the Remembrance Centre in Westerbork lay still in the early afternoon.
And when we got out the full gravity of our goal fell like a gray blanket over
us.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Inside, in
the open lobby with visitor reception, the almost sacred atmosphere was
shattered by a whining barking dog. Moments later, the sound of Christmas songs
....nota bene, belong to a video film further on. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
exhibition is almost complete. Only my mother was, also here, not to be found
in any picture, in any film. She was here as well? All the daily and weekly
horrors. More than sixty thousand people, including Olga my mother lived here
for a longer or shorter time before they were transported for slaughter in
cattle trucks.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">152<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It's all
displayed there, with matching sounds. Only missing the smell of fear.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the end of
the exhibition, I was surprised by the fragment of a poem by Leo Vroman:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Come this
evening with stories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How the war
is gone...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And they
repeat a thousand times<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All the times
I will weep<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was too
much. Internally I was at that time a lost, screaming and frantic child
appearing as usual, I think. Very controlled. Jessica and Dorine were not done
yet. But I could no longer see clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later,
outside, the worst point of pressure of the boiler could be taken. Through an
emotional spot, tears: "That poem of Vroman that they should have left
out...." Nonsense, of course. It hung there not for me. But it was the straw
that broke the camel’s back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Walking
through the forest of the Observatory we tried to reach the Memorial Field ,
the former camp. I was actually secretly glad that we were a bit lost. The
final over tired body did during that seemingly endless walk make my emotions
fly away. At one point I heard and saw again and I could hear birds enjoy a day
out in the first warm rays of the year.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We reached a
crossroads. Where was the Memorial Field? Left? Right?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We decided to
go left.Mistake. An endless road without any traffic. Until finally a boy
approached with a transport container behind his bike and revealed to us the
secret of this traffic-free road.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dorine had
wanted to pick up the car in order to go to the
Memorial Field . But here, on the site of the Observatory , whereby this
road also belongs cars may not drive. Because it causes interference in the
reception of space signals. Later we would be on the field, and perceive for
ourselves the enormous steadily rotating satellite dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">153<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There was nothing
to do but continue to walk back and by the Memorial Centre , step on the bus to
the field. A bit of a bad feeling for me, because I was at the first
confrontation with the bus chauffeur several hours before quite emotional about
the sign on the front of the bus 'Kamp
Westerbork' in large letters. Did that now may not be: former Kamp Westerbork?
Or Memorial Field Westerbork? He responded quite shocked, he had never thought
about it. The driver was a nice guy who even picked us up again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the sun
kept its profusion spreading above us.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Memorial
Field is only recognizable as ‘Camp
Westerbrok’ through the eyes of the mind. That means that on this radiant day,
close your eyes and try to imagine that every slight rise in the ground was a
barracks or a house, the roads were muddy pools, the air was cold and menacing.
And where there now is a floor in the area, the locomotive was with cattle cars
behind it. Dark, wet, cold. Screaming, crying, fear of death. Animal apathy
too. Human survival instinct in all shapes, smells of fear, impoverishment and
damp peat.... But also superhuman courage and optimism against their better
judgment. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> We searched for Barrack No. 41-0, where
my mother had stayed, but there was not
before every barrack a mushroom with a
number. We dwelt at length on the former apple instead. For every Jew an
asterisk for each Shinti or Roma (Gypsy is still a nickname) a fire. An English
boy picked up a loose star to take it as a souvenir. "You shouldnt do
that," I said and he obediently put the star back on a stone. For how
long?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Walking along the ancient monument of the bent
rails, along the paths and fences, along the partially intact kept ruins of
barracks, my courage sank in shoes. Would I find the place where- about -Olga
had been? Along the way I picked up a piece of debris on gray cement with
pebbles from the side of the road. Something from the bottom, the base of the
former barracks. It has been given a place with just such a piece of debris
from Auschwitz, at home in a ceramic pot.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then, with
the exit in sight and already standing bus, Jessica screamed. ‘Forty-one!! '
Dorine and I reacted sluggishly, for we had not expected it. ‘Ma, Dorine,
please look: Barak 41.’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From a huge
sense of relief that there was yet again a proof of her existence, I looked at
Jessica and Dorine to the mushroom which indicated that this was a house in a
long line. Did it mean that she ended up with friends or acquaintances? The
panic, which she must have known during the three days she was here? Immediately
afterwards I realized that I'm here, as her daughter and standing with her
granddaughter and my good friend, after fifty years, to bring her a final
tribute. As at a funeral. This is where I spent my last salute. That is so
Erica That I had to grin in spite of myself. My dead loved ones live in my
heart that was never tied to one place. But the relief to have laid the last
piece of the puzzle in place, having finished the quest, was great. I kept
grinning. Jessica was delighted that it was she who found the place, Dorine was
happy for me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The purpose
of the journey was found. And in the van to the center I told elated to the
astonishment of the other occupants, ‘I have found again the place of my
mother’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The return
trip to the West was quick. And the thread to the past snapped when we were
tired and hungry and could find no place to recuperate, to get something before
we had to take the long journey home. Dorine decided to drive to Amsterdam. She
put Jessica and myself out at staion Amersfoort. Her children were too long
waiting for her, it was getting late.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My daughter
and I decided to first eat in ’The Old Tram 'opposite the station.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">155<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The waiter
was a friendly young flatter . The food was not even reasonable. Then he asked
in clearing if it had tasted, I could not help saying that the meat had been
too long in the fat, because the steak did
not taste good.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The train was
ready. Only in Hilversum, we discovered that we had taken the wrong train.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">157<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">September 2,
1994<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To create a
book, that was actually not what it was about. When the need was there, Erica
wanted to force in herself a breakthrough. Writing was just a tool. Has it done
her good?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">"I can
now talk about myself, not as before , then you had to bring everything
out," Erica said. And I think:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You are now<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Different<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> the same<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Paul<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-34559922622577791602017-01-17T09:54:00.007-08:002017-01-17T10:13:20.386-08:00<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
HET HUWELIJK</h2>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Guido Weijers had vanavond een item over het huwelijk.. Nogal een negatief item, maar ik had er wel plezier in. Want ik herinnerde me een artikel voor een literair blaadje, ben vergeten wat en hoe, dat ik nog in mijn computer had staan. Je hoeft het er niet mee eens te zijn... <span class="_47e3 _5mfr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;" title="smile-emoticon"><img alt="" aria-hidden="1" class="img" height="16" src="https://www.facebook.com/images/emoji.php/v6/f4c/1/16/1f642.png" style="border: 0px; vertical-align: -3px;" width="16" /><span aria-hidden="1" class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;">:-)</span></span> Dat hoor ik wel...</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
april 97. vergeten voor welke gelegenheid ik het moest schrijven voor een blaadje;<br />
Maar het toont wel aan dat de vraagstelling over instelling, barbaarsheid en geneugten van 'het huwelijk al veel langer ter discussie staan.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br />
De instelling, de barbaarsheid, de geneugten.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Van het huwelijk, natuurlijk.<br />
Natuurlijk zijn er eeuwen geweest, waarin deze instelling, het huwelijk dus, een noodzakelijk, maar desalniettemin maatschappelijk zeer hoog aangeschreven, kwaad was.<br />
Toen Europa christelijk werd, veranderden de inzichten omtrent huwelijk en seksualiteit. Aan wie niet gehuwd was moest tenminste een steekje los zijn. En van ‘losse steekjes’ hield men in die christelijke samenleving niet. De mens leefde om zich voort te planten. En om zich voort te planten had men een man en een vrouw nodig, die zich, althans volgens de eeuwenlang bestaande maatschappelijke normen, openlijk uitspraken voor een levenslang samenzijn met uitsluiting van elke andere man of vrouw. Wie daarvoor niet koos, had het beruchte ‘losse steekje’ en riep gods toorn over zich af. Als het al niet ‘s mensen toorn was, als er ergens in de gemeenschap iets mis ging. Want dan heette een ongehuwde oudere vrouw bijv.al gauw een heks te zijn en. Die benaming alleen al kon een mens het leven kosten.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
En als men eenmaal in de echt verbonden was, was alles toegestaan. Aan de man althans. Uitbuiting van de vrouw op alle mogelijke terreinen, zoals verkrachting en mishandeling, kon ongestraft plaatsvinden. Uitbuiting ook in de zin van slavenarbeid voor de man, waarvoor vrouwen zelfs geprezen werden. Een goede huisvrouw was een getrouwde vrouw die nooit moe werd kinderen te baren, te zogen en te verzorgen; tezijnertijd af te leggen en naar het graf te brengen zonder tranen te verspillen. En die daarna weer gewoon het gehele huis schoonhield, de kinderen verzorgde, de man ter wille was en zorgde dat Hij op geen enkel gebied iets te kort kwam.</div>
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Van de man werd verwacht dat hij het geld binnenbracht om alle monden te voeden en magen te vullen. Maar verplicht was het niet en de man die op dat terrein tekortschoot of zijn geld aan alcohol en andere geneugten opmaakte, was niet strafbaar. Zonodig ging de vrouw, uitgeput of niet, op zoek naar eigen inkomsten om de kinderen te voeden en te kleden. In dat geval moest zij daardoor op andere terreinen wel tekortschieten ten opzichte van haar man - en dat was weer een reden voor mishandeling en verkrachting. En een excuus om zich nog beestachtiger te gedragen.<br />
Tegenwoordig is dat niet zoveel anders. In de westerse samenleving van deze tijd, waar het christendom een stap terug heeft moeten doen, komt langzaam het inzicht dat mannen en vrouwen gelijke rechten behoren te hebben. Dat het huwelijk niet alléénzaligmakend is en dat de vrouw geen fokzeug is. Ik voeg er meteen aan dat dàt inzicht nog steeds voornamelijk bij vrouwen ligt: baas in eigen buik, de seksuele revolutie, de strijd om gelijke kansen op de arbeidsmarkt, de deeltijdarbeid, de zorgverdeling en meer en betaalbare kinderopvang. Het zijn zaken waar voornamelijk vrouwen voor strijden.</div>
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Het huwelijk is geen vanzelfsprekendheid meer voor vrouwen. B.O.M.-vrouwen Bewust Ongehuwde Moeders) zijn sociaal en maatschappelijk aanvaard. Homoseksualiteit mag openlijk beleefd worden, ook door vrouwen. Kinderen zijn een normale zaak in een homoseksueel huwelijk. Het wordt althans in veel westerse landen ‘getolereerd’. Het huwelijk als alléén-zaligmakend instituut heeft, naast de totale seksuele onthouding van een ongehuwd, kerkelijk gebonden bestaan, hopelijk haar langste tijd gekend.</div>
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Hoewel de opkomst van het islamisme een dam zou kunnen worden, waartegen de opkomende vloed van vrijheid voor vrouwen wel eens teveel weerstand zou kunnen ondervinden. Met alle gevolgen vandien en zonder meteen aan zwarte chadors te denken.</div>
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Ik denk dan wel weer aan veranderende inzichten over het huwelijk als instelling, zoals die door zowel de christelijke, als de islamitische (mannen)-wereld beleefd wil worden. En na alle vorengenoemde narigheid over het westerse huwelijk komt daar dan nog een beeld bij van de verstoten vrouw, die ook door haar omgeving dan uitgestoten wordt. En een beeld van de ‘overspelige vrouw’, die zweepslagen krijgt of gestenigd wordt, tot de dood erop volgt. Door mannen uiteraard. Mannen die nooit verstoten kunnen worden, noch overspelig heten te zijn. Dus ook niet gestenigd worden. En waar het niet zover komt is dan nog de mogelijk vrouwen onvrij te houden door de weigering hen een, wat in joodse orthodoxe kringen heet, ‘GET’ te geven, een bewijs dat het huwelijk ontbonden is. Ook hier is de man de alleen-beslisser over het al dan niet voortbestaan van een onleefbaar huwelijk.</div>
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De mensheid heeft nog een lange weg te gaan, voor zij volwassen wordt. De mens is dan ook evolutionair gezien, één van de jonge schepsels. Dat mannen en vrouwen twee helften van één geheel uitmaken, yin en yang zijn, is een inzicht dat je, heel misschien, mag krijgen op een leeftijd dat het er voor jezelf eigenlijk niet meer zoveel toe doet. Maar dat je, als je geluk hebt, door kunt geven aan je kleinkinderen. Het is evenwel de enige reden, waarom mensen soms een leven lang zoeken naar hun ‘wederhelft’. Want we blijven geloven in de liefde, wat we daaronder ook wensen te verstaan.</div>
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Maar laten we eerlijk zijn. Als partners binnen een huwelijk gelijkwaardig aan elkaar kunnen en vooral willen zijn, kan een huwelijk (al dan niet burgerlijk of kerkelijk gesanctioneerd) een mens tot volledige ontplooiing doen komen. Dan kan geluk gewóón worden. Dan kom je thuis bij elkaar, vul je elkaar aan. Dan kun je op elkaar steunen in goede en in slechte tijden. Dan kun je tegen elkaar schreeuwen in machteloze boosheid of verdriet, omdat je weet dat je toch bij elkaar hoort.</div>
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Het kàn. Een huwelijk kàn gelukkig zijn. Je kùnt, in je jeugd of na een leven lang zoeken, je wederhelft vinden.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Maar ondervinding is de allerbeste leermeesteres van het leven. . .Alleen is het dan vaak te laat...</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Erica van Beek</div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-35726429154916173942017-01-11T14:25:00.003-08:002017-01-11T14:25:41.387-08:00<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-weight: normal;">OMMEKEER. </span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Het was in augustus 1991, meer dan 15 jaar geleden nu, dat ik een brief schreef aan een tijdschrift. Het ging over VERANDERING in mijn leven, met
grote letters geschreven. Een OMMEKEER in mijn denken. Mijn oudste zoon was nog
niet zó lang daarvoor gestorven en ik
zat eigenlijk na vijf jaar nog steeds in mijn rouwproces. Iemand van het tijdschrift
had ooit de rouwadvertentie en het gedicht erbij gelezen en vroeg me na een
telefonisch gesprek toen, veel later,
het voor hen te vertellen in een artikel. Daar was ik nog niet aan toe. Maar ik
wilde het wel kwijt om anderen in dezelfde omstandigheden te troosten en te
ondersteunen, zo mogelijk. Zoals ik me
zelf ondersteund en getroost heb
geweten. Het is nu januari 2017, dat ik
die brief terugvind en hem teruglees… En herschrijf in de stijl van wat ik nu
geworden ben. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Voor een goed begrip, schreef ik, moet ik terug naar mijn
jeugd. Ik was een zg. “Hidden Child”, een Joods onderduikstertje, toen ik op achtjarige leeftijd in Nieuwersluis
in een kindertehuis werd geplaatst.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Stadskind dat ik was,
uit Wenen en uit Amsterdam, WIST ik in die moeilijke oorlogstijd ineens (?),
welke grassen, vruchten, zelfs noten eetbaar waren en welke niet. Na de oorlog
is die gave verdwenen, maar wij oorlogskinderen hebben er wel van kunnen
profiteren. Me erover verwonderd heb ik
nooit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Door mijn moeilijke jeugd en jongemeisjesjaren (zo’n
verleden vormt je) ging ik verkeerde relaties en huwelijken aan, waaruit ik
drie kinderen kreeg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Na mijn tweede huwelijk begon het dromen. Normaal, zou je
zeggen, iedereen droomt. Zeker als je
altijd onder een te grote druk leeft. Voor
mij was het nog niet normaal. Maar
sommige dromen zijn me tot aan de dag van vandaag bijgebleven. Vooral die over
mijn zoon, die in 1986 gestorven is. Ik kocht het boekje van “Chandu”:
Psychologisch droomboek. Dat gebruik ik nog steeds als ik niet begrijp wàt en waarom ik iets droom. De vele
dromen over en langs hoog water bij voorbeeld. In alle vormen… altijd op weg naar een doel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Maar toen mijn zoon gestorven was, ja, toen kwamen de
dromen, die ik geen echte dromen kon noemen. Een paar weken na zijn dood zag ik hem huilend en schreeuwend
dwalen door een soort groot grijs mistig labyrint in een doods grijs licht… Ik riep hem
en zei dat dit niet kon, ik kon hem niet zo zien… hij was immers dood?! Dat
vertelde ik hem en hij viel aan mijn voeten, en we huilden wanhopig, mijn kind met zijn hoofd in mijn schoot en ik
zag hem steeds kleiner worden, tot hij een huilende baby in mijn armen werd en
nog kleiner, uiteindelijk verdween en ik bleef met lege armen achter. Maar
wetend (in mijn droom) dat mijn kind nu wist dat hij dood was en dat hij zijn
weg verder zou vinden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Veel later droomde ik dat hij me kwam vertellen dat hij een jongetje was in een gezin in een
huisje even buiten Lichtenvoorde en dat
hij gelukkig was. Tot dat moment had ik
nooit van het plaatsje Lichtenvoorde gehoord. En enkele jaren dáárna las ik in
de krant dat er een vader uit Lichtenvoorde, met twee jonge zoontjes was
omgekomen in de sneeuw ergens in Oostenrijk (ik kwam uit Wenen (Oostenrijk dus)
J
) en toen was er rust in mij… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Maar de echte ommekeer kwam ook door een droom. Let wel, ik
ben van Joodse afkomst, al heb ik mijn Joodse moeder en mijn Joodse familie
amper gekend. En ik ben heel Christelijk grootgebracht. En nu was mij langzaam aan duidelijk geworden dat ik had te
werken aan iets, dat ik als heel belangrijk, groots en voor mijn gevoel, als heel
bedreigend beschouwde. Ik was iemand, die daar geen nee tegen kon zeggen. Ook
niet wilde zeggen, maar toch…. Een klein, heel bang vrouwtje, dat blij was dat zij,
kon overleven in een wereld, die niets
kon bieden dan enge dingen…. Zo iets. De buitenkant was theater, flink, dapper,
stoer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ik droomde: Ik stond boven aan de rand van een dieper
liggende weg, naast mij stond een meer dan levensgroot persoon in een lang wit
kleed, die mij wees, dat ik die weg
moest gaan en me zei dat die niet lang zou zijn en dat ik aan het einde weer
geholpen zou worden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Hij hielp me àfstappen, die weg op en tot mijn stomme
verbazing was die weg de Thora en die
bestond alleen uit KLINKERS en tussen die klinkers wapperden overal
lichtgekleurde lintjes in een zacht briesje. Aan het einde van die weg stond
weer zo’n levensgroot, in het wit geklede figuur zonder gezicht, die me de hand
reikte om me naar boven te helpen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Een vreemde droom, zou je zeggen. Tja, temeer als je je
realiseert dat de Thora de Joodse Wet is en is in het Hebreeuws geschreven dus
zònder klinkers. Terwijl mijn gedroomde
weg dus bestònd uit klinkers… Het was de eerste keer dat ik me zó bewust werd
van mijn Joodse genen…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Maar goed, voor mij betekende die droom, dat ik de opdracht
kreeg om die weg te gaan, dat werk aan te nemen. Ik zou moéten klinken, hoe
beangstigend ik dat toen nog vond. Maar,
getuige die vlaggetjes, zou het niet allemaal kommer en kwel zijn. En ik zou
hulp krijgen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Wel, zo is het gegaan, Al was het aan het einde van die weg
in de praktijk moeilijker, om die grote stap van die weg àf weer te maken. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Het resultaat is mijn boek Twee Vrouwen en een Jas geworden,
mijn zoektocht, mijn queeste, naar mijn eigen verleden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In die jaren begon mijn grote Ommekeer. Ik begon me te
verdiepen, niet alleen in mijn eigen achtergrond, maar ook in het onderwerp
reïncarnatie; kwam daardoor terecht bij
het Boeddhisme, (dus bij Tibet, waar ik nog actief voor ben geweest), bij de
grote wereldgodsdiensten, dus ook de Joodse Godsdienst en dus daardoor weer echt terug bij mezelf.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ik beschouw mijzelf als een kind van de Nieuwe Tijd. En er is nog
zoveel te leren. Karma, reïncarnatie, de Wetten van Oorzaak en Gevolg, van
actie en re-actie zijn voor mij geen vragen meer maar zekerheden. Reïncarnatie
wordt ook genoemd in de Joodse Godsdienst.
