Theo Coster - We All Wore Stars: Memories of Anne Frank From Her Classmates

we all wore stars

we all wore stars

Memories of Anne Frank from Her Classmates

Theo Coster

Translated from the Dutch by

Marjolijn de Jager

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Dedicated to Suus and Barend van Beek, who took me into their home and into their hearts during two and a half years of World War II, thereby seriously risking their own lives.

my heartfelt gratitude goes to those who helped me in making the documentary and writing this bookfirst, of course, to my former classmates Nanette Blitz (So Paulo), Hannah Goslar (Jerusalem), Lenie Duyzend (Amsterdam), Jacqueline van Maarsen (Amsterdam), and Albert Gomes de Mesquita (Eindhoven). Thanks go to my wife, Ora Rosenblat, for her love, patience, and ideas. My gratitude also goes to Eyal Boers and Martijn Kalkhoven, Uri Ackerman, Michael Goorevich, Hila Haramati, and Aliza Coster for their wonderful cooperation on the documentary; to Peter Wingender and Ronald Koopmans for their fine guidance of the documentary project in the Netherlands; to Sascha de Wied and Maurice Smirck for their advice on historical and Jewish expressions; to Harold de Croon for his confidence in publishing this book; to Annette Lavrijsen for her editorship; and to Martien Bos for putting my story down on paper.

Theo Coster

as translator, I would like to express my deep appreciation to Theo Coster, his former classmates, and Palgrave Macmillan for bringing these stories to the public so that the next generations can always remember what must never be repeated. My gratitude also goes to my husband, David Vita, for being my first and most supportive reader.

In addition, this translation is dedicated to the memory of my late mothers dearest friend, Jean Mesritz, a Leiden University law student and a member of the Dutch Resistance who was betrayed and deported and who later died in the camp of Neuengamme in March 1945.

MdJ

the time that I, fourteen-year-old Maurice Coster, spent playing with my classmates, including Anne Frank, recedes further in my memory with each passing year. Its now been more than sixty-five years since the German occupation of the Netherlands, when all Jewish children in Amsterdam were forced to attend special schools. Like Annes parents, mine, too, selected the Jewish lyceum. As Jews were being persecuted throughout the country, more and more students disappeared from our classroomthey had either been rounded up, sent to the camps, or gone into hiding.

Thanks to my fathers timely intervention, my family went into hiding before the Germans came knocking on our door. A few months earlier, my sister, three years older than me, had been sent to a Catholic boarding school for girls in Belgium. My father, my mother, and I were each hidden from the Germans in different locations in the Netherlands. I stayed in the town of Vaassen with a family that had no children, where I pretended to be a nephew from Amsterdam who had come to spend time with them. Because of my new identity, I had to come up with a different first name. I picked TheoTheo Coster, a name that Ive held onto ever since.

In retrospect, I made it through the war relatively unscathed. The rest of my family survived as well, and when we returned to Amsterdam, we were able to move right back into our old house. There it stood, in one piece, as if nothing had happened.

After the war, the only thing I wanted to do was get on with my life. In 1948, when I read Het achterhuisthe original Dutch title of Anne Franks diary, meaning The Secret Annexthe hardships my former classmate had endured made a deep impression on me. I thought her writing, though, and actions were extraordinarily mature for someone her age.

After finishing my studies at Nyenrode Business University, I had no option but to work for my fathers printing business for three years. But when I heard about the opportunities in Israel for educated young men like myself, I bought a moped in Friesland and took off straight across Europea continent still recovering even as it prepared for the Cold War.

I left it all behind. In Israel, I soon found a job and met Ora, my future wife. Both she and I were Jewish and lived in Tel Avivwhere we still live today and which had become a haven for many Jews. However, I had not moved to Israel because it was a Jewish state; I was looking for a place to live and worksomewhere to be creative. That was possible for me there. Together, Ora and I soon had fantastic ideas. Our big break came in 1979 when we developed a board game we called Wie is het? in Dutch. The toy manufacturer Milton Bradley was as enthusiastic as we were and produced the game in Great Britain under the name Guess Who? It met with amazing success, was launched in the United States in 1982, and has since been sold in almost every country around the world.

THE WAR NEVER ENTIRELY VANISHED from my thoughts, but it was not until much later that I was forced to confront it all over again. Absent: Memories of the Jewish Lyceum in Amsterdam, a book by Dienke Hondius, was published in 2001. It gave particular emphasis to the years 19411943, when the noted intellectuals Jacques Presser and Jaap Meijer were on the faculty of the lyceum. As many alumni of the school as possible were invited to the books release party. Naturally, I accepted. Ora and I were traveling all over the world for our work, and we still quite regularly visited relatives in Amsterdam. Half of the schools 110 surviving students were supposed to be there. We all waited in a small reception area at city hall for the event to begin. I didnt know what had become of my former classmates. I looked around carefully, trying to recognize in the elderly faces around me the children with whom Id shared classes. I barely recognized a soul.

When the speeches were over, I stared aimlessly into space for a while and for a brief moment, my thoughts returned to the summer of 1944.

Its a beautiful day, and the reeds on the banks of the Apeldoorn Canal sway gently in the wind. I can barely conceal the delicious, nervous, excited feeling that Im about to do something thats not allowed. The man with whom Im spending the day has made me promise to keep our adventure secret.

Put that fishing pole away, he says. He gives me a knowing look, one man to another, although Im only fifteen. Ive got something better.

The water flows before us.

Now take a step back, the man says as he takes something out of his shoulder bag. Are you ready?

I stand back expectantly, my hands covering my ears. I feel as if Im going to get a pleasant surprise, the first one in a very long time. I can see the mans mouth moving, saying something like There we go! followed by my nameor what he believes to be my name, at least. With a sharp tug, he pulls the pin from a grenade, which he throws into the canal some distance from us. A split second later, a column of water erupts with a muted but forceful explosion, flying in every direction.