Verolme - The Childrens House of Belsen

My family lived in Amsterdam, in the Jewish quarter. It never used to be a Jewish quarter, as the Dutch people did not know the word segregation, and everybody could live wherever they wanted. Religion and belief were not considered an issue. Then, in 1941, during the German occupation of Holland, the Germans decided to concentrate the Jewish population in Amsterdam East.

In February 1941 the Germans raided the city market of Amsterdam in retaliation for the killing of a Dutch Nazi officer in a fight the previous day. Four hundred men were picked up and herded into trucks. Unfortunately, my fathers favourite cousin, Mauritz, was one of the men. Although we heard rumours, we had no idea where the men were taken. In May 1941 my father received a postcard marked Mauthausen. Mauritz wrote:

As we knew the card had to pass through the German censor, there must be a hidden message. After two days, my father had decoded the message. He came to me in the kitchen and said, I know what Mauritz wants to tell us. Dozeman is the name of the baker around the corner; Spitty is the name of our dog. So, what he is really trying to say is that he is very hungry and that it is a dogs life in Mauthausen.

We realised then that the Germans would be without mercy in their plans to eradicate the Jewish population in Holland. My father looked at me with worried eyes and said, I must do everything in my power to prevent us being sent to Germany.

There were many raids in the Jewish quarter during the summer of 1942. We saw families dragged from their homes, never to be heard of again. Some of these people were crying when they were taken away, others were relieved that the suspense of waiting was over. We watched through the curtains as the Germans marched long columns of people down the street to the station, where the trains would take them far away from the things they loved and lived for. My family used to feel very sad after each of these raids, as our friends and relatives disappeared, and God only knew what was happening to them.

Until now we had been very lucky. My father was a wellto-do textile merchant. When the raids started, someone told my father that we could buy our freedom from the German SS Commander, Aus der Funten, in the form of a work deportation exemption. We could then be exchanged for prisoners of war via Portugal.

My father did not hesitate. He sold most of his valuables and my mothers jewels and managed to get about five hundred thousand guilders together. He did not know whether this was enough money, but after talking it over with Mum, he decided to give it a try. The question was, who was going to approach Aus der Funten? The person would have to go to SS headquarters. This was dangerous many people had gone there and not returned. After a long discussion, Mum persuaded Dad to let her go. She reasoned that a woman might have a better chance of being admitted to see Funten.

On the sunny morning of 22 September 1942, my mother set out to walk the eight miles to try to save her family, as Jews were not permitted to travel on buses or trams. All day we lived a nightmare, trying not to think of all the things that might happen to our mother. The day dragged on, until at five oclock that afternoon the telephone rang. After some hesitation my father picked up the receiver, afraid of what he might hear, but then his face transformed into a smile. Mum was all right and on her way back home. Imagine our happiness when Mum arrived tired but safe a few hours later. Dad said that he would never permit her to do a thing like that again, as he had died a thousand times during the day. Mum smiled happily, her mission completed. She had spoken to Aus der Funten, and was told to come back with the money and our passports the next week. She was also instructed to have suitcases prepared with clothes for all of us so that we could be ready at a moments notice for our trip to freedom. How wonderful! Our spirits lifted. Soon we might live in freedom again, as human beings, without being shunned or hunted.

The next day we all had our pictures taken and our fingerprints were put on our passports. The week passed and Mum set out once more for the SS headquarters. Another unbearable day loomed ahead of us, but this time Mum came home earlier, with photocopies of our precious passports, stamped by order of Aus der Funten, The holder of this passport is exempt from work deportation. The work deportation exemption protected us from being taken away during the raids which went on night after night. We desperately wanted to believe the Aus der Funtens verbal promises that we would be exchanged for prisoners of war.