Wat je zaait zul je oogsten… De enorme consequentie en de grootsheid daarvan,
niet alleen voor mijn eigen verantwoordelijkheid, maar voor die van de hele
wereld… is niet te overzien. Als ik ga zweven, natuurlijk geestelijk gesproken…
wat zaai ik dan? Moet ik niet minstens
midden in het maatschappelijk leven blijven staan? Me bewust blijven van elke
negatieve uitspraak of daad? Wat ik zaai, zal ik oogsten. Nu, straks, of in een
later leven…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Wat een grote verantwoordelijkheid dragen we. Moeten we de
hele wereld dan op onze schouders nemen? Of je het wilt of niet, of je het
je bewust bent of niet, je bent, mèt je Westerse zelfgenoegzame, liefdevolle
mededogen of je haat tegen alles wat kwaad verspreidt, méé-verantwoordelijk
voor het karma van onze Aarde. Is mijn vaste overtuiging.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ik ben ook ooit opgeleid voor de R.K. Kerk. En ik blijf toch
ook bij mijzelf als ik die oude catechismusvraag “waartoe ben ik op aarde”
vertaal in de wedervraag ( ik blijf Joodse, nietwaar?) “Waarvoor ben ik weer op
aarde’ en probeer dat uit te vinden en zo goed mogelijk te leven, met die gedachte blijvend in mijn
achterhoofd… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Nouja, zulke diepe gedachten kunnen alleen bovenkomen, als
ik in mijn eentje op een stille zondagmiddag in mijn stille huisje achter mijn
toetsenbord duik.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> © Erica van Beek
10-1-2017<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-72613502651197233732016-12-03T15:09:00.001-08:002016-12-03T15:12:58.762-08:00 Columns schrijven....<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ik vond in mijn documenten twee oude columns. Uit een tijd dat ik nog columns moest schrijven... Er was niet altijd inspiratie, er was niet altijd zin. Het was nog in de voor-computerse tijd. Ik zette me dan voor mijn draagbare schrijfmachine en wachtte....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Waarom zou ik..?<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Waarom zou ik? Waarom zou ik weer gaan schrijven, terwijl ik
me zó had voorgenomen dat het bij dat éne boek zou blijven? ‘Omdat’, hield ik me voor, ‘ik het schrijven toch niet kon laten als ik
eenmaal begonnen was, daarom begon ik er
maar helemaal niet aan’. ‘Denk je in’, vertelde ik mijzelf: ‘Elk jaar
verschijnen er zo’n zestien en een half
duizend boeken, waarvan er enkele tientallen, misschien honderd, in de
publiciteit komen en (redelijk) goed verkopen.
Waarom zou een uitgever belangstelling hebben voor wat ik in mijn hoofd
heb en op papier zet? Waarom zou een recensent juist <i>mijn </i>boek uit die<i> </i>massa boeken pakken
en er ook nog een positieve recensie over schrijven? ‘<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Ben je mal, ik begin er niet meer aan’, benadrukte ik mijn gedachten
terwijl ik het allemaal toch maar opschreef. 'Bovendien kan niemand mij vóórschrijven dat ik moet
schrijven. Dus waarom zou ik??? Van
wàt ik schrijf wordt de essentie toch
niet begrepen…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aan de oppervlakte van wat ik schrijf, drijven woorden in de
Nederlandse taal. Woorden die leesbaar zijn voor wie de taal machtig is. Wat ik
ònder en dóór de woorden heen vertel is
maar voor een enkeling leesbaar. Die enkeling haalt eruit wat voor haar of hem
begrijpelijke taal is, éénlaagse taal dus.
Terwijl, wat ik opschrijf vaak in drie dimensies geschreven
is….drie-laagse taal zogezegd…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Voor wie het verstaat.
Voor wie er zich door laat ontroeren
of inspireren….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In een wereld, zo klein als onze Aarde geworden is, gebeuren teveel rampen, worden tè veel oorlogen gevoerd, gebeuren tè
verschrikkelijke dingen met mensen. Ik
heb het allemaal meegemaakt, zo niet aan den lijve, dan toch door al die
ongewilde empathische gevoelens die me zoveel jaren zo kwetsbaar maakten. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
En ik ben altijd de
mening toegedaan gebleven dat wie schrijft, verantwoordelijk is. Wel empathisch
moet zijn en gevoelens moet toelaten en
overbrengen. Anders zullen het alleen verhaaltjes worden die aan de oppervlakte
van de dingen knabbelen, maar nooit echt inhoudelijk zullen pakken en
ontroeren.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tja…… dat bepeinsde ik zo. En ik bleef mijzelf, dit
schrijvend, de vraag stellen, steeds weer en telkens naar een diepere laag
van het bewustzijn… of ik inderdaad wel wilde blijven schrijven.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
En al schrijvend ontdekte ik alleen dat ik er niet mee kon ophouden… En zette ik dus met een zucht de
computer maar aan om het geschrevene uit
te tikken…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<u><span style="font-size: large;">Loodzwaar</span></u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h2>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
Het
geschreven woord is niet altijd voor de
eeuwigheid geschreven, maar gaat toch
langer mee dan de losse gedachte die in het hoofd blijft zitten.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Als reactie gelijk
is aan actie begrijp ik niets van het proces dat ertoe leidt dat ik ga
schrijven. Ligt dat aan mij? Of is de onvoorspelbaarheid van de reactie een
vast gegeven waarmee rekening gehouden
moet worden?? Is die formule variabel,
of vàst? In ieder geval is de reactie steeds een onverwachte, soms een
ongehoopte, vaak een verrassende, maar
nooit een vooraf bedachte of berekende uitkomst.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wie had kunnen
bedenken hoe een losse opmerking (een uitdaging van een goede vriend) een
kettingreactie op gang zou brengen… Een te licht en gemakkelijk gedane toezegging in de euforie
van een behaald succes nl. de uitgave
van mijn boekje, is een loden last geworden. De belofte dóór te schrijven zal in
de tijd gedragen moeten worden en ter
bestemder tijd en plaats ingelost worden.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
De steile heuvels
van verwerking, van gedenken, van
bitterheid en boosheid, van angst om het heden en angst voor de toekomst…van toppen tot diepe dalen, worden geacht te zijn genomen
met de lichtvoetigheid van gemzen… Ondanks de als een loden last gedragen
be-leef-tijd. Mijn hart bonkt, mijn benen kunnen me amper dragen. Mijn hoofd
rust te zwaar op mijn schouders. Maar het onbevlogen
denkvermogen moet voort…voort…. Het
schrijverschap is geen lichtend
einddoel, het is de weg waarlangs de loden last getorst
moet worden, geduwd, gesleept…..<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Met grote weerzin
heb ik deze last opgenomen, ik weet niet hoe lang ik hem kan dragen. De laatste last die ik had neergelegd was er een uit een onafgebroken serie van ‘moeten’: groot
moest ik worden, studeren en werken
moesten, moeder en huisvrouw moeten worden; echt volwassen moeten worden en
afscheid moeten nemen van kind, huwelijk, ouders en dromen.
Herinneren moet en er moet verwerkt worden. De laatste last heb ik nog
niet afgelegd of er wordt me een
nieuwe last opgelegd.. Schrijven.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ik meende
dat het vleugels zouden zijn,
vleugels waarmee ik boven het gewriemel van kleine aardse gedachten zou kunnen uitstijgen. Maar de realiteit leert dat het
een loden last van letters is, die niet
mijn gevoelens kunnen uitdrukken; die zichzelf zullen moeten
herscheppen tot iets anders dan de schonere schijn die ze nu
weergeven. Een manier van
letterzetten die de mijne niet is.
En daarom een last blijft.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Laat me toch mijn
eigen schepping creëren met dit gewicht, zodat wat nu zo zwaar op me rust, me
verlichting kan geven.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ik kan er
geen verhaaltjes van maken die zo
licht zijn als zijdepapier dat
dwarrelt in de lichtste bries. De dag beschrijven, het maatschappelijk en
persoonlijk gebeuren, de voorspelbare reactie. Dàt zijn mijn sterkere kanten. Het evenwicht vinden in
de beschrijving van het bestaande, het
bestaanbare.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Het neerzetten van
een beeld van het ongeloofwaardige dat
waar blijkt te zijn. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pijn beschrijven die
empathie met het onbeschrijflijke losmaakt……….<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kan dat in
verhalen en sproken verwoord worden? Zulke vertelsels
worden geacht te eindigen met de aanvang
van een leven dat lang en gelukkig dient
te zijn. En te beginnen met :’Er was eens…’ Mijn vertelsels zullen niét voorbij
zijn, zij zullen beginnen met ‘gisteren’, met ‘vandaag’ of met ‘morgen’. Of
zelfs met ‘toen ik klein was’… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
En in de schoonheid
van het taalkundig gebeuren zal dat
vloeken door de pure basiskleuren
die ik zelf gebruik.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maar het zal mijzelf verlichten. Hopelijk en misschien
een lichtje zijn voor wie het wil zien en lezen. Daarin kan ik inspiratie
vinden en kracht om door te gaan.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hierin kan ik een
nieuwe start maken met schrijven. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maar niet in het
op me nemen van de last om iets te scheppen dat z.g. voor de eeuwigheid
bedoeld is. Dat voelt als een nieuw ‘moeten’, terwijl ik me zo vast had
voorgenomen om ná de vertwijfeling en
het verdriet van het totale afscheid
nemen, nóóit meer iets te ‘moeten’ of te dragen dat ook zonder mij vooruit kan komen… <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Maar goed, ik heb
beloofd weer te gaan schrijven…..en hierbij
vind je dus mijn eerste bijdragen. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Erica<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-75228967852986841022016-11-26T13:34:00.000-08:002016-11-26T13:34:22.735-08:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Oud worden. En dan…? Gedachten over het leven en meer. <o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jezelf observeren hoe je oud wordt is niet altijd leuk. Het
kan wel wonderlijk zijn om je bewust te zijn van het proces van ouder en krakkemikkig worden en dat proces
ook bewust te beleven. Telkens een
stukje minder kunnen, geen behandelingen meer willen maar wel trouw je
medicijnen innemen en dat proces heel bewust beleven,,, Het is een wonderlijke tijd en de verwondering over
wat er met dit lichaam gebeurt neemt niet af. Het bewustzijn van dit proces van
aftakeling gaat door hopelijk tot het einde. Dat betekent dat ik niet mag
gaan dementeren van mijzelf. En ik mag alleen maar hopen dat het einde met evenveel bewustzijn en zonder
pijn en angst mag komen als de punt
achter deze zin. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Ik besef het bijna- eindpunt te hebben bereikt van dit leven
dat naar Erica genoemd is. Ik heb kinderen voortgebracht die hun eigen leven
zullen leven en voleinden met hun eigen wijsheid en kennis. Of hun leven al
neergelegd hebben.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Het gaat niet voor
iedereen zo ‘gemakkelijk’. Een goede vriend kreeg twee auto-immuunziektes
achter elkaar en heeft een ellendige oude dag gehad. Door zijn eigen optreden
kon ik geen vriendin meer voor hem zijn, hem niet steunen en toen hij na een
paar jaar stierf was dat in zekere zin een opluchting voor iedereen. Dat is
geen beschuldiging, Zelf was hij nou
eenmaal niet in staat om met zichzelf, met zijn ziekte en met zijn vrienden om
te gaan. Mij heeft hij ook verwijderd. In mijn optie heeft hij het zichzelf 100
x zwaarder gemaakt dan noodzakelijk was. Maar pas toen hij dood was kon ik het
verdriet om deze verloren vriendschap toelaten. Ik was veel te boos en te bang
voor hem, in plaats van dat ik compassie met dit armoedig en ellendig leven
had. Eigenlijk was hij meer een onbeholpen puber die de verkeerde gang insloeg,
terwijl er keuze was voor meer gangen…. En zoiets had ik al eens meegemaakt toen
ik jong was, met mijn eigen oudste zoon. Dat kon ik niet nog een keer aan. Ook
al besef ik maar al te goed dat dit des mensen pad is, kan zijn, en zal zijn
zolang we de betrekkelijkheid van alles wat gebeurt, niet kunnen inzien.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maar goed, mijn
laatste zo bedoelde zin was dat ik alleen mag hopen dat het einde (voor
mijzelf) met evenveel bewustzijn en zonder angst mag komen als de punt achter
deze zin. En daar wil ik verder gaan. Of eigenlijk: teruggaan. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Naar het begin van
alle leven. Het ontstaan van de mensheid. Mijn bewustzijn gaat met een
rotsnelheid van de Verlichting, De Romeinse tijd, De Griekse beschaving met
haar vele goden, over de oerwouden van Afrika en het Victoriameer en alle zwarte stammen met hun culturen… verder, verder…Zuid Amerika
met haar Indianen, Nieuw Zeeland, de Polynesiërs, aangespoeld van vele eilanden
op de Oceaan… en Australië met wat we noemen de Aboriginals, de Papoea’s in wat
we noemden Nieuw Guinea. En dan valt dat bewustzijn weg en is de aarde niet
bemenst… Kun je je dat voorstellen? Eigenlijk niet, nee. Heel Onjoods… om niet
naar de schepping terug te gaan, maar volgens de evolutieleer kwamen toen de
eerste mensachtigen in Afrika tevoorschijn. Wezens die op ons lijken, die
gereedschappen leren gebruiken, die paren en tot hun verbazing kinderen
krijgen, die noodgedwongen kleding gaan
dragen. Leren van de vruchten en bladeren van bomen en planten maaltijden te
maken, dieren te temmen om als huisdieren hen te dienste te staan, Er ontstaan echte mensen zoals wij. En na een
aantal generaties hebben zij paarden om te ploegen en hé, het
wiel is uitgevonden en er worden karren gemaakt waar paarden voorgezet worden
en die leren die karren te trekken. Koeien worden gedomesticeerd, en geven
vlees en later ook melk, er komen honden
bij die gefokt worden uit gevangen ronddolende wolven, getemd en enzovoort….
Het menselijk leven wordt steeds uitgebreider, maar ook steeds weer gedecimeerd
door onderlinge strijd en later door echte oorlogen. Jongens worden in hun
puberteit voorbereid op gevechten,
op oorlogen en op de bescherming van hun gezinnen en hun stam.
Testosteron is het natuurlijke hormoon dat hen strijdbaar dan wel agressief
houdt. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ik zie al die
mensen, vanaf nu, 2016 AC, tot aan het moment dat de eerste mensachtigen in
Afrika opstonden en op twee benen gingen lopen… En al die mensen honderden
miljoenen en meer mensen, hebben geleefd, zijn ziek en oud geworden en zijn,
toen het hun tijd was, ook doodgegaan. En al die geesten in ontwikkeling ook? ? Is die ontwikkeling door de eonen heen puur een kwestie
van (zelf)educatie en uitbreiding van hersenwindingen en dergelijke? De gekende
ontwikkeling van Atlanta en van de Grieken in de pré-oudheid, de Romeinen en
hun beschaving, de bouwers van de pyramiden en de hangende tuinen van Babylon,
de oude beschaving van de Perzen, om maar iets te noemen, gewoon een toeval? Ik
kan zo nog even doorgaan..<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ik had eens een droom waarin ik
in een oneindig lange, in de verte steeds waziger en donkerder wordende gang
stond. En die gang stond vol met half
zichtbare mensen, hoe verder weg hoe doorzichtiger ze waren. Allemaal
voorouders, een oneindig lange rij voorouders die in het donker verloren ging
voor mijn ogen, maar niet ophield…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maar nu weer met diezelfde
snelheid van het licht of nog sneller, naar de tegenwoordige tijd. Waar zijn al
die zich steeds meer ontwikkelde geesten gebleven? Gewoon fysieke moleculen die
verdwijnen in de grond en vergaan of in de lucht opgaan bij verbranding? Zijn
al die briljante geesten zomaar
verdwenen? Met hun hersenwindingen?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Als dit leven geleefd
is. dit lichaam echt op is en kan worden afgelegd, is dan alles wat ik geleerd
en gekend en liefgehad heb, helemaal voorbij?
Dan zou ik, agnost die ik ben, liever denken dat onze geest voortleeft,
in een andere dimensie wacht om verder te ontwikkelen. Om verder te leren in
een karma, dat maakt dat alles wat we hier gedaan hebben opnieuw, maar dan
beter gedaan moet worden, afgemaakt moet worden. Dat ik alles wat ik hier, in dit leven fout gedaan
heb, opnieuw moet doen en dan beter. Ontwikkelen moet. Opnieuw de leerschool
van het leven door moet maken.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jacob…Ik moet dan aan Jacob, mijn oudste zoon, denken. De
jongen die zo’n foute start kreeg… en een moeder die zoveel van hem hield maar
niets wist van opvoeden… Die jongen beloofde veel te worden, maar raakte
verloren door de drugs en stierf door zijn eigen hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ik droomde veel… Vlak na zijn dood maar ook een paar jaar later
Ik droomde na jaren dat hij een kindje was bij een gezin in Lichtenvoorde.
Een normaal gezin, zoals ik hem nooit
heb kunnen geven. Van het plaatsje Lichtenvoorde had ik toen nog nooit gehoord
zelfs. Ik droomde het twee keer en keek ( in mijn dromen) toe hoe gelukkig hij
was.<o:p></o:p></div>
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En nog weer een aantal jaren daarna stond in alle kranten
dat vader en zijn zoontjes omgekomen
waren bij een lawineongeluk in de bergen van Oostenrijk. (mijn moeder en ik
kwamen uit Oostenrijk oorspronkelijk). <o:p></o:p></div>
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Voor mijn gevoel was Jacob nu klaar om over te gaan.
Natuurlijk was het een ander kind en heette hij hoogstwaarschijnlijk ook geen
Jacob. Maar dat zijn geest zich daar manifesteerde was mijn persoonlijke
overtuiging. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Zo zullen we misschien het hier geleerde in de praktijk van
volgende levens moeten proberen te vervolmaken, onze fouten goedmaken, steeds
meer toevoegen aan wat Aarde van ons nodig heeft. Ons meer ontwikkelen tot de
mensen die we zouden moeten zijn. Maar dat is wat ik persoonlijk hoop waar te
zijn.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hoe moeten we nu denken over de Barbaren van tegenwoordig? Het
Kalifaat en de ‘leraren’ in het huidige Gaza en de Westbank die met zoveel
plezier aan kleine kindertjes leren Joden te doden? De fout Imams die de vrome
moslims die nu in het westen wonen, belemmeren in hun aanpassing aan de
maatschappij van tegenwoordig? Zouden
die terugkomen als roofdieren, als menseneters en andersoortige stammen? Geen
idee, maar ik sluit niets uit.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Maar het bestaan van een hemel van gelukzaligheid, of zelfs
zeven hemelen van gelukzaligheid…daar geloof ik niet in. Wie kan daarin geloven
als er nu hele volksstammen sterven, in het geloof dat als ze maar zoveel
mogelijk medemensen doden, ze des te gelukzaliger zullen zijn… Zou er een G’d
bestaan, ook al wordt hij Allah genoemd, die zo’n opdracht geeft aan mensen? Om kinderen op te voeden met een
overtuiging dat zij zalig zijn als ze medemensen, hoe jong ook, zo wreed
mogelijk ombrengen? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Medemensen die dus niet oud mogen worden, zijzelf niet maar
ook hun slachtoffers niet.. . Niet tot wasdom mogen komen en wijsheid vergaren
voor ze zo oud zijn dat hun lichaam ze verlaat als ze daarvoor klaar zijn… Nee,
jonge kinderen leren messen te gebruiken, angstloos andere mensen te doden voor
het hun natuurlijke tijd is.. Als je dan doordenkt over doorleven kan dat toch
geen positief karma zijn…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maar laat ik maar ophouden met deze overpeinzingen, we weten
het geen van allen… Alleen de geleerden die onze hersens letterlijk gefileerd hebben, en uit de
moleculen en de windingen opgemaakt hebben dat er geen hiernamaals kan
zijn. Dat alles voorbij is, als dit leven voorbij is. Dat we alleen kennis en
wijsheid kunnen opdoen en doorgeven in dit leven en zolang wij leven.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ik ben toch erg blij dat ik op mijn hoge leeftijd nog durf
te twijfelen, agnost mag zijn. Want je weet immers maar nooit wat nou echte
wijsheid is? Of dat het leven, op een
andere manier, toch doorgaat en we moeten doorleren tot deze wereld een goede
wereld geworden is….<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mijn lijf gaat naar zijn einde toe. Maar als die geleerden gelijk hebben, hoop ik toch
een vruchtbare erfenis voor de komende
geesten na te laten.<o:p></o:p></div>
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En voor mijzelf een school te vinden die me een beter,
wijzer, liefdevoller mens doet worden.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Imagine….<o:p></o:p></div>
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© Erica van Beek<o:p></o:p></div>
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26-11-2016<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-40961598528814888312016-09-01T09:30:00.000-07:002016-10-03T08:15:35.714-07:00<h2>
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<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Uit: Toch is er hoop. Van Robert Veninga (blz. 46)</span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<h4>
<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Fase 5: Aanvaarding</span><span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">.<o:p></o:p></span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Degenen die over hun psychische nood heen gekomen zijn leren
het feit te aanvaarden dat ze een groot verlies hebben geleden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Maar laten we duidelijk zijn over wat ‘aanvaarding’
betekent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Aanvaarding<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">betekent niet ‘vergeten’, hetgeen een ontkenning zou zijn
van de betekenis van de crisis. <i>Aanvaarding</i> houdt ook niet in
dat het verdriet wordt gecamoufleerd. Met<i>aanvaarding</i> wordt evenmin
bedoeld het ophalen van de schouders en zeggen: ‘ Maar wat kan ik anders doen
dan de situatie aanvaarden?’<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Aanvaarding<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">van een tragische gebeurtenis berust op het begrijpen van
twee denkbeelden uit de Indiase filosofie. Het eerste is<i> duragraha</i>,
het tweede <i>satyagraha.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Duragraha<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">betekent onverzettelijkheid. Het houdt in dat je moet leren
leven met je lijden. Het is, volgens Mohandas K (Mahatma) Ghandi, een ‘hardheid
van het hart’. Iemand die leeft naar<i> duragrha </i>neemt afstand
van het menselijk lijden. De houding naar buiten toe is:’ Ik kan mijn probleem
wel oplossen’. En ‘iedereen heeft problemen’. Of ‘je moet gewoon verder’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Maar als <i>satyagraha</i> je leidraad is, ga je
volkomen op in wat het leven te bieden heeft. Als er slechte tijden komen barst
je in huilen uit en je bent soms overweldigd van verdriet. Je realiseert je de
omvang van hetgeen verloren is. En je weerstaat degenen die willen dat je het
verleden vergeet en aan de toekomst gaat denken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Maar<i> satyagraha</i> betekent ook het genieten
van de vele vreugdevolle dingen om ons heen. <i>Satyagraha</i> houdt
in dankbaar zijn voor de genegenheid van vrienden en het troost vinden bij de
vriendelijkheid van vreemden. Het betekent het verwelkomen van alles wat hoop
biedt. Maar bovenal betekent <i>satyagraha</i> het vergeven van de
onrechtvaardigheid - en van degenen die daarvoor verantwoordelijk zijn geweest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<h4>
<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">15/11/97 - losse gedachten.</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Het wordt me duidelijk dat ik nòg steeds in een rouwproces
zit. Het infarct is een demarcatielijn geworden, die mijn actieve leven heeft
begrensd. Daar ligt de overgang naar ouderdom en neergang, naar verdriet over
een leven(sfase) dat voorbij is voordat het bewust begonnen is, en dat veel
geven en weinig ontvangen ingehouden heeft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Die rouw is nog steeds gaande. Zo ook het proces van het
leren aanváárden dat het nu eenmaal zo is. Zal ik dat ooit leren dan is er
misschien, als ik daar de tijd en de energie voor krijg, een ander, nieuw begin
mogelijk. De mogelijkheid van een positief ingevulde ouderdom, met de paar
vrienden die ik heb overgehouden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Dan moet ik leren loslaten wat pas begonnen is, de
‘strategische terugtrekking’. Het niet meer willen contact zoéken met mensen
die zelf geen contact houden met me. Een gevoel ‘vergeten’ te (willen) zijn en
te vervagen.( En misschien een vaag schuldgevoel daarover te kweken bij
anderen, wat dan onvermijdelijk het gevolg zal zijn...)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Welke werkelijkheid wil ik toch voor mezelf scheppen? De
rest van mijn leven deze eenzaamheid die ik zelf oproep? Nee toch! Het
aanvaarden van de onmacht tot veranderen???<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">En besef temeer dat aanvaarding ook inhoudt de moed om er
alsnog het beste uit te halen en van te maken, dus niet neerleggen bij
bestaande situaties maar door-vechten voor elke mogelijke verbetering. Soms
tegen wil en dank, maar daarvoor heb ik dan ook de persoonlijkheid van een pure
overlever. (apr. 98)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Déconditioneren en opnieuw programmeren dus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">En nu, 1 september 2016, is er misschien weer een
demarcatielijn. Als zal blijken dat ik de totale inhoud van mijn outlookmappen
kwijt ben. Door wat voor oorzaak dan ook. En dus kom ik wéér het bovenstaande
stukje van Robert Veninga tegen.En kan ermee werken nu. <i>:-)</i><br />
Toch maar hopen dat outlook terug komt. Als de onvergelijkelijke supersysop
Freek weer terug is zal hij er aan gaan werken. Maar voor de zekerheid heb ik
het toch maar in mijn Worddocumenten ook gezet. Ook in mijn weblog? Nouja, voor
de veiligheid dan wel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Erica, 1 september 2016.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</h2>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-14839250008642284702016-08-05T08:31:00.001-07:002016-08-05T08:31:36.048-07:00Petten, kinderkolonie..Ik was aan het surfen op sites van mijn herinnering. En kwam in het Zijper Museum terecht. En van daaruit in de Kinderkolonie Petten.
Eén van de heel veel (ingekorte) verhalen is mijn eigen verhaal, maar er staan er nog veel meer op.
Zeer opwekkende verhalen. Maar misschien zitten er ook herinneringen voor andere Amsterdamse kindertjes in.<br />
Mijn eigen stukje hier dateert van 8 februari 2007 (no. <b><b></b></b>14) Daar stond eerder een oproep om herinneringen op te halen aan de Kinderkolonie Petten......... ;-( Geen prettig idee.
Ook ik heb alleen vreselijke herinneringen aan die tijd.
Ik was er vóór of in het begin de oorlog. Ik denk in 1939-1940. Ik was vier of vijf jaar.
Mijn moeder en ik waren met veel moeite en spanningen Oostenrijk ontvlucht na de Anschluss bij Duitsland. Misschien was ik toen niet zó gezond....
Maar men vond het blijkbaar nodig me meteen maar aan mijn moeder te ontnemen en met een groep kleine kinderen naar Petten te sturen. Midden in de winter. Ik vond het er ook vreselijk, er was niks vriendelijks of aardigs of vacantie-achtigs aan en ik werd heel ziek van heimwee. Zo ziek dat ik in het ziekenzaaltje terecht kwam en mijn moeder werd gewaarschuwd.
Mijn moeder kwam naar Petten (Hoe?) en moest een lange weg door de bevroren sneeuw lopen om bij de Kolonie (ofwel misschien toen al het z.g. Kleuterhuis) te kunnen komen. Ze kwam na uren aan, met door de hardgevroren bovenlaag van de sneeuw bloedende, opengesneden benen en kapotte kousen. De sneeuw lag hoog die winter.
Ze was er zo erg aan toe, dat ze bij mij op het ziekenzaaltje terechtkwam.
Omdat ik me van de tijd daarna niks herinner, neem ik aan dat ik later met haar weer terugging naar Amsterdam.
Nee, het leven was niet vriendelijk voor haar. In 1942 kwam ze om in Auschwitz. En ik overleefde wel, maar mijn verdere jeugd zat ik, vanwege onderduik, in een ander, even streng en beroerd kindertehuis. In Petten kreeg ik er een voorproefje van...... De trauma's zitten dus heeeel diep... En die raak je niet meer kwijt.
Erica van Beek
http://www.zijpermuseum.nl/artikel/kleuterh/reacties.html Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-38551525218560662872016-08-04T05:46:00.002-07:002016-08-04T05:46:47.165-07:00Wenen, zoeken naar roots..<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dit is een verbeterde herhaling van mijn verhaal </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wenen, zoeken naar roots. Ik vind het verhaal voor veel mensen nog steeds de moeite waard om te lezen, dus zet ik het na al die jaren nog een keer hier...</div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wenen,
zoeken naar roots.<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Gisteren
teruggekomen uit Wenen, dus behoorlijk moe nog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar laat ik
jullie toch, zoals beloofd, maar vast
vertellen hoe we gesjouwd hebben, vooral Lies trouwens. Die heeft niet voor
niets die dikke knie... ook van al dat sjouwen ja, vast wel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Goed, we
vertrokken dus de 10e, om even over vijven 's middags.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">ik had in
eerste instantie een hele grote reistas op een karretje, een kleine reistas op
wieltjes, een rugzakje en een weekendtas bij me...vreselijk onhandig, maar naar
het Centraal Station werd ik gebracht door nicht en neef. Lies had een grote
reistas op een karretje en een werkelijk heel grote koffer bij
zich.....twee oudere vrouwen op reis....!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Gelukkig
bestaan er nog aardige sterke mannen ;-). Trein in - trein uit... in de
slaaptrein moest Lies maar zien hoe ze alles verstouwde....ja, dat deed ze
alléén, ook terug. Met zulke dingen (en met veel méér natuurlijk) ben ik
waardeloos. Doodmoe waren we, toen we, rond 9 uur de volgende morgen, op
de plaats van bestemming aangekomen waren, want ondanks de slaaptrein is er van
slapen geen of nauwelijks sprake. Ik raad iedere volwassene af om met de City
Night Line te reizen als het reizen in couchettes moet, die zes-kribs hokjes.
Te klein om te zitten, te staan, te
liggen….stinkend benauwd en zeer
onrustig.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In Wenen
meteen een taxi geroepen, prijsafspraak gemaakt en we werden netjes
afgeleverd bij het hotel. Voor die prijs ( € 7,90 + fooitje) bracht hij de
bagage ook nog binnen. Ingeschreven in het hotel, kamer 324, moesten we tot na
elf uur wachten, tot de andere gasten vertrokken en de kamer weer klaar en
schoon voor de volgende waren. Tijd had vóór die tijd niet zoveel voor me
betekend, maar op dat moment wilden we niets anders dan rusten, wassen,
eten..... In die volgorde.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op de kamer
aangekomen eerst de bedden uitgeprobeerd. Oei, dat viel niet mee. De veren
kwamen door de oude matrassen heen.....en dat voelde je. De dekbedden lagen
keurig opgevouwen, de kussens (heel dun), verder keurig, maar daar was het mee
gezegd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</v:shape><span style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Toch even neervallen....bek-
en bekaf. Wat je hier ziet is het piepkleine halletje vóór de kamer. Links de
kledingkast (half hang- half lig-) rechts was het toilet en daarachter de deur
naar de badkamer. De kapstok hangt in de kamer ja. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dus na wat
'rust' even de kleren uitgehangen en uitgepakt wat nodig was. Onder andere
veel om te snoepen, hè Lies... ;-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Oja,
dat vierkantje rechts onder het stopcontact is een metalen plaatje waarmee ze
òf de electriciteit òf de waterleiding
konden bereiken....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik moet
jullie nog wat vertellen over de treinreis. In Keulen, zowel als in Frankfurt
op[ de terugreis zouden we overstappen, maar op hetzelfde perron kunnen
blijven….. Nou, vergeet het, we moesten beide keren met alle bagage sjouwen naar het verst
gelegen perron…. Dus laat je nooit iets wijsmaken op het reisbureau ;-), het
klopt nooit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We waren
doodmoe en vuil, de douche werkte niet meteen naar genoegen, we hadden geen
afstandsbediening voor de tv meegekregen, het kluisje werkte niet, enfin,
klachten te over, maar alleen door onze vermoeidheid, want we hadden dus alleen
even bij de receptie hoeven te informeren….daarna kwam alles goed en zelfs de
douche werkte, zoals Lies ontdekte.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lies lag en
sliep….en even later ik ook.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De eerste
avond dineerden we in het hotel en ik moet zeggen dat het redelijk goed was,
vooral het toetje, ijs met abrikozen…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dit nog even
tussendoor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’s Avonds,
een beetje bijgekomen, even de omgeving verkend, na het eten dus een rondje
gelopen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Daar
gebeurde de eerste ‘toevalligheid’, die ons op de weg zette die leidde naar de
doelen die ik me gesteld had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We kwamen
bij een winkel…een soort grote bazaar, waar van snoepgoed tot elektrische
apparaten…van alles dus… te koop was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In de
etalage zagen we een grote koffer voor een redelijk kleine prijs staan. Die
stond me aan, omdat het aantal tassen waarmee ik gesleept had eigenlijk heel
onhandig was, maar ook omdat ik nog een verjaarscadeau wilde hebben voor mijn
nichtje en neef, die me spontaan de sporttas en een digitale camera geleend
hadden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We gingen de
winkel binnen. En de verkoopster die we aanspraken, legde verrast haar vinger
op mijn davidssterretje:” Sind Sie jüdisch??” Ik beaamde dat…waarop zij haar
eigen joodszijn bevestigde. Dat was leuk. En we raakten enthousiast aan de
praat…Wat we kwamen doen - en ik vertelde hoe ik op zoek was naar het verleden
en dat mijn vriendin meegekomen was om me tot hulp en steun te zijn… Waar ik
gewoond had in Wenen, wilde ze weten. Dat wist ik op dat moment nog niet. Maar
wel, dat ik een nicht gehad had die in de Novaragasse gewoond had, op no. 24.
(die dus ook vermoord was in Auschwitz) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Stomverbaasd
vertelde ze me dat zij zelf ook in de Novaragasse woonde. Ze noemde geen
nummer. Maar ze gaf ons een papiertje met een adres waar we verder konden
zoeken. Het adres klopte in eerste instantie niet, maar wel de naam van de joodse
instantie; de Kultus Gemeinde. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Enfin, de
koffer werd gekocht en we werden heel enthousiast uitgeleide gedaan door de
dame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Die avond
belde ik ook met ene Dr. Herko van het Versöhnungsfonds in Wenen. We konden de
volgende dag al bij hem terecht.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dat had ik
zo met hem afgesproken, nadat ik, twee weken daarvoor, een beetje in het wilde weg een e-mail
gestuurd had naar de Wiedergutmachungs-instanties. Of er iemand was te vinden
die me te woord zou willen staan tijdens mijn zoektocht naar mijn verleden en
die me dan ook wilde helpen om de erkenning voor mijn moeder te krijgen waar ik
op uit was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Deze
Dr.Herko was degene die me uitnodigde op zijn bureau te komen zodra ik in Wenen
was aangekomen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Die dag van
aankomst had dus al goede resultaten opgeleverd. En zelfs mijn Duits spreken
lukte boven mijn eigen verwachting. Tenslotte was het mijn eerste moedertaal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Een goed
gevoel dat we ons in die landstaal verstaanbaar konden maken. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We gingen
dan ook slapen met een eerste gevoel van opluchting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar de koorts
van het moeten wéten, moeten onderzoéken, moeten gáán, had nu definitief
toegeslagen. En rust zou ik niet meer kennen voordat alles duidelijk was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag twee<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We gingen, na een buffet-ontbijt met
geroosterd brood en droge broodjes, keuze uit boter en/of Becel diet…genoeg
beleg en fruit, eerst de Inner Stadt (de
binnenstad) zoeken. Lijn 43, de tram, was vanaf ons hotel nog geen vijf minuten lopen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We hadden dat briefje van die
enthousiaste winkeljuffrouw met het
adres van de Kultus Gemeinde, maar zochten
ons een ongeluk op de kaart…Lies tenminste. Geen Stetengasse te bekennen. Eerst
maar naar de stad…En we kwamen, in plaats van op de Stephansplatz, wat de
bedoeling was, op een ander prachtig plein terecht. Een schitterende kerk met
tweelingtorens…maar dat was niet de Stephansdom. De open deuren nodigden ons
uit om de prachtige gebrandschilderde ramen te bewonderen en het mooie
interieur. Dit is een prachtige kerk,
omgeven door bloeiende lindenbomen en bankjes en een parkje met mogelijkheden
voor scholieren om hun huiswerk te maken aan een stenen tafel met stenen banken
rondom. Heel mooi. Maar niemand wist iets van de Stetengasse. Alleen het feit
dat we in het eerste Bezirk (wijk één) moesten zijn wees ons de weg naar de
U-Bahn (de metro, die in Wenen werkelijk ideaal is door de wijde vertakking en
de duidelijke belijning in kleuren naar de diverse richtingen en lijnen). De
informatiedienst binnen het station kwam – eindelijk – met het juiste adres: De
Seitenstetengasse. Omdat we er ergens IN een synagoge moesten zijn dus èn daar
de Kultus Gemeinde moesten hebben.. Zucht….Vreselijk veel gelopen voor we er –
eindelijk – waren. Want door mijn toedoen liepen we eerst nog de verkeerde kant
op. Ergens….eh…. later kwamen we er achter dat ik daar in de buurt gewoond heb.
En onbewust liep ik er heen dus… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar de weg
vragend bij weer een ander pleintje met kerk (ditmaal de Augustinerkirche, die
we dus niet bezochten) werden we teruggestuurd, heel ver terug voor mijn
gevoel. De tram gepakt dus. We hadden een z.g. Wiener Karte , die drie dagen
lang gebruikt kon worden. En Lies
informeerde bij een taxichauffeur, waarop we heel snel het straatnaambordje in
oude letters geschilderd, konden ontcijferen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Het goede
adres was toen snel gevonden. Een prachtig oud straatje in de oude joodse
buurt. Vlak achter de Stephansplatz. We
moesten aanbellen en werden door de beveiligingsman streng maar netjes
behandeld. Dat schijnt daar nodig te zijn. Ik had al vaker gemerkt dat mijn
davidssterretje, hoe bescheiden ook, de aandacht van mensen trok. Ausweis, in
dit geval de europakaart en het paspoort afgeven, werden gekopieerd en
teruggegeven en toen mochten we doorlopen. Eerst de ‘foute’ deur: de synagoge
zelf, waar op dat moment een rondleiding plaatsvond. Toen de goede deur, waar
we koeltjes werden ontvangen door een Frau Weiss. Dat koele bleek
buitenkant….want we moesten haar vertrouwen eerst winnen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar toen
ging ze op zoek en liep geanimeerd heen en weer met de karige gegevens van mijn
moeder,en ze vond mijn grootouders, mijn
overgrootouders en mijn betovergrootouders.. ‘Jetzt wird es spannend’ kwam
steeds weer over haar lippen. Wij, Lies en ik, grijnsden maar eens…begrepen er
weinig van. Maar met grote bijna onleesbare hanepoten zette ze de sterfdata en
de plaatsen op het Israëlitische deel van de enorme begraafplaats van Wenen op
papier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Spannend
vond ze, dat mijn overgrootmoeder Adelie niet was begraven bij haar man, maar
bij haar ouders….wat daar de oorzaak van was?? Misschien was er nog maar één
plaats in het graf van háár ouders en dus niet meer voor haar man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En voor de
allereerste keer in mijn leven kreeg ik
te horen waar we in Wenen gewoond hadden: Springergasse 13.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Inderdaad
was ik dus onbewust de goede richting opgelopen….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En ook voor
de allereerste keer hoorde ik dat mijn grootvader, Armin Bock, géén Tsjechische vluchteling was, maar een
gerespecteerde Wener. Te vroeg gestorven, Amper 38 jaar jong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Hij liet
twee dochters na: mijn moeder en Hilda dus, die door grootmoeder Josepha
Bock-Karpfen, werden grootgebracht.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De ouders
van mijn grootmoeder heetten Simon Karpfen
en Regina Karpfen-Friedenthal. En zíj woonden dus al in de Springergasse
13!!!. Evenals mijn betovergrootouders van die kant: Simon en Re…(onleesbaar)
Karpfen.(Regina?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De ouders
van mijn grootvader waren Sigmund Bock en Adelie Broda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Kan iemand
het volgen?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In Wenen
blijkt Broda een bekende naam te zijn. Ik zie veel Broda’s op Google ook. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Alle mensen
liggen begraven in dat Israëlitische deel van dat immense kerkhof…..behalve
mijn grootmoeder (vermoord in Riga concentratiekamp en mijn moeder (Auschwitz)
dus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De oudsten
in groep 8 rij 35 no. Onleesbaar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De anderen
in groep 19 rij 35 (ja!) No. 460.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Als we
erheen gingen, het kon nú nog, ze sluiten pas om 5 uur de poort, zei de nu
enthousiaste dame…..moesten we bij poort 1 zijn…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nou, eerst
even bij-ademen… en de emoties onder controle krijgen. Er was zo
verschrikkelijk veel over me heen gekomen…. En we hadden nog een paar dagen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Uiteindelijk
bleek ik niet met mijn moeder aangespoeld of uit de hemel gevallen te
zijn,(klinkt mooier in het Duits) maar
ook ik had voorouders….zoals iedereen. En die hadden namen en hadden geleefd en
waren gestorven als gewone mensen……..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Voor we
afscheid namen schreef ze nog even met haar grote, onleesbare hanepoten een
adres op de losse papieren die ze ons meegaf. Het Dokumentatie-archief, in de
Wipplingerstrasse no. 8.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nòg een
adres dus om achteraan te gaan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Buiten, weer
via de nu vriendelijker veiligheidsman, merkten we dat we bij een vriendelijk
pleintje, in een lekker zonnetje,
stonden. Even van genieten voor we verder moesten…………nu naar Dr. Herko
van het Versöhnungsfonds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar waar
moesten we heen? Even kijken, volgende adres was Rotensturmstrasse 16-18.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Je gelooft
het niet…. Maar we draaiden ons om en stonden voor het kantoor van deze
Dr.Herko. Giechelend van de zenuwen stapten we daar maar meteen op af…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wel….een
lange en knappe jonge man was het wel. En het gesprek was zeer geanimeerd. Ik
had mijn boek voor hem meegebracht in de veronderstelling dat hij ons verder
zou helpen….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tevergeefs….
Maar hij belde met iemand van het Nationalfonds……iedereen was in vergadering
(!) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Hij raadde
ons aan om eerst maar te gaan eten in zijn eigen favoriete restaurant
Figlmüller, dat goed was en waar ze de grootste Wiener Schnitzel van de wereld
serveerden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wat beduusd
stonden we even later weer buiten….en vonden een heel lief, héél smal straatje
vlak bij de Stephansplatz: de Bäckerstrasse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Inderdaad,
de allergrootste (en heel lekkere) schnitzel met een heerlijke sla. We bestelden dus allebei maar een halve…en
die nam nòg het hele bord in beslag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We zouden de
voorlaatste dag daar nòg een keer eten… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Aan de muur
hing een artikel uit de (Nederlandse) Volkskrant met een lofzang op dit
restaurantje. Leuk hoor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Terug op de
Stephansplatz hebben we genóten van de sfeer, de warmte, de standjes en de
muziek van alle kanten en dronken uitgebreid koffie op een terras.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tja, en toen
moesten we terug naar het hotel……<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En dat
kostte niet alleen hoofdbrekens en tijd en omzwervingen, maar achteraf ook veel
spierpijn. Gelukkig bleek het hotel er nog te staan en vonden we het op een net
uur toch terug…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En zijn
meteen in bed gedoken……bèkaf. Niet alleen van het lopen, maar ook van alle
emoties. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Voor Lies,
die hier toch voor de derde keer was, viel het ook bepaald niet mee. Een totaal
andere wereld, waarmee ze geconfronteerd werd en er werd van haar toch verwacht
mij tot steun en toeverlaat te zijn in mijn nieuwe zoektocht…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 3<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Allereerst
vanmorgen het door Dr. Herko gegeven telefoonnr. gebeld. Wel, het antwoord op
mijn vragen was kort en krachtig en volkomen emotieloos gebracht: Mijn moeder
was na het huwelijk geen 10 jaar aaneengesloten in Oostenrijk geweest (voordien
dus wel, ja) en ik dus ook niet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="DE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Und Gesetz ist Gesetz? Wet is Wet? </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik vroeg het met een tamelijk cynische ondertoon….
‘Ja’, was het simpele antwoord.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nationalfonds
geeft dus niet thuis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dr Herko
maar weer gebeld. Die was nogal aangeslagen…’Ik wist niet dat uw moeder niet
meer de Oostenrijkse nationaliteit had’, zei hij verwijtend. Zich direct daarop
(hoopte ik) realiserend dat hij mij niks kon verwijten en dat dat nog helemaal
niet zeker was…..In elk geval verwees hij me weer door, nu naar een goede
vriend van hem bij de Oostenrijkse Ambassade in Den Haag…jawel, de heer De
Valk, waarmee ik vóór ik naar Wenen ging, contact had gehad….. daar moest ik
een persoonlijke afspraak mee maken als ik weer terug was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tja…Dit
officiële gedeelte gaat me niet in de kouwe kleren zitten, dat heb ik nu al
door…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Omdat het
regende en (zeker emotioneel) geen weer was om naar het Friedhof (de
begraafplaats) te gaan, zijn we een dagje gaan spijbelen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En hebben
die hele lange mooie Maria Hilferstrasse afgelopen en bekeken. Omdat het zo koud was en het zachtjes regende
en mijn hoofd onbedekt was (dat geeft me hoofdpijn) heb ik een pet gekocht. En
Lies? Die kocht een hele mooie cd, getiteld: Ein Himmel voller Geigen (Een
hemel vol violen). De Duitse taal is voor dit soort titels toch veel mooier….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En
toen……viel Lies’ blik, eenmaal de gekochte cd in haar handen, op, van wie de
cd eigenlijk was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We hadden
vouchers voor een Mozart en Strauszconcert in het Kursalon, die avond, waarop Lies me trakteerde. Dus waren we al
een beetje in de stemming toen lies die cd kocht….Laat het nou een cd zijn van
de in Oostenrijk zeer gewaardeerde……….. André Rieu!!!! Dat hoefde niet van
Lies, dus kreeg ik die CD. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We hebben in
het Stadtpark gegeten, in een soort herberg. Koud dat het er was!! Maar dat mocht de pret niet drukken… Daarna
de kaarten gehaald, gewandeld tot het tijd was en we de Kursalon binnen gingen.
Een super-Weens salonorkestje en concert, inclusief een klassiek geschoolde zanger en zangeres en een
danser en danseres.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Papageno uit
Die Zauberflöte van Mozart natuurlijk, wat dacht je. ;-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik heb het
programma bewaard… het is voornamelijk Strauss en Mozart, maar ook Ziehrer en
Lumbye (mij onbekend tot dat moment).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Met
natúurlijk An die schönen blauen Donau…en Rosen aus dem Süden…en nog meer van
die muziek. We hadden prachtige plaatsen, vooraan naast het orkestje, dus toch
wel echt genoten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nu wisten we
de weg terug naar het hotel ook…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En kregen
daar, samen met een groepje keurige jongelui,
hooglopende ruzie met een heel hufterige nachtportier. Die eiste een
hotelkaart van ons en daarop het kamernummer... Waar had hij het over????
Nooit zoiets gehad. Nou, zonder kaart
geen sleutels. Want, zei hij, met een blik op mij, van de week had een
62-jarige vrouw geprobeerd in te sluipen en in te breken…… (sic!) En de jongelui dreigden te vertrekken (hadden
drie kamers gehuurd), en het antwoord was dat het hem worst zou zijn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<img alt="wenen de hotelkaart" height="126" hspace="12" src="file:///C:\Users\KAATJE~1\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image002.jpg" v:shapes="Afbeelding_x0020_2" width="105" /></div>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De hotelkaart</span></div>
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Echt heeel
erg, zoals die vent zich gedroeg. We kregen uiteindelijk onze sleutels, maar we
dienden wel meteen een klacht in bij de
in de bar staande hotelpersoon. En ik ging toen naar mr. hufter terug en eiste
op vrij hoge toon alsnog een kaart met kamernummer, want die had hij ons ook
niet gegeven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op onze
kamer aangekomen even allebei stoom afgeblazen, voor we gingen slapen. Het was
al behoorlijk laat geworden. En echt uitslapen is er niet bij als je wilt
ontbijten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dat kan
alleen tot 10 uur…nou, en twee vrouwen hebben wat tijd nodig voor ze naar
beneden kunnen, in elk geval ikzelf.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 4.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
Vrijdag 14-5<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Deze ochtend
zijn we dan naar de centrale Friedhof gegaan. De immens grote Centrale
begraafplaats van Wenen, met aparte
’afdelingen’ voor Katholieken,
Protestanten en Joden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We moesten
uit de
tram stappen bij de eerste
poort: Tor 1. Dat was de directe ingang
naar het ‘Israëlitische’ gedeelte.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Een enorme
lange laan. Aan weerszijden even enorme velden
met graven. Aan de randen van de
grotere lanen stonden de mooie, dure, marmeren grafzerken. Verder weg, in het veld, de kleinere, vaak onleesbare,
vaak scheefhangende of
omgevallen stenen. Laan na laan
na laan..Bijna alle graven zijn van ver vóór de
2<sup>e</sup> Wereldoorlog, de
data op de stenen gaan
terug naar de eerste helft van de
19<sup>e</sup> eeuw. Joodse graven worden nooit geruimd. Men rust er in vrede tot de komst
van de Messias. Al duurt het eeuwen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We
liepen en liepen en
klommen en struikelden…. Zochten naar de graven van mijn grootvader,
mijn overgrootouders en mijn betovergrootouders, zoals
op het papier van mevr. Weiss van de
Kultus Gemeinde geschreven stond,
ploeterend door, voor
mij, schouderhoog gras en onkruid,
waarin de prachtigste kleine
bloempjes bloeiden. Lies maakte een
heel klein boeketje, de foto ervan hangt nog steeds op
mijn herdenkingsplaatsje in mijn huis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We vonden,
afgaande op de tellingen van groep,
rij en nummering, misschien de
juiste grafstenen, onleesbaar,
omgevallen en verzakt….en ik
legde dáár, met de onschatbare hulp van Lies,
mijn kiezelstenen neer. Het is
een joodse gewoonte om als teken
van bezoek een kiezelsteen op een graf
te leggen, geen bloemen
of zo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De geur
van buxus is daar overweldigend en bedwelmend. Ik heb altijd van
die geur gehouden. Maar zal
hem nooit meer kunnen ruiken zonder
aan dat veld
te denken….dat veld dat een
eeuwigheidsgevoel bij me opriep, juist door zijn heel verwaarloosde uiterlijk een
gevoel van eeuwen en
generaties en generaties
van mensen, waar ik bij hoor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lies bleef
flink en nuchter, ik kreeg een gevoel van zweven……van me neer
willen leggen in dat diepe gras en
heel lang <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">voelen wáár
ik lag en de
geuren insnuiven en de
geesten van al die gestorvenen
voelen… Mijn neus echter
waarschuwde me door vreselijk te
gaan druppen, dat dat
niet gezond voor me zou
zijn. Pollenallergie ja.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Toch nam ik
met moeite afscheid, toen we doodmoe
richting Tor 1, de
uitgang, liepen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Het Friedhof
(een mooiere naam dan begraafplaats
toch?) was zo onaangetast, in zijn meer
dan 100 jaar verwaarloosde
toestand en als het symbool van het
tijdelijke en het eeuwige
van zo grote onaangetaste en
onaantastbare schoonheid…. dat een mens niet anders kan dan zich
realiseren dat we, als eeuwige mensheid, als mens toch een zeer tijdelijk wezen
zijn… En alles werd doordesemd door de
geur van buxus…. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mijn eigen buxusje
zal me hier voortaan altijd aan
herinneren.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik realiseerde
me dat mijn moeder en mijn
grootmoeder hier niet en nooit begraven waren. Nergens begraven waren
dus. Ik had moeite om afscheid te
nemen van die plek. Nam me voor dat ik ook niet begraven
zou worden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lies niet nee….
Die was blij eindelijk weg
te kunnen…ze was ook heel
erg moe, want ze had nog harder geklommen en gezocht
als ik en
haar been deed pijn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar
Lies leefde weer helemaal op toen bij de uitgang, op de deur
van een keet, een papier zichtbaar kwam, waaruit bleek dat
hier een grote joodse
vrijwilligersorganisatie al jaren aan het werk
was om de begraafplaats op te knappen. Ze
zouden, zei het papier, nog ongeveer 660.000 manuren daarvoor nodig hebben.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Zo
groot was die joodse begraafplaats. Ik heb een foto gemaakt,
die nog niet ter
beschikking is, van een grote
hoop gebroken grafstenen. In de oorlog is er
een voltreffer op de begraafplaats terechtgekomen. De beenderen moeten daar verzameld worden, want
het lichaam moet onaangetast zijn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op die plek
is één grafzerk voor allen opgericht.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op een andere plaats zag ik
een rij vrij nieuwe, naamloze graven.
Opgericht omdat de originele
graven door de bominslag zó vernield waren dat geen identificatie mogelijk was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maandag
wilden we (wat mijzelf betreft:
graag) terugkomen. Want
morgen was het Sabbat en daarna zondag… En we wilden proberen de coördinator van dat
vrijwilligerswerk te pakken te
krijgen. Die coördinator zou ’s
morgens tot 12 uur
aanwezig zijn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dit was
dus de ochtend van de 4<sup>e</sup> dag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En opeens beving me toen een
grote onrust..Ik wilde weg,
terug de stad in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Naar het
adres dat ons door Frau Weiss was meegegeven, het adres waar
mijn overgrootouders, mijn grootouders, mijn moeder en haar
zuster.....en ikzelf hadden gewoond: Springergasse 13.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">---<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 4, de middag<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Met Straszenbahn en U-Bahn terug naar de Schwedenplatz…daar tramlijn 21 genomen
en de hele route gereden die we twee dagen daarvoor vergeefs gelopen hadden.
Bij de Augustinenkirche weer rechtsaf….en toen een eindeloos eind gelopen…via de
Novarogasse, waar familie van me gewoond
heeft, maar waar ik totaal geen wijs kon
worden uit de ongenummerde gebouwen en een
beetje in paniek raakte.… Steeds
verder doordringend in de wijk Bezirk Eins…..tot we èindelijk dan
toch in de Springergasse
stonden. Een gewone Weense straat. Grote
appartementsgebouwen. Een koffiehuis
en toen…….toen zag Lies het nog het eerst. Een wit, keurig gerenoveerd gebouw, boven de poort het nr. 13.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dáár heb ik
dus gewoond als peuter, samen met mijn moeder, mijn oma, mijn tantes, mijn toen nog
kleine nichtje en neefje. Hier dus hebben behalve mijn
grootouders, ook mijn
overgrootouders en waarschijnlijk
ook mijn betovergrootouders gewoond..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Dáár is het dus allemaal gebeurd……dáár had ik
een (joodse) familie, waar ik bij
hoorde. In gedachten vroeg ik mijn vader
en zijn vader vergeving voor het feit
dat ik helemaal opging in waar ik hier mee bezig was….maar ik kon niet anders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Naar binnen
gaan? Mijn hart bonsde in
mijn keel…. Dat stelde ik zo lang mogelijk uit. Lies begreep het
wel, liet me even mijn gang gaan. De voordeur ging open,
er kwam een jongen uit…..en nog een keer, er kwam een
nog vrij jonge, witharige dame met een klein hondje uit.
‘Vragen’’! moedigde Lies me
aan….Maar ik durfde nog niet.
Toen ze terug kwam lopen
hebben we haar toch aangeschoten. Ze woonde er, zei ze, nog maar twee
maanden en wist niets van de
geschiedenis van het huis. Maar ze zou
ons naar iemand brengen op de
eerste verdieping, die er al
20 jaar woonde. En wèl iets wist
van vroeger dus. Ze liet ons binnen door de poort… In de buitenhal achter de voordeur had een
koetsje kunnen staan.. De binnendeur daarachter leidde naar een binnenplaats en een
trappenhuis………waar mijn adem stokte. Verstijfd, totaal verstijfd stond ik daar…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dit was exact het
beeld dat ik al die jaren meegedragen had. Mijn onderbewuste
kwam met een schok tot het bewust zijn, dat ik hiér dus als 2-
tot 3
jarige gewoond had. Alles was
bekend, Het grote trappenhuis met
de draai die zo moeilijk te nemen was voor een peuter….het binnenplaatsje,
met de ramen tot de hoogste verdieping erop uitkijkend…….Ik hoorde de vrouwen ‘plaudern’, kletsend in het
raamkozijn hangend, hoofddoeken
omgeknoopt, de donkere kleding afstekend in het licht dat op
de kozijnen en de opgeschoven
ramen hing. Het geluid van hun luide
stemmen……..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar ze waren er al
65 jaar niet meer. Wat ik zag gebeuren op dat moment was al
ruim 65 jaar geen werkelijkheid meer…… De ramen waren
gesloten, de binnenplaats keurig opgeruimd…..het
trappenhuis was breed en hoog, met
ondiepe treden en een door de tijd
volkomen gladgeschuurde
houten leuning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We volgden
de witharige dame naar boven……namen de
ruime bocht…Wat moet dat voor een
kleintje hoog zijn geweest, misschien had mijn moeder me op de arm
gedragen? (Later vernamen we dat we
twee hoog gewoond hadden).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Een oude vrouw
deed open op het bellen van de
witharige, die na een korte uitleg over
onze aanwezigheid snel vertrok. Met veel tegenzin werden we in het wel heel nauwe halletje, dat door
grote spiegelkasten een groter aanzien had moeten krijgen, toegelaten. Spiegelkasten…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">.Ik had
in mijn
vorige huis ook een voorkeur voor spiegelkasten. (Eentje in de hal, eentje in de
huiskamer….) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De vrouw
pakte een papiertje, schreef daar een
naam, adres en tel. Nr.
op. We moesten maar contact
opnemen met Herr Fleger, die wist veel
meer en verzamelde alle gegevens van dit huis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Terwijl ze
praatte en schreef keek ik langs haar heen. Rechts een piepkleine, donkere keuken. Vóór
me kon ik een blik werpen
in haar kamer…..Een nieuwe
schok…. Zo moest de kamer er dus vroeger
ongeveer hebben uitgezien. Vol en schemerig en met donkere gordijnen, tafeltje waarop
veel foto’s en schilderijen aan
de wanden. Heel veel heel oude
dingen zag ik staan…. Prullaria….zoals die vroeger zo vaak de oude kamers moesten opfleuren.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Toen ze ons
(bijna letterlijk) de deur
uitwerkte na mijn uitvoerige dankbetuigingen, en de
deur achter ons dichtgooide
(waarom was ze niet vriendelijk en gastvrij?
Dat zou ik zeker in
zo’n geval geweest zijn.) gingen we langzaam de lange brede trappen weer af.
Lies was opgevallen (ze had me een seintje gegeven en ik zag dat het huis dan
wel mooi gerenoveerd was, maar
niet de hele woning. De binnenkant van de huisdeur zag eruit alsof hij ooit ingebeukt was. Achteraf
gaf dat voedsel aan
nieuwe gedachten over het verleden.
Ik had moeite met weggaan daar. Bleef aarzelen bij die binnenplaats, bleef
overal treuzelen….. Lies had ondertussen contact gelegd met een oude man, die voor een hout-werkplaats stond.
Bleek de echtgenoot van de vrouw
te zijn en zelfs
al op de hoogte van de reden van ons bezoek. In een
onverstaanbaar taaltje stond hij ons te
woord.. Niet erg vriendellijk ook, net als zijn vrouw. Maar Lies
complimenteerde hem terecht met de mooie
houten dingen die er stonden en die hij
zelf maakte. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nee,
vriendelijke, gastvrije en
toeschietelijke Weners hebben we
amper of niet ontmoet.
Zelfs niet in restaurants of cafeetjes waar we
koffie dronken onderweg Ook daar
bij Springergasse 13 niet, terwijl
ons verhaal toch niet echt
alledaags te noemen was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Buiten weer
lang getreuzeld……..Dit was het dus. Dit
was het huis waarvandaan de zwerftocht begonnen
was, het huis waarheen niemand van de familie ooit teruggekeerd is. Mijn
hoofd en mijn hart voelden aan alsof ze
niet bij mij hoorden op dat moment. Het was moeilijk terug te gaan….ik was nog niet binnengeweest, niet
echt..En het heel kleine kind in mij
stampvoette van boosheid en
teleurstelling. De volwassen vrouw
liet niks merken, en beheerste zich.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lies gaf me
alle tijd die ik nodig had om weer tot mezelf te komen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En toen herinnerde ik me ook, dat ik tram 21, die ons terug moest brengen, in de buurt voorbij had zien komen. Dat hadden we moeten
weten, want het been van Lies begon steeds meer op te spelen en
de wandeling was heel lang geweest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Inderdaad
vonden we na een paar minuten die tram,
die ons wèg van de Springergasse, weer terug naar de Schwederplatz bracht.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En terug
naar het hotel, waar we in het restaurant
de maaltijd gebruikten (en meteen afrekenden, want het hoorde niet bij de hotelrekening ;-) )<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Herr Fleger
konden we maandag pas bellen. Het is vrijdagavond, morgen is het Sabbath, We
gingen ervanuit, dat hij een oude,
joodse man moest zijn. Zondag zal hij niet werken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; padding: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tijdens het aantekeningen maken voor dit verslag
voel ik dezelfde enorme ontroering en
het zweverige gevoel, dat me die
middag ook overvallen had….En tijdens het tikken hiervan…zie ik zich alles weer afspelen alsof
het steeds opnieuw gebeurt….en gebeurt……en gebeurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 5 </span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Vrije dag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We moesten
ook een beetje plezier hebben in ons
reisje…. Nietwaar?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We gingen
naar Schönbrunn. Het was even zoeken
naar de juiste lijnen, maar dit
chaootje heeft de beste gids meegenomen die ze krijgen kon ;-), Lies dus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We
waren er al vlot, sneller dan we dachten. Het grote plein van Schönbrunn in de zon
is prachtig omzoomd met rode bloeiende meidoorn. Het paleis zelf
is met alle bijgebouwen en kleine
paleisjes in de omgeving ruim
genoeg geweest voor de (negen of) elf
kinderen in het kilometers grote park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Uitgebreid
koffie mèt gedronken en toen wat rondgelopen……maar de knie van Lies protesteerde toen al……en we zagen een
terreintreintje voor het paleis langs rijden….en dat leek ons, twee
dames op leeftijd toch, aantrekkelijker. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Voor 5 euro
konden we de hele dag met het treintje tjoektjoek. Onderweg waren stops,
waar men kon uitstappen en van alles bezichtigen. Het is er prachtig in het voorjaar, werkelijk de moeite waard. De parken, de
vergezichten over Wenen… voor ons een genot, maar
ik heb geen plaatjes hier om
jullie te laten meegenieten. Het terrein bevat
heel mooie kassen, te vergelijken
met (maar nietgelijk aan :-) ) de Hortus Botanicus zoals die in Amsterdam en Leiden bestaan.
Wel al heel oud….en door die
ouderdom prachtig. De kassen zelf zijn in de zon geslepen
juwelen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar overal
moet je betalen…zo ook
hier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We zijn de
‘palmenkas’ ingegaan en hebben even genoten van
alle prachtige kassen en hun inhoud. Voor Lies was vooral de tropische
kas iets ‘van toen’, van ‘vroeger’ en ze
liet me ook van alles meegenieten. De wortels van Lies liggen in het oude
Indië. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Vooral de
orchideeën hadden haar bewondering. Ikzelf hou niet van orchideeën, ook niet van
lelies trouwens. Maar ik kan
de prachtige kleuren natuurlijk
niet ontkennen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Er is
ook nog een woestijnkas…..ook
apart te betalen….en niet te vergeten de
dierentuin (met een bijbehorende
uitgebreide winkel. Ja, natuurlijk, ook
apart betalen. Nee, de dierentuin zijn
we niet ingegaan, dat kunnen we thuis
ook. Maar wel in de winkel
rondgesnuffeld en kleinigheden
voor thuis gekocht. Honger?? Stukje
pizza of zo was er wel te krijgen….
;-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Enfin, toen</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">de
middag bijna voorbij was werden we toch</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">te</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">moe en</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">wachtten</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">weer</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">op</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">ons treintje. Dat</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">de</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">rit
afmaakte en toen opnieuw begon. De controle-mensen zijn</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">geoefend en</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">weten precies</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">wie wel en wie niet
betaald hadden….Maar het leken wel</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">ezels</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">in een tredmolen. Dag in
dag uit dezelfde rit…hetzelfde</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">omroepen
totaal onverstaanbaar …dezelfde stops …..</span></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar een
mooie rit is het wel, zeker aan te bevelen. Vooral ook omdat het een dagkaart
is, je overal kunt in- en uitstappen en er zoveel te genieten valt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lies
trakteerde op nòg een Weens
concert,ditmaal van Het Schloss
Schönbrunn orkest. We hadden, toen
we het terrein verlieten, nog een
paar uur voor het concert
begon. En besloten in ons
hotel te gaan eten en dan weer
terug te
gaan. Het régende!! Het was
al die dagen wel killetjes
geweest maar nu regende het
voor het eerst. En
daar waren we niet op gekleed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar
goed….net als de eerste keer in de
Kursalon hadden we nu in de concertzaal van Schönbrunn weer plaatsen vooraan. Het is wel een zit
want de
stoeltjes zijn dan wel mooi
en oud
en origineel, maar een concert
heeft toch een hele avond nodig, en ik
maakte me zorgen om Lies, die veel pijn had. Maar het was weer uitbundig
genieten van een echt Weens
concert…..net als het vorige,maar dan nèt even anders… Om opnieuw te genieten dus. Ditmaal stond er een professionele dirigent voor het orkestje, in de Kursalon was het een gemoedelijke, perfect op het publiek spelende Herr Kapelmeister,
die dus
zelf meespeelde.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In de regen
’s avonds laat terug met U-bahn 6 naar
het hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De klant is
hier in Wenen beslist geen koning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ikzelf, maar
ook Lies, kan zich niet herinneren ooit door bedienend personeel zo onbehoorlijk behandeld te zijn. Zij
moeten toch ook hun brood
verdienen en kost het dan zóveel moeite je tenminste behóórlijk te gedragen?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Onze
onbeschofte nachtportier had één en ander van zijn superieuren te horen
gekregen n.a.v. de klachten van ons van
het groepje jongeren. Hij had een heel valse vriendelijke glimlach op zijn snuit en
was bepaald onderdanig. Hij voelde het denk ik wel toen ik onze sleutel
ophaalde en met een hooghartig gebaar
onze inmiddels verkregen hotelkaart
op de balie legde. ;-) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Lies kon het niet laten te vragen of hij ‘nog worst had’. De man zijn mond viel open: ‘Waah…? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">-----------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 6.
Zondag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We konden
nergens terecht en besloten naar het Kunsthaus te gaan. Hundertwasser was dus het
doel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tevoren had
ik van een Duitse vriendin totaal
onverwacht een mooi boek over de
kunstenaar en zijn werk gekregen. Ik had dus
wel een indruk van zijn werk. En verheugde me erop het in
werkelijkheid te zien.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De naam van
de artist is eigenlijk Friedrich Stowasser, hij werd geboren in Wenen in
december 1928 en beleeft, àls
hij nog leeft, zijn ouderdom in Nieuw
Zeeland. Pas in 1949 nam hij de
naam Hundertwasser aan. Hij is een zeer
aktief en veelzijdig artist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Omdat we
niet precies wisten waar we
moesten zijn was het een eindeloze wandeling…: ‘Nee, hier moet u
terug en dan naar links’ en ‘ha, u bent
verkeerd gegaan…het is hier vlak bij, daar moet u de hoek
om…’.. en nog zágen we niks..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar goed,
uiteindelijk stonden we voor een Hundertwasserwinkel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De eerste
plek waar de commercie rond
Hundertwasser toesloeg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Er was
veel meer…eenmaal ‘ binnen’ toen
we binnenstapten, was een plein vol winkeltjes in de nationale producten: Mozart, Strauss en Hundertwasser. Oké,
je kon
er ook nog koffie drinken of
iets anders, en ook het toilet
was een Hundertwassertoilet…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nee, ik heb
er geen gebruik van gemaakt, de trap naar beneden (en
dus ook naar boven) was ook een Hundertwassertrap ;-), mij te
gevaarlijk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Het plaatje
laat het echte Hundertwasserwerk zien. Geen tegeltje
is recht gezet, alles wijkt af
van alles, zelfs de tralies voor het raampje zijn ongelijk. Zelfs het lijstje eromheen is nergens recht. De
versiering is ogenschijnlijk in het wilde weg aangebracht en schijnt nergens op te lijken.
Het doet wat primitief aan….maar de plek van elke ongelijk gevoegde tegel, van muur en vloer, de plaats van het raam en van
de muurversiering is doordacht en met vrolijke opzet zo aangebracht. Een
schoolvoorbeeld van Hundertwasserwerk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De fantasie legt het af tegen de werkelijkheid. Er ligt geen steentje gelijk aan de andere,
geen kleurtje gelijk aan een andere,
geen meter vloer gelijk (in alle opzichten) aan de andere. Weinig toegankelijk
voor invaliden….dat wel. In een
quasi primitieve stijl, in
ongelooflijk veel kleuren en
-schakeringen, licht en luchtig en tegelijk, op een vreemde manier, loodzwaar…maar mijn
ogen konden er niet genoeg
van krijgen. Buiten hebben we niet alles
bekeken, het was te veel, een hele
wijk. En het been
van Lies speelde behoorlijk op.
Maar als troost gaf Lies me een mooi
boekje van de artist. En we
kochten in de winkeltjes (in das Village)
een paar leuke souvenirs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tja, als je
het echt
goed wilt bekijken moet je
even een boekwinkel binnenlopen – of zelf gaan kijken. I.v.m. de kb-tjes kan ik het niet groter maken. Een indruk van
het geheel kan ik
zelfs niet geven. De simpelste boekjes
die dat wel kunnen zijn:
“Wien -Hundertwasser-Haus” en “Hundertwasser Kunsthaus Wien”. Een Taschen – uitgave, dus waarschijnlijk
in een goede boekhandel wel te koop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Een hele lange wandeling terug…Arme Lies.
Gelukkig vonden we de bus en later de U-Bahn,
die ons naar de Karls-Platz brachten. Lies had daar goede herinneringen
aan, maar herkende niets meer. Het is een
koud, pompeus plein geworden. Waar weinig gezelligs, gemütlichs aan was. De aanwezige Uh-bahn was
nog steeds bij een mooi gebouwtje,
maar door de verbouwing was dat bijna onzichtbaar geworden. Het ongelijke
niveau van het plein leek het nog groter te maken. We hebben
er de Karls-Kirche bekeken…even
pompeus. En toegang betaald voor
een kerk vol stellages, waar bepaald
geen heilige sfeer hing ;-).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Blijkbaar
midden in een grote renovatie. Midden in de kerk was
(zowel voor de werkers aan de kerk, als
voor bezoekers) een enorme
stellage met lift aangebracht. Daarmee
kon je helemaal (20 meter?) naar boven
en onder het dak de
fresco’s bekijken, die ook gerestaureerd
werden. De vloer was er echter niet echt stabiel….er mochten ook maar 20 mensen
tegelijk op en we gingen dus een beetje snel weer
naar beneden. Onderweg zagen we andere fresco’s, die jammerlijk verwaarloosd waren…maar erg mooi moesten worden. Uit de
luidsprekers klonk, je houdt het niet
voor mogelijk, muziek van (ik was
het toen vergeten, maar herinnerde het
me later weer)
Palestrina. Zijn missen en de
Klaagliederen van Jeremia….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tegen
de tijd dat ik er
weer, maar dan voor mijn plezier heenga, zal het
hopelijk klaar zijn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Doodmoe naar het hotel teruggegaan hierna…en tot etenstijd hebben we geslapen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 7. de ochtend<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Die ochtend
verlieten we het hotel vroeg.
Het is een lange rit en de mensen
die op de Israelitische
Friedhof hun moeilijke taak moeten verrichten: het opknappen
van de enorme begraafplaats, zijn er maar tot 12 uur.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Niet dus….Er
was helemaal niemand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wij zijn
zelf weer gaan zoeken…nu in een andere groep. De vorige keer
was het groep 8, nu zochten we in groep
19.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Hetzelfde
beeld, schouderhoog gras en onkruid. Ontelbare stenen, rechtop, scheef, omgevallen, in de bodem
gezakt of eenvoudig verdwenen…een open plaats achterlatend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En opnieuw
ploeterden we erdoor…zoekend naar namen en
data…Weer vergeefs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wel kwamen we de naam Bock tegen: Daniel Bock en zijn dochter Josepha Hirsch, geboren Bock.
Een grote marmeren, dus’ belangrijke’ steen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En weer
kwamen we bij de rijen naamloze stenen,
die op
de plaatsen van de vernielde
graven gezet waren. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lies ging
eerder terug. Ik kon niet wegkomen. Maar
zij ontmoette bij de
uitging een vader met zijn
zoon. Zoon met keppeltje, dus aangenomen werd dat zij joods waren, hetgeen ontkend werd.
Zij ‘hadden’ iets met het joodszijn en
met deze begraafplaats. De oudere
man was de beheerder van de Friedhof en
hij vond het maar niks dat de vertegenwoordiger van de
vrijwilligersorganisatie niet
was komen opdagen. Wij ook niet…dus.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Zonder
resultaten terug. Zeer teleurgesteld…dat
is zacht
uitgedrukt..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We hebben
veel U-bahnen gezien die rest van de
dag….en veel Strassenbahen. Veel
metro en tram dus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar we
gingen wel rechtdoor naar het
nieuwe adres dat we van Frau Weiss van het Kultus
Gemeinde hadden opgekregen. Het
Stadt Archief in de Wipplingerstrasse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; padding: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 7 - 2<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Na enig gezoek
en heen en weer lopen – wel
lift - niet lift , niet lift dus…kwamen we waar we moesten zijn. Op de
eerste verdieping van een stedelijk archief. De plaats waar alléén uit Wenen
afkomstige joodse mensen werden geregistreerd, mensen die vanuit Wenen naar de vernietigingskampen waren
gestuurd en als omgekomen (lees: vermoord) waren geregistreerd….Alles met de grondigheid
die de Duitsers èn de
Oostenrijkers kenmerkten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">===<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We werden
ontvangen door een jonge man, die echter,
met al zijn goede bedoelingen,
geen hulp kon bieden. Ik
wist trouwens helemaal niet wat
voor hulp hij zou kùnnen bieden en waarbij. We werden
gestuurd door Frau Weiss…. En zijn instantie
zou ons verder kunnen helpen. Punt. Meer wist ik niet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Uit
computergegevens kwam echter al gauw
de familie Bock en Karpfen tevoorschijn.
Maar om verder de computer in te kunnen
moest hij een historica erbij
halen. Frau Schwarz. Inderdaad een toeval
die namen….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Frau Dr.
Ursula Schwarz ging met ons
samen de computer in. En al
gauw kwamen er
vreemde feiten naar boven, waar
ik tot dan geen
benul van had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Net als in Amsterdam werden de joden uit hun huizen gejaagd en gecentreerd
in een ghetto. Zo ook mijn familie.
Ons huis in de Springergasse werd
gevorderd en de familie
moest haar intrek nemen in
Bezirk 2, in Krummbaumgasse 1.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Onze adem
stokte. Niet alleen van Frau Schwarz. Maar ook
de mijne.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik kom daar
later op terug. Eerst maar de feitelijkheden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Altijd had ik
gedacht en ook verteld dat de familie in Theresiënstadt was omgebracht.
Dat had Rabbi Schachter van Yad Vashem in Jeruzalem
me verteld en op
de papieren laten zien. (Daar moet ik het ook recht
gaan zetten dus…) Maar hier
blijkt dat de familie naar
Riga (Deportationskartel IKG is de bron van dit gegeven)) in Letland is gedeporteerd en
daar is omgebracht. Waarom zo ver?? Dat zal
wel nooit beantwoord worden. Maar misschien waren de
vernietigingskampen in Polen wel overbelast en was Theresiënstadt
overvol. ;-(( In elk geval, ik kreeg
zwart op wit het bewijs mee dat ze in Riga werden vermoord.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De
Krummbaumstrasse….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Toen ik
voor de eerste keer ging scheiden – en ikzelf in uitgeputte
toestand in het ziekenhuis werd
opgenomen, moest ik mijn kinderen naar een kindertehuis brengen. Extra moeilijk, omdat ik mezelf
had voorgenomen dat wat mij was
overkomen nóóit mijn kinderen
zou gebeuren. Maar net als in de
generatie daarvóór, was het stomme en
vreselijke overmacht…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik bracht
dus mijn kinderen indertijd, geholpen door een vriendin, naar het opgegeven
adres in de <b><u>Kromboomsloot</u></b> in Utrecht. Ik
ga hier op deze plaats niet verder op in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Frau Schwarz
verschoot ook van kleur… Schoof
haar stoel met
een ruk achteruit…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Zij <b><u>woont</u></b> op dat adres
Krummbaumgasse 1.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Bestaat
toeval? In mijn ogen niet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ze vertelde
ons dat het (natuurlijk
appartementen)Gebouw, dat in de oorlog als gedwongen opvang en afvoeradres voor
joden had gediend, na de oorlog was opgekocht door een nazivrouw, een zeer gehate huisbazin. Tegenwoordig is het weer
een gerespecteerd en gerenoveerd woongebouw, onder een andere eigenaar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar dat
ze uitgerekend dáár woonde, waarheen
mijn familie verbannen was…….. En dat ik mijn kinderen moest brengen naar een huis van hetzelfde adres….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Van Omama
heb ik de enkele gegevens kunnen vinden
dat ze geboren is als Josepha
(Josefine) Bock, geboren Karpfen op 17
november 1878 in Brünn, dat ze gestorven is
in Riga op 11 januari 1942,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op haar
kaart staat: dood zonder bevestiging.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="DE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tot ohne Bestätigung.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="DE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De bron is hier ook: Östa, Bestand FLD, Transportlisten in alphabetischer Folge………………<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Geen
commentaar….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mijn moeder kwam toen ook ter sprake. Van
haar was geen enkel bewijs van bestaan
te vinden. Geen ‘ Deportationsliste’
geen OF WIEN liste…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wel van haar
zuster Hilda, die in Amsterdam de
oorlog overleefd heeft. Haar naam
staat vermeld als enige
dochter waarvan iets bekend is: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tochter
Hilda, vh. Kloett-Bock 1-10-1906. Gatte Hermann.
(Bron IKG-Wien)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Zij
huwde na
de oorlog met een Kloet ja…maar van een echtgenoot Hermann is niks bekend bij mij.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Waarom is
mijn moeder nergens genoemd???<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik vertel
het verhaal van mijn moeders vlucht uit Wenen naar Nederland…hoe familie en een vriendin het heeft over een vlucht als (uit het boek
Uncle Tom’s Cabin//De negerhut van Oom Tom) Elisa’s vlucht met haar
kind, over de
Ohio… De grensrivier tussen Amerika en het vrije
Canada, waar ze veilig zou zijn.
In het boek springt Elisa van ijsschots naar ijsschots achtervolgd door de honden van de
slavendrijver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Daaruit begrijpt Frau Schwarz dat mijn moeder ‘dus’
via de Donau is afgezakt, eerst naar Tsjechié en vandaaruit verder gevlucht is naar het Westen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dat is
dan ook de reden dat ze
niet is
geregistreerd in het Weense archief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Omdat ze uit
Oostenrijk is gevlucht wist niemand waar
ze gebleven was. En dat ze vanuit
Nederland is opgepakt en vandaaruit via Westerbork naar Auschwitz-Birkenau is
vervoerd en daar vermoord, werd dus niet
in Oostenrijk geregistreerd………………….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar voor
alles is een formulier te krijgen…… dus ook hiervoor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En met hulp
van Frau Schwarz heb ik een formulier ingevuld voor het Dokumentationsarchiv des Österreichischen Widerstandes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dat houdt zich o.a. bezig met de opsporing van en het naam geven aan
holocaustslachtoffers die nergens
genoemd zijn. Ik heb haar dus, behalve
in Jeruzalem, ook in Wenen haar plekje terug kunnen geven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Heel
emotioneel dus allemaal….ook voor Lies, die zich noodgedwongen afzijdig had gehouden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Er werden, om
de zaak wat te ontspannen, nog
wat grapjes gemaakt over het feit
dat we
door Frau Weiss naar
Frau Schwarz waren
gestuurd….maar dat grapje
vertelde iedereen die via de een
naar de ander was gestuurd……<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Met
veel plichtplegingen namen we
afscheid. Wat kun je nog
meer doen??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We hebben
nog wat rondgezworven en gegeten op de Schwederplatz. En zijn vroeg
naar het hotel teruggegaan<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 8 <o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dit keer vertrokken we met de tram en kregen voor
het eerst te maken met een controleur. De Wienerkarte was
inmiddels verlopen en ik had een
8ritten-kaart gekocht. Je stempelt hem gewoon af
op de volgende strip. En hij is
dan de hele dag geldig op alle openbaar
vervoer. Niks strip overslaan…die
theorie daarover heb ik ook nooit kunnen aannemen. En niks
maar één uurtje of anderhalf uurtje
geldig. Ik denk dat als
Nederland een voorbeeld zou nemen aan het openbaar vervoer hier in Wenen dat ze niet
met tekorten zou zitten omdat het niet
de moeite loont vals te spelen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Goed, maar
ik had maar één strip afgestempeld..wist ik veel….De controleur vertelde
dat ik er voor ons beiden dus twee had
moeten afstempelen… Maar Lies is kie-ien….die wees op haar zak, en zei dat ze
een geldige Wienerkarte bij zich
had. Toen was het goed, de man bleef
vriendelijk en vroeg geen bewijzen ook. Maar ik schaamde me toch wel hoor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Twee haltes
verder uitgestapt, we hadden nog de tijd voor de volgende
afspraak en besloten in een heerlijk zonnetje een mooie winkelstraat te verkennen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lies
wilde eigenlijk nog een mooie stropdas kopen voor haar man…
en we gingen dus een dure winkel binnen,
waar ze mooie exemplaren hadden… Inderdaad, maar de goedkoopste was €
59,- en dat was toch
een beetje…eh… te duur. Dus liepen we verder. Naar de
Votiv-Kirche<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Het is een
bijzonder bouwwerk, en in eerste
instantie vergisten we ons en dachten
voor de Stephansdom te staan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Hij lijkt er
niet op hoor….véél mooier. Met zijn twee
torens en op kantwerk (of een
suikertaart?) lijkende bouw. Het vreemde is dat beide kerken gedeeltelijk wit zijn, gedeeltelijk nog (erg) vuil. Alsof
men wil laten zien hoe erg het was
en hoe het zou kunnen worden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De Votivkerk
staat in een prachtig plantsoen, de Stephansdom op een prachtig
plein……verschil moet er zijn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op de
Rooseveltplatz dronken we koffie. Het
been van Lies begon weer op te spelen..
En daarna gingen we dóór het plantsoen richting Mayergasse… waar onze
volgende afspraak zou zijn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar dat vergde toch veel gezwerf met U-Bahnen… Nogmaals,
leve het openbaar vervoer daar, zelfs ik kan er niet verdwalen. Behalve als ik een goede gids
naast me heb…;-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Jawel, ik
ken de geschiedenis van de aanleg van dat Openbaar Vervoer. In de
oorlog aangelegd door ( o.m. Joodse)
dwangarbeiders.. Inderdaad. En dat mag
nooit vergeten worden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Maar Wenen is
zuinig geweest op die nare erfenis. En heeft er toch iets moois van
weten te maken. Wat
kan ik ànders zeggen?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Herr
Fleger…… We belden en zochten en klopten….niemand te
zien. Uiteindelijk moesten we in het pandje ernaast zijn.
We werden binnengelaten door een Wener
van middelbare leeftijd. Een
schriele, nerveuze, heel chaotische en
plat pratende figuur. Bijna een karikatuur.
Hij leek zeker niet de deskundige
in de zaken waar
wij naar zochten.. Het had iets
Dickens-achtigs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Het kantoor was een heel klein,
met mappen en dossiers volgepakt
pandje, waar de stenen kachel brandde vanwege de vochtigheid, zoals hij zei. En Lies, die er
tegenaan moest zitten, wist zich even echt
geen raad. Er stond of hing
ergens een bordje ‘bitte nicht rauchen’,
maar herr Fleger vroeg aan ons of wij
er bezwaar tegen hadden dat hij een
sigaret opstak…… Vriendelijk maakte
Lies hem erop attent dat hij
tegen zijn eigen
regels inging en dat wij er inderdaad bezwaar tegen hadden…. De goede man wist zich even helemáál geen raad met zijn houding. Echt hoor, het was allemaal
heel karikaturaal. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Het verhaal
dat ik hem te vertellen had, alle
feiten, en namen en data, noteerde hij. Hij wist me zelf
niks te vertellen, zover ik nu
weet………dat ik al niet wist. Maar
hij zou
de dingen gaan uitzoeken en
op een rijtje zetten en
me berichten daarover…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Het was met
een gevoel van opluchting dat
we, véél later, in de
frisse lucht terug waren. Wat viel erover te zeggen???
Niks. Afwachten was de boodschap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We zijn
naar de Stephansplatz gegaan (weer de
U-Bahn ja) en zijn de beroemde Kärtnerstrasse uitgelopen.
Gewinkeld, terrasje gepakt en daarna
weer, lekker en simpel, gegeten bij
Figlmüller in die leuke kleine Grinzingerstrasse, waar ze de grootste
Wienerschnitzel ter wereld serveren ;-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dag 9, De
laatste dag.<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Gisteravond
zijn we met pakken begonnen. Meer valt
er momenteel niet te doen, uit te
zoeken of te bezoeken
ook. Het is nu afwachten of er iets
uit Wenen komt en voor
mij wat ik vanuit Amsterdam kan
doen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Er is véél
te pakken. Er is veel te veel meegenomen. Voor mij is een voordeel, dat ik nu een grote koffer ter
beschikking heb waar, behalve de grote
reistas, een heleboel spullen in kunnen. En ik trek hem gemakkelijk, hij heeft ook
een goede trekhaak. De andere
tassen kunnen daardoor ook gemakkelijker gesjouwd, c.q. getrokken
worden. Lies worstelt echt met haar koffer…het gaat er allemaal niet
zo gemakkelijk in als
toen haar gewaardeerde hulp het
zo netjes inpakte. ;-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’s Morgens
moeten we om 11 uur de sleutel van
de kamer
inleveren. Dus na het ontbijt gaat Lies verder met pakken… Op
tijd gaan we met alle bagage naar
beneden, leveren de sleutel in.. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ik had tevoren
al de bijkomende kosten betaald,
t.w. de telefoonkosten. Met
een gewone telefoon altijd voordeliger als met een
mobieltje. Maar bovendien konden
we met de mobiele telefoon onze mensen in Holland niet bereiken….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De bagage
kan, tot we naar de trein moeten, even
opgeslagen worden, geen bezwaar.
Maar wijzelf? Eigenlijk een beetje
met onze ziel onder de arm gaan we nog
een keer met de U-Bahn, nog een
keer een
winkelstraat in, een kopje koffie drinken. Maar het been van Lies speelt zo vreselijk op,dat we in arren moede teruggaan
naar het hotel, en in de
lobby gaan wachten tot het
tijd is
om een taxi te bestellen die
ons, met alle bagage, naar het
station brengt. Maar tot het zover
is, zitten we ons uren in
die lobby te vervelen. Koffie
of thee is er niet bij, we zijn
inmiddels uitgeschreven immers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Eindelijk
wordt het dan tijd voor de taxichauffeur. Een vriendelijke man
die ons tot in het Westbahnhof
brengt en voor een karretje zorgt.
De trein staat te wachten en wij
moeten er in…… Gelukkig is Lies sterk
genoeg voor ons twee en met behulp van een
aardige jongeman lukt het dan ook
om, met veel vijven en zessen, de bagage
in de slaapcoupé te stouwen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nu wijzelf
nog. De couchette is te
klein om te zitten. Je kunt je alleen liggend bewegen. Met twee
mensen die noodgedwongen blijven
staan tùssen de couchettes gaat
het ook niet fijn…. Net als op de heenweg
is de reis een regelrechte
ramp. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Boven ons liggen 4 jonge mensen rustig te slapen.
Die doen dat duidelijk vaker.
Maar Lies, en zéker ikzelf,
liggen te woelen en te draaien en te zoeken
naar een manier om comfortabel
te kunnen liggen….wat niet lukt. Het
is een verademing als om vijf uur
de controleuse ons onze reispapieren komt brengen en ons
waarschuwen dat we om zes uur
moeten overstappen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Frankfurt…..Volgens
de papieren kunnen we op hetzelfde
perron blijven……..Maar als er maar geen trein binnenkomt gaat Lies toch maar op onderzoek. En komt terug met de
mededeling dat we aan het allerverste perron moeten zijn en nog
moeten opschieten ook om de ICE-trein te halen.
Dat station in Frankfurt is goed groot hoor, geloof me!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">…. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">De treinreis
naar het Westen gaat grotendeels aan ons
voorbij, moe als we zijn. Lies haalt nog
koffie onderweg….tegenover ons zit
een echtpaar, dat zich bijzonder
vreemd gedraagt…Hij fluistert tegen haar
helemaal naar haar toegedraaid, terwijl zijn duim achter hem
wijst naar diverse mensen in de
trein. Het is
duidelijk dat hij kletst over zijn
medepassagiers en ze hebben samen
de grootste schik. Naar ons kijken ze niet. Tot
Lies in Amersfoort uitstapt om verder richting Zwolle te gaan. Dan
richten ze opeens het woord tot mij:
‘Of ik Jüdische ben’. Tja……ja dus! Dat
vinden ze interessant en ze gaan een
gesprek aan. Ik ben afhoudend, maar kan
niet voorkomen dat ze me uitnodigen (en
een adres geven) om hen in Keulen te
komen bezoeken. Nee, ik geef geen adres
terug…maar zeg hen dat als een Erica uit
Amsterdam hen belt, dat ik dat
dan ben…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">En ik ben heel
blij als ze er in Utrecht
uitstappen, want onbeleefd wil ik toch
niet zijn. Zeker niet als Jüdische ;-( .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Op het Centraal Station van Amsterdam wachten nichtje
Elly en neef Freek me
op bij de uitgang van de coupé!
En kan ik thuis eindelijk bijkomen van
de wederwaardigheden en alles verwerken en straks weer verder gaan met
zoeken, maar nu kan dat verder
vanuit mijn eigen huis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Erica van
Beek, 1 juni 2004.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-57660785521132131772016-08-03T04:37:00.001-07:002016-08-03T04:37:36.928-07:00I'll remember you, always
I ‘ll remember you, always…
Een poosje geleden al schreef ik het onderstaande al. En ik ben er nog steeds mee bezig.
De mensheid bestaat al miljoenen jaren. En bestaat uit miljarden mensen. In die miljoenen jaren zijn miljarden mensen geboren en gestorven. Vandaag de dag en over miljoenen jaren, als onze Aarde dan nog bestaat, zullen er miljarden mensen geboren worden en sterven. Ik weet het en besef het maar al te goed.
Maar de onnavolgbare manier waarop de Nazi’s miljoenen mensen hebben vermoord is niet iets dat we zomaar voorbij kunnen laten gaan als een natuurlijk gebeuren. Het is al iets dat je je niet kunt voorstellen, dat zoveel mensen vanaf de oertijd zo anoniem hebben geleefd en zijn gestorven. De psalmist zegt het zo: De dagen der mensen zijn als het gras, als een bloem des velds, zo bloeit hij. Als de wind daarover gegaan is, is hij niet meer, en zijn plaats kent niemand meer. Zo ongeveer staat het er… maar wij willen die plaatsen wel kennen. Alle kampen waar onze geliefden vermoord zijn willen we blijven kennen. Want wij vinden dat ongekend geleefd hebben en anoniem gestorven zijn door moordenaarshand op zo grote schaal iets is dat de mensheid zich moet blijven herinneren. Wij willen de namen weten van hen die gestorven zijn. Van onze geliefden, maar ook van de ongekenden. Van hen die anoniem geleefd hebben en gestorven zijn door moordenaarshand. Dat is, denk het je eens in, een verschrikking op zichzelf. Zo anoniem geleefd hebben en zo anoniem verdwenen zijn door moordenaarshand.. wie kan ermee leven? Het is de reden waarom ik zelf op zoek ben gegaan naar die ene vrouw, mijn moeder, en haar familieleden, die anders ook door niemand gekend zouden zijn geweest. En ook bij mij even anoniem geleefd zouden hebben en vermoord zouden zijn verdwenen, zonder dat iemand er in de eeuwigheid ook maar iets van geweten zou hebben.
Erica van Beek augustus 2016
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-9141065188304773292016-07-08T15:11:00.002-07:002016-07-08T15:11:58.015-07:00<h4>
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 12pt;">Herinneringen uit de M.S.</span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Toen
ik begon met het schrijven van mijn boek was dat na een moment dat ik mijn
sleutelbos hoorde rammelen in mijn hand. En me plotseling weer voelde als dat
kleine meisje, één van de vele kleine meisjes die in angst opkeken naar de
leidster die er een gewoonte van gemaakt had kinderen met haar sleutelbos af te
rammelen. Het kindertehuis was in 1943 mijn onderduikadres... maar terug naar huis ben ik nooit gegaan.</span></h4>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vanmiddag
haalde ik een stapel post uit mijn brievenbus. En die van mijn buurman die
graag heeft dat ik de post bij zijn voordeur leg. Op maandag wordt niet meer
bezorgd, dus op dinsdag komt er </span><span style="font-family: "wingdings"; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
twee keer zoveel. Niet twee keer zoveel als vroeger, toen mijn post nog niet
via de computer binnenkwam. Het is tegenwoordig eigenlijk een armzalig zooitje,
dat door de brievenbusgleuf (leuk scrabblewoord) binnenkomt. Rekeningen,
aanmaningen of betalingsherinneringen.. tijdschriften nog wel en ansichtkaarten
van vakantiegangers ook en vooral reclame. Geen mooie persoonlijke
brieven meer van vriend Paul of vriend Ad. Ik zit aan de computer en vriend
Paul niet… En vriend Ad leeft al een paar jaar niet meer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vandaag
kwam van een emailvriend een klein mooi boekje van Perzische Wijsheden. Heel
mooi en liefdevol gemaakt, met mooie teksten. Twee mooie magazines, een
betalingsherinnering van de belastingen...en nog wat reclame. Dat is veel post
tegenwoordig. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">En
toen ik het stapeltje uit de bus haalde overviel me weer zo’n flashback.. Ik
voelde me even teruggeworpen in de tijd… de tijd van het kindertehuis. Als de
leidster binnenkwam met de post van die dag. Post voor de kinderen van
mijn groep. Ik ben even het kleine meisje dat net als die andere veertig
kinderen met angst en verlangen en hoop kijkt naar de leidster die de macht
over de post heeft. Is er post voor mij? Voor mij? Voor mij? Als ze haar
stapeltje had rondgedeeld bleven er altijd teleurgestelde en verdrietige
kinderen achter, die niets gekregen hadden. Niemand die aan hen gedacht had. En
ook niemand die hen daarover troostte…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ik
moest me gelukkig achten, want mijn vader schreef veel kaarten. Mooie dubbele
kaarten vaak. Hé, zou daar mijn passie vandaan komen voor het bewaren en niet
kunnen weggooien van ansichtkaarten? Dat ik me herinner hoe blij we ermee
waren? Ik ken natuurlijk in werkelijkheid alleen mijn eigen gevoelens daarover
maar de blijdschap van ons kinderen over te ontvangen post was voor iedereen
hetzelfde.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dat
vreemde oude gevoel overviel me vanmiddag, toen ik een volle brievenbus opende.
Allemaal voor mij… ? Even was ik weer dat kleine verlangende kindertehuiskind.
Dat kun je niet uitleggen aan iemand die gewoon als kind thuis gewoond heeft.
Alleen aan lotgenoten en aan mensenkinderen die langdurig in een ziekenhuis
liggen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Erica
juni 2016. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-60147430474392305182016-07-08T15:05:00.001-07:002016-07-10T13:09:36.758-07:00<h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Een
stukje Amstel: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">OMA
ZONDER OOGJES.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Drie
hoog in een oud afbraakpand op de Amstel woonden ze. Het pand, recht tegenover
Carré gelegen, is allang afgebroken en is een duur
appartementengebouw geworden. Maar in de tijd dat ik erover schrijf kraakte de
buitendeur tegensputterend als je hem opende. Het halletje naar de trap,
ongeveer een vierkante meter groot, bevatte de deksel van een luik, waaronder
een lucht van bederf en vuilnis naar boven kroop. De trap was kaal en smal, de
overloop had overal wel een matje voor de buitendeuren van de verdiepingen en
alle treden tot drie hoog klonken alsof ze je niet wilden dragen maar zouden
doorzakken bij elke volgende stap. Donker was het, het peertje op elke
verdieping gaf precies genoeg licht om niet de volgende trede te missen. De
leuning waaraan je je moest vasthouden was kleverig en vies, kennelijk nog
nooit schoongemaakt in de paar honderd jaar dat het huis bestond. Die
trapleuning was vergezeld van een even vies en kleverig touw waarmee de
buitendeur beneden kon worden opengetrokken. De twee eerste verdiepingen waren
op het laatst onbewoond, maar onverklaarbaar bewoond was de derde verdieping…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Op
drie hoog woonde Oma zonder oogjes. Mijn oudste zoon noemde haar zo. Ik noemde
haar tante Augusta. Een blinde, moederlijke vrouw, die vroeger kok was
geweest in het Kurhaus in Scheveningen en weduwe was van een schilder.(Sonnenberg
was haar naam, maar heette haar man ook zo?) Ze had wilde witte krullen en
altijd een zonnebril op. En mijn vader, toen alleenstaande, was haar commensaal, zoals dat
toen heette. Hij woonde daar op kamers, drie kamers zelfs en zij kookte voor
hem. Eten deden ze samen. De kamers van mijn vader bestonden uit een voorkamer
aan de kant van de Amstel, die een eigen matglazen voordeur had. Een
achterkamer met een raam dat uitkeek op de huizen erachter en een alkoof tussen
de kamers. Tussen zijn ‘buitendeur’ en die van Oma zonder oogjes was een
gangetje met een trap naar beneden en eentje naar zolder. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Wie
de andere voordeur, bij Oma zonder oogjes dus, naar binnenging
moest een paar treedjes op, direct achter die voordeur. En kwam dan direct in
de keuken terecht. Oma moet al heel lang blind zijn geweest, want alles was zo
vuil en zwart geblakerd dat de oorspronkelijke kleuren niet meer te zien waren.
Een huishoudelijke hulp was er toen niet. Een werkster kon ze niet betalen. Dus
in de loop der jaren vervuilde alles steeds meer. En nee, mijn vader zag dat
ook niet in de tijd dat hij er woonde.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Links
in de keuken was een ‘glazenkast’ zoals dat toen heette, waar het servies en de
glazen achter deurtjes met glazen ruitjes opgeborgen stonden. Onder de deurtjes
een paar laden. Ik denk dat de oorspronkelijke kleur ongeveer groenig blauw
geweest moet zijn, een veel voorkomende kleur in die tijd. Naast de kast
stond het fornuis, een groot ouderwets fornuis met een aantal vuurplaten en een
heleboel ringen die daarop lagen. Het fornuis stond onder een schouw met
schoorsteen en had een afvoerpijp naar die open schoorsteen. Het fornuis had
ook een tweetal ovendeurtjes waarin gebakken kon worden Aan de muur rond de
schouw hingen koekenpannen en keukengerei en bovenop de plank boven de schouw
ook een stel pannen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Aan
de rechterkant een houten aanrechtje met een zinken bak en een kraan. Heet
water voor afwas, was en schoonmaken werd op het fornuis gemaakt. Direct naast
het aanrecht was de deur naar de wc. Ook van matglas. Als je naar de wc moest
ging je via die deur een gangetje in met een raam naar de binnenplaatsen van de
huizen en twee meter verderop op een verhoginkje een houten plee met een
deksel. Geen tussendeur nee, wel een haakje aan de binnenkant van de deur. Aan
weerszijden van de deksel was ruimte voor wc-papier en schoonmaakartikelen.
Gelukkig was het wel aangesloten op de riolering en was het een ‘plonsplee’
zoals mijn oudste zoontje dat noemde. Alles viel recht naar beneden.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">De
keuken doorlopend kwam je aan de deur naar de huiskamer. Moest je je adem al
inhouden als je de keuken binnenkwam, in de kamer was de lucht zo slecht dat ik
er na al die jaren maar aan hoef te denken om het allemaal al te ruiken.
Donker, want Oma was blind immers. ’s Avonds een peertje aan boven de tafel met
een dik smyrnakleed dat stijf stond van vuil en grijs van de as… want Oma, met
alle respect, rookte ketting. De ene sigaret na de andere en op het gevoel kwam
de as in of naast de grote glazen asbak terecht. Tijdens het eten werd er wel
een tafellaken over gelegd en als vrouw en kok van goeden huize werd er bijna
altijd gedekt met schalen en borden van mooi servies en tafelzilver. Heel soms
kwam de grote pan met soep of stamppot op tafel te staan. Links stond haar bed,
opgemaakt met een divankleed, rechts een bank en naast de deur nog een bedbank,
waar ikzelf een half jaar geslapen heb. Rond de tafel zware ouderwetse
eetkamerstoelen. Alle muren waren bedekt met donkere schilderijen, voornamelijk
stillevens bedekt met een laag sigarettenteer. Werk van haar overleden
echtgenoot. Voor de ramen hingen mooie heel oude
vitrages, misschien wel 100 jaar oud en om de tocht tegen te gaan hingen er
korte trijpen kleden tot halverwege de ramen. Donker, stinkend en vuil. Maar
een thuis voor mijn vader, voor wie zij een moeder was. En voor mij
een toevlucht in de moeilijkste perioden van mijn leven. Het lag niet aan tante
Augusta… zij was van goeden huize en als kok moest zij wel heel hygiënisch zijn<span style="color: #1f497d;"> </span>geweest in haar werk. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</h2>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-37148958669990685662015-02-09T10:05:00.002-08:002015-02-09T10:07:32.461-08:00IMPRESSIES VAN ISRAEL<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>Yad Vashem. Eindelijk!</b></span></h3>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">
<br />
"Erica", riep Rabbi Schachter uit: "Precies zoals op de
foto".<br />
<br />
Hij spreidde zijn armen uit, omhelsde me hartelijk en gaf me een kus op mijn wang. Ik reageerde op zijn warme begroeting, ontroerd en blij hem eindelijk te ontmoeten na de lange correspondentie die we hadden gevoerd in de zoektocht naar mijn moeder.<br />
Chaim, de gids, en Ati, onze reisleidster, keken lachend toe, toch ook wat<br />
ontroerd door onze blijdschap.<br />
<br />
Rabbi Schachter zag eruit zoals ik me hem in gedachten had voorgesteld:<br />
ongeveer 60 jaar, gladgeschoren, vriendelijke ogen en een lach-grage mond.<br />
Zijn keppeltje was een vanzelfsprekendheid op zijn grijze krullen.<br />
<br />
De rabbi haalde zijn exemplaar van "Twee vrouwen en een jas"
tevoorschijn van onder de balie. Het verslag van mijn zoektocht naar mijn jeugd en mijn moeder: ik had mijn naam er nl. nog niet ingezet - en geen opdracht, dat moest ik meteen goedmaken.<br />
<br />
Van een opdracht kwam niets terecht. Dat, spraken we af, zou ik later<br />
goedmaken door nog een brief te schrijven, die hij dan in het boek zou<br />
plakken.<br />
<br />
De rabbi liep met ons naar de duizenden dossiers met namen, honderdduizenden namen van in de Tweede Wereldoorlog omgekomen joden, die in de Hall of Nameszijn
opgenomen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We konden er niet aankomen:
als iedereen dat zou doen zou er<br />
al gauw geen Hall of Names meer zijn. Maar iedere naam is opgenomen in de computerbestanden van het administratief centrum, waarvan rabbi Schachter deel uitmaakt. De hal is, niet ten overvloede, in het halfduister gelaten, er staat een bankje waar men even kan gaan zitten om in gedachten de geliefde namen of de ontstellende hoeveelheid in zich op te nemen. Er zijn "maar" twee miljoen namen opgeslagen, omdat de opgave moet geschieden
door een nabestaande van de omgekomenen. Als van een hele familie niemand de oorlog heeft overleefd kan ook niemand de namen opgeven van de omgekomenen en
de formulieren invullen die nodig zijn om opgenomen te worden in de Hall of
Names. Daarnaast is het jammerlijk dat nog zoveel overlevenden in zoveel landen
of niet weten dat dit kan, nee, moet gebeuren, of zelf niets meer met het
verleden van doen willen hebben. Mensen, voor wie het doorgeven van de namen
van de geliefden een opgave is die te zwaar is, omdat daarmee het verleden toch
weer bovengehaald wordt. Binnenkort zijn er zelfs geen overlevenden meer.
"Hoe bereik je die mensen die het verleden nog steeds alléén in zich meedragen. Hoe maak je hen bewust dat ook hun overledenen deel uitmaken van het joodse volk en dat hun namen daarom bij ons bekend<br />
moeten worden gemaakt", vraagt rabbi Schachter zich hardop af als ik hem verwonderd aankijk bij het noemen van het aantal van twee miljoen.<br />
<br />
"Hiér hoor ik bij", dacht ik. "Ik ben een overlevende van jullie
allemaal en<br />
dat heb ik alle jaren van mijn volwassen leven moeten waarmaken. Enerzijds naar jullie toe, dat ik niet zomaar in leven gebleven ben, maar een duidelijke stem ben geweest die getracht heeft gehoord te worden als een van jullie. Anderzijds naar deze maatschappij waarin ik nu leef. Ik heb maar steeds willen bewijzen dat joden zoals ik en jullie gewone, goede en nuttige leden van de maatschappij waren en zijn. Wij waren joden, wat dat voor ons ook betekende. Voor zovelen betekende het niets, velen wisten niet eens dat ze joods waren. Anderen hebben de duizenden jaren oude tradities altijd in ere gehouden, vertrouwend op de g'd van Abraham, Izak en Jacob. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Weer anderen hebben getracht
te vluchten voor het noodlot dat hen achtervolgde en inhaalde. Alles was
vergeefs. Noch het feit dat men onwetend was over eigen afkomst, noch het vertrouwen op g'd, noch de vlucht mocht baten. De golem heeft jullie allemaal gepakt en wij hebben moeten overleven om daarvan te getuigen. En ons eigen bestaan rechtvaardiging te geven.<br />
<br />
Ik heb daar, in het halfduister in die heilige hal, lang gezeten. En ben<br />
stilletjes weggegaan met het vaste voornemen terug te komen. Bovendien wilde ik nog met de rabbi praten over alles, over Wenen, over mijn familie daar, over mijn grootmoeder, die na de beëindiging van mijn boek toch bleek te zijn omgekomen in een concentratiekamp, in Theresiënstadt, met de rest van de familie. Zij was dus geen natuurlijke dood gestorven zoals ik gedacht had. Dat had Rabbi Schachter me al laten zien via de files op de computer. Zie het p.s. hieronder.<br />
<br />
De indruk, die het uitgestrekte park, dat Yad Vashem heet, op mij heeft<br />
gemaakt, is bijna niet weer te geven. Laat ik trachten het als een toerist<br />
te beschrijven. Het gaat me te ver, en is te uitputtend, om alle emoties te<br />
beschrijven.<br />
<br />
Zoals heel Israël is het heuvelachtig. Dat betekent voortdurend klimmen of dalen. Stenen trappen vergemakkelijken dat af en toe. Het park is een heel groot herdenkingsmonument met vele, vele beelden, plaquettes, bomen ter nagedachtenis aan slachtoffers en helden van de Tweede Wereldoorlog.<br />
Speciale plaatsen zijn het museum ter nagedachtenis van de helden en<br />
slachtoffers van het getto van Warschau en het "Childrens Memorial",
ter<br />
nagedachtenis aan de 1,2 miljoen onschuldige, joodse kinderen, die door de<br />
Nazi's zijn omgebracht.<br />
<br />
Daarheen richtten wij onze schreden toen we zo stilletjes de Hal der Namen verlaten hadden.<br />
Achter elkaar schuifelden we het duister in, elkander bij de hand houdend.<br />
Binnen ontplooide zich een heelal vol sterren. In de volkomen duisternis<br />
stonden we, op onszelf teruggeworpen, weerloos. Onafgebroken klonk een stem,<br />
noemende àl die namen van àl die kinderen, hun leeftijd en hun land van<br />
herkomst. Voor elk kind een ster in het heelal . Er waren opvallend veel<br />
kinderen uit Nederland en Polen. Duizenden en duizenden lichtjes in die<br />
volkomen zwartheid. Ik hield me vast aan mijn begeleidster, ik had kramp in<br />
mijn borst en tranen van ontroering liepen over mijn wangen. Wie houdt hier droge ogen? Elk kind vertegenwoordigd door een ster, elke ster een kind dat nooit tot wasdom heeft mogen komen. Voor elk leven een wereld verloren.<br />
De waarheid is dat die duizenden lichtjes veroorzaakt werden door twee,<br />
drie, of misschien vier kaarsjes en een fantastisch spel met spiegels in een<br />
relatief kleine ruimte, in verder een volkomen duisternis. Versteend<br />
realiseerde ik me des temeer dat ik ook hen heb overleefd. En dat ik nu hier stond, zoals even daarvoor in de Hal der Namen: "Ben ik het waard geweest, heb ik jullie vertegenwoordigd als overlevende?"<br />
<br />
Hoe de emoties met me op de loop kunnen gaan realiseer ik me pas een paar dagen later, als ik weer naar Het Childrens' Memorial in Yad Vashem terugga.<br />
Op dat moment ga ik ònder in die zee van namen van doden, waarvan ik er af en toe een herken als familie, of van kennissen van hier en nu En in het<br />
duister laat ik mijn tranen weer de vrije loop en huil tot de uitputting me<br />
bevangt.<br />
<br />
Weer buiten, in de brandende hitte van de dag, ontbreekt me de lust en de<br />
kracht nog meer te bezoeken.<br />
<br />
De ontstellende kracht van mijn eigen emoties van dat moment maakt dat ik me, ook nadat we in het zelfbedieningsrestaurant van Yad Vashem wat gegeten en gedronken hebben, niet meer in staat voel tot verdergaan, of nog iets in me op te nemen.<br />
<br />
Het gezelschap waarvan ik dan weer deel uitmaak stapt weer in de bus. Even buiten het park ligt de "vallei der verdwenen gemeenschappen" en men
stapt daar uit om ook dat te gaan zien. Ik ga niet meer mee, blijf alléén achter.<br />
Daarover kan ik dus niets vertellen, maar alle anderen kwamen heel stil<br />
terug...<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">p.s, Jaren later, als mijn zoektocht weer verder kan gaan kom ik in Wenen tot de ontdekking, dat mijn Oma, (Omama zoals ik haar genoemd heb) net als de rest van de familie, niet in Theresiënstadt is omgekomen, maar vermoord is in de vernietigingskampen van Riga, de hoofdstad van Letland.</span></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-44618100727293176982015-02-09T06:02:00.002-08:002015-02-09T06:02:56.022-08:00I<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Verrassing
van mijn leven. </span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Beschreven in mijn dagboek na 20 jaar.. </span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">April
1995 bracht me de grootste verrassing van mijn leven, na alle lieve belangstelling
voor de uitgave van mijn boek ‘Twee Vrouwen en een Jas’.. Ik werd benaderd door
een collegaatje, of ik mijn huis beschikbaar wilde stellen om een leuke grap
uit te halen met de scheidende voorzitter van het Platform Mondiale
Bewustwording, Dat moest gebeuren op 1 april. Natuurlijk zei ik ja, in mijn huis
in Nieuwegein konden zoveel dingen gebeuren, nietwaar. Wie of wat schetste mijn
verbazing toen de bewuste avond mijn huis volliep, met vrienden en kennissen
uit het vrijwilligerswereldje, maar ook met familie en persoonlijke vrienden.
En de burgemeester ; dat kon ik nog plaatsen i.v.m. de gezegde grap met die
voorzitter. Mijn kalender duidt op mijn volkomen onwetendheid, en waarom dochterlief foto’s begon te maken snapte ik niet. Mijn
exman en goede vriend lag toen net in het ziekenhuis. En ik begreep ook zijn
spijt niet, dat hij niet aanwezig kon zijn. Nou, de voorzitter van het Platform
bleek alleen zijn naam aan de avond gegeven te hebben. Het draaide allemaal om
mij. Ik was ‘de pineut’. Vriendin Lenie had een uitgebreide actie gestart om
gelden bijeen te brengen voor een reis voor mij naar Israël. Ik kreeg een grote
versierde doos in handen met een toespraakje, dat de persoon waarom het zou
gaan jammer genoeg verhinderd was, nu zou ze de cadeautjes maar
zomaar uitdelen (kleinigheidjes voor Jessica en haar eigen jongens als
fopdingen) en ik kreeg die doos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mijn
volkomen verbijstering is goed te zien op de foto’s die mijn dochter gemaakt
heeft. In de doos zat niet alleen een
toeristenboek en brochures over Israël, maar ook een cheque voor reis- en
verblijfkosten náár en in Israël. Goed voor twee weken met een groep of 1 week
met zijn tweeën. En omdat Atie, reisleidster voor de eerste groep die met de
Stichting Mi Jerushalaim er ook bij was, koos ik, totaal overdonderd door de
gebeurtenissen, voor de groep. En dat allemaal, omdat ik aan het eind van mijn
boek geschreven had: “Ik hef mijn glaasje kruidenthee en zeg: ’tot volgend jaar
in Jeruzalem’, een normale joodse wens. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Die
avond was ik tot niet veel meer in staat, anderen hebben mijn rol van gastvrouw
op zich genomen, vooral Jessica heeft zich goed van die taak gekweten. Velen
hadden lekkers meegenomen, van mij werd alleen verwacht dat ik koffie zou
zetten. Dat was dus goed gezien.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Vanaf
dat moment zat de spanning er goed in. De reis naar Israël heb ik beschreven in
mijn stuk “Impressies van Israël”, die zal ik hier niet herhalen. Omdat zoveel
mensen betrokken waren bij de verrassing heeft goede vriend Joop Bremerman,
journalist van de plaatselijke krant er twee artikelen aan gewijd, waarmee ik
hoop alle mensen bereikt te hebben om hen te bedanken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Maar
lichamelijk en geestelijk heb ik er
daarna wel meer dan een half jaar over moeten doen om weer een beetje op
krachten te komen. Nu, in januari 1996 pak ik weer voorzichtig een beetje de
draad op. Na al die maanden alleen wat met de Mondiaal te werken en in de
stuurgroep P.A. meegedaan te hebben. De afgelopen anderhalf jaar heeft een
ander mens van me gemaakt, de verwerking van het verleden, met zijn apotheose
in Yad Vashem heeft ervoor gezorgd, dat ik inderdaad dat verleden achter me heb
kunnen laten en een min of meer normaal functionerend mens ben geworden.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Hierna volgt nog een verslag van die reis.....</span></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-6880048165649078102014-11-20T02:00:00.000-08:002014-11-20T02:00:02.346-08:00Het Ziekenfonds en de zorgverzekering<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">SCHREEF IK AL IN NOVEMBER
2010:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Maar de omstandigheden zijn wel weer veranderd. Dus ik plaats het, veranderd en bijgewerkt, nog maar eens.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="3473299190287968148"></a></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Het
Ziekenfonds en de zorgverzekering</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Deze week een email van de
Consumentenbond.Dat ik weer moet kiezen.<br />
Natuurlijk hebben zij de deskundigen op velerlei vlakken in huis. En natuurlijk
kunnen zij uitrekenen waar ik het goedkoopste uit ben. En vaak kunnen we er
goed gebruik van maken.<br />
Maar er zijn onderwerpen waar wij ouderen echt op een andere manier over denken. Denk ik.
Wij zijn bij voorbeeld al tientallen, soms vijftig jaren verzekerd bij dezelfde
verzekeraar. Daar voel je een soort trouw bij. Misschien heel eenzijdig, maar
toch.<br />
Kijk nou naar Agis. Dat maakte nu weer deel uit van de Eurekogroep, waar ook
Achmea toe behoort. Was dat indertijd ook de bedoeling trouwens, toen Europa,
i.c. Mevr. Kroes wilde dat ze meer zouden concurreren? Omdat de consument er
beter van zou moet worden.<br />
In die tijd ontstond een stortvloed aan zorgverzekeringsmaatschappijen. Het
heette ook geen ziekenfonds meer. En de prijzen gingen maar omhoog. De tijd dat
de verzekeringsman zijn centjes kwam ophalen, lag toen al 'eeuwen' achter ons.
Onze Ziekenfondspremie werd rechtstreeks van ons loon afgehouden. Zoals
gisteren op tv werd uitgelegd werkten we een week per jaar voor ons
ziekenfonds. Nu werken we een maand per jaar voor onze zorgpremie...... Mevrouw
Kroes, hoeveel zijn we erop vooruitgegaan dan?<br />
Maar goed, terug naar Agis. Zoals zoveel ziekenfondsen vroeger, waren ze
ontstaan als solidariteitsfonds. Als er iemand ziek werd moest men met elkaar
de zorg voor de kosten dragen. Zoiets. Agis heette toen nog St. Luidina, zat
voornamelijk in het Utrechtse en was een R.K. fondsje, dat zonder winstbejag
eerlijk beheerd werd ten behoeve van arme zieken. Ik was toen jong, kreeg
verkering met een R.K. jongen en werd min of meer vanzelfsprekend lid van St.
Liduina. Van linkse of rechtse politiek had ik toen nog geen benul.<br />
Ineens heette het fonds Anova.... Een regionaal ziekenfonds samen met Amsterdam
en Omstreken. Natuurlijk bleef ik toen bij Anova.<br />
Ongemerkt werd het na 2003 ineens Agis. Agis Zorgverzekeringen. En toen merkte
ik dat het geen gewoon Ziekenfonds meer was, waar je de ' man van het fonds'
kende.... maar een groot centraal en onpersoonlijk kantoor met een helpdesk.
Een HELPDESK....!!<br />
Toch bleef het in het diepst van mijn ziel ' het ziekenfonds' . En goedkoper of
niet, net zomin als van je oude verzekeringsman (die allang niet meer bestaat)
loop je weg van je ziekenfonds. Misschien is het niet goedkoper dan de andere,
maar het blijft je ziekenfonds.<br />
Zeker als je er oud mee bent geworden en nu allerlei ziekten en gebreken hebt
waarmee je eigenlijk zelden vergeefs bij je ' ziekenfonds' hebt aangeklopt voor
vergoeding. Nouja, mijn (eigen) tanden zijn ondanks een dure verzekering niet
goed vergoed. Zou moeten, ja. Agis zou trots moeten zijn op de oudjes die nog
hun eigen tanden in ere houden. Nietdan??? Maar verder hebben ze het niet voor
het zeggen met de vergoedingen en hebben alle zorgverzekeringen, zoals het nu
heet, een zelfde soort pakket. Fysiotherapeut moet ik zelf betalen. Dat gaat
niet nee. Als ik aan de rollator zou moeten komen zou ik daarvoor lang moeten
sparen. Onee, dat zit niet in het ' ziekenfonds' ....<br />
Ach, laat ik maar bij mijn oude St.Liduina ... eh.... Agis... onee, Eureko,
blijven..... Dat is minder verwarrend........<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hoewel…. En nou, november 2014 kreeg ik
bericht dat Agis is opgegaan in Zilveren Kruis – Achmea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">ACH!!! Ik wil mijn ziekenfonds terug…
Waarom kan ik België wel wat in Nederland niét kan?!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894346468728341381.post-43382652969798389242014-11-05T04:29:00.001-08:002014-11-05T04:29:25.535-08:00WAAROMDAN? <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ooit had ik een struikje gele kornoelje.. waar heerlijke rode vruchten aan groeiden. Jammer genoeg vonden de slakken de blaadjes lekker en de vogels de vruchten.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom</b> kun je die vruchten nergens gewoon kopen?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">De herinnering aan gepofte beukennootjes is ook zoiets. Zakken vol raapten we. En legden die op de kachel om te poffen. Dan gingen ze vanzelf open. Heerlijk vonden we dat.Er zijn nu minstens zoveel beukenbomen als in mijn kindertijd. Kopen op de markt of zo…om lekker te poffen…Er zijn er genoeg. En die vergaan maar…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom</b> kun je eigenlijk ook al geen beukennootjes per pond kopen?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ik heb goede oude herinneringen aan grote volle anjers in rood, roze en wit….met heel fijn groen ertussen. Ik zie dan oude glanzende meubels en kanten kleedjes op tafeltjes voor me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom</b> kun je die anjers al jaren nergens meer kopen en vind je alleen nog kleine open anjertjes?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ooit waren na de eerste verkoop van mijn boek Twee Vrouwen en een Jas een aantal exemplaren over. En het toen nog bestaande Centraal Boekhuis belde of ik de rest van de exemplaren wilde laten versnipperen. Ik was zo verscheurd en in de war daarvan dat ik ‘ja’ zei. Nu koop ik elk exemplaar terug dat ik via internet vind en geef ik ze alsnog weg. Ik zal nooit meer een boek maken… mijn losse verhalen zijn vrij te lezen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom</b> heb ik toen ‘ja’ gezegd? En ze niet zelf overgenomen van Centraal Boekhuis?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">En mijn boekenkasten dan? Hoeveel boeken en tijdschriften ik ook weggeef, het lijkt of de kasten nooit leger worden en de wanorde even groot blijft…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom</b> lukt het maar niet de papieren troep definitief op te ruimen en de boekenkasten netjes op orde te houden?!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ik zie de mannen van deze tijd lopen met z.g. ongeschoren wangen. Ze lijken te denken dat dat sexy is, maar dat is het niet. Althans, ik vind dat zéker niet sexy. Een gladgeschoren gezicht, of een echte en goedverzorgde baard met of zonder snor en zonder viezigheid…dat is veel aantrekkelijker, vin dik</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom</b> die z.g. slampamperige koppen met z.g. ongeschoren wangen aantrekkelijk zouden zijn???</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Door de oorlog (mijn Joodse moeder werd vermoord in Auschwitz) kwam ik in een kindertehuis waar ik mijn hele jeugd heb doorgebracht. De bedelpartijen op de radio (er was nog geen tv toen) voor geld en goederen voor die arme, verwaarloosde kinderen in ons tehuis deden me het schaamrood naar de kaken stijgen. Elk jaar weer. Nu zijn er dan die bedelpartijen voor ‘het vergeten kind’ en nog steeds en weer voel ik de schaamte en de vernedering van toen. Hoewel ik zelf geen arm verwaarloosd kind was en mijn vader behoorlijk </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">betaalde</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> voor mijn onderhoud en scholing en hij kocht zelf mijn kleren. Maar welk kind vindt het goed en plezierig zo genoemd te worden??</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom</b> voel ik schaamte en heb ik dat gevoel van vernedering en boosheid bij dit soort bedelarij? En doet de zelfvoldaanheid over eigen goedheid van de goede gevers me de kiezen die ik nog heb op elkaar klemmen….</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We naderen weer november… En ik voel de huiver van de winterduisternis letterlijk en geestelijk dichterbij komen. Het oude en nieuwe verdriet om de herinnering aan allen die ons juist in de maanden oktober en november verlieten. Maar vooral om mijn zoon die ons nu al 30 jaar geleden achterliet op gekkendag. 11 november. Als de carnavalstijd officieel begint. Het toeval van juist die dag, is wat de herinnering extra bitter maakt. Al mijn herinneringen aan die tijd eindigen met een groot</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom?!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ik ben nu een oud mens en zou dit soort vragen eigenlijk niet meer moeten hebben. Maar ik heb ze nog steeds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Misschien een duidelijk sein dat ik echt oud ben… Want kinds ben ik nog lang niet. Voor kinderen is het normaal en gezond om overal vraagtekens bij te zetten en soms onafgebroken te vragen:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Waarom dan</b>?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br /> Ericahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03990001930817485964noreply@blogger.com