Glaser Paul - Dancing with the enemy : my familys Holocaust secret

with the

Rosie at the harbor of Scheveningen

with the

My Familys Holocaust Secret

Paul Glaser

A Oneworld Book

First published in Great Britain and Australia by
Oneworld Publications 2015

This ebook edition published by Oneworld Publications, 2015

Copyright Paul Glaser 2013

Originally published in the Netherlands as Tante Roosje by
Uitgeverij Verbum, Laren, in 2010.

The moral right of Paul Glaser to be identified as author of this work
has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs,
and Patents Act 1988

The moral right of Brian Doyle-Du Breuil to be identified as translator
of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved
Copyright under Berne Convention

A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-78074-753-8
ISBN 978-1-78074-754-5 (eBook)

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Rosa Regina Glaser at age seventeen, 1931

Once his name is revealed, the calamity begins.

LOHENGRIN SAGA

Based on an ancient myth, Wolfram von Eschenbachs thirteenth-century poem Parzival lauds the heroic deeds of the swan knight Lohengrin, who followed the Rhine River to Kleef, a small city on the GermanDutch border near Nijmegen, where he defended the honor of a noblewoman named Elsa. They married and were happy together, but Lohengrin forbade Elsa to ask about his origins and real name. Years later, unable to contain her curiosity, Elsa asked the forbidden question and thereby mired herself in misfortune.

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

This is the true story of my aunt Rosie.

I have narrated her experience based on her diary, photographs, wartime letters and notes, personal interviews, and archival research.

Immediately after the war Rosie reported those who had betrayed her to the police. Their reports and numerous witness statements also found their way into her archive.

As the oldest of my familys postwar generation, I have cast my aunts story in book form. It shows what strength of character and optimism can mean when it comes down to the crunch. Pass it on.

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PAUL

The Suitcase

I N 2002 I attended a conference in Krakow for hospital directors. For once the event was scheduled while my wife Rias students were on holiday, and she had been able to join me for the trip. We had never been to Krakow before, so we had arranged to stay on after the conference for three extra days with a few other directors. Id been looking forward to it. Our first day would be spent sightseeing, enjoying the citys ancient streets. The following day was reserved for exploring the neighboring salt mines. On the third and final day we planned to visit Auschwitz, World War IIs largest concentration camp, and the adjoining camp in Birkenau.

As the final day approached, I grew increasingly uneasy about visiting the camp. The evening before the planned trip I told my wife I was in no mood for the excursion. I had never been to a concentration camp. The documentaries I had seen during my school days had been enough. Was I trying to rationalize a deeper impulse? I told the group they could count me out.

At breakfast the following morning, a few colleagues tried to persuade me to make the trip after all. How could I not be interested, they argued. And its only a stones throw away. Out of solidarity I let them convince me. That morning I boarded the bus with mixed emotions.

After an hours drive we arrived at a vast flat terrain. The place seemed immense. Wooden barracks extended as far as the eye could see. Our guide was a young man with short blond hair who welcomed us with a broad smile. After introducing himself, he led us through the camp gate with the words Arbeit Macht Frei suspended above our heads. Countless people were murdered here, our guide informed us, most of them Jews. Men, women, children, even babies. I felt like a disaster tourist. What was I doing there? Why hadnt I stood my ground that morning and stayed behind in the city?

With undiminished enthusiasm, the guide steered us past a number of stone buildings, stopping at a wall where people were executed on a daily basis. We then entered an adjoining building where Dr. Carl Clauberg conducted his medical experiments. The building had also been used to accommodate prisoners, and our guide led us to their dimly lit quarters, where confiscated property was piled behind glass.

One display contained an enormous quantity of spectacles; another contained piles of human hair, some of it still braided. While my colleagues lingered, my wife and I proceeded to the next room, which was filled with suitcases. Prisoners were obliged to mark their baggage to make sure it didnt get lost, at least thats what they were told, so each piece of luggage bore its owners name and country of origin.

My attention was quickly drawn to a large brown suitcase situated at the front. Astonishment glued me to the spot. The suitcase was from the Netherlands and was inscribed with the name Glaser in large letters, a relatively unusual name in my country. My wife read it as well and took my hand. In the display window I saw our reflection superimposed over the tableau, a suitcase going nowhere with my name on it. Silence engulfed us.

A moment later the voices got louder, signaling the groups approach. Im not in the mood for this, lets get out of here, I told my wife, and we hurried out of the room toward the exit. The fresh air did me good. After a while, everyone joined us outside. Did you see it? The brown suitcase with your name on it? someone asked. I had been dreading that question, secretly hoping that no one would have noticed the suitcase or read the name. I felt awkward and confused, and just before I attempted an answer someone else chimed in, Did you have family here during the war? I responded reluctantly: My name? Yes, I saw it too. I have no idea who the suitcase might have belonged to, I lied. More questions followed, but I managed to brush them off. To my relief the guide cut in and we continued the tour. But my thoughts were with the suitcase.

At dinner that evening the group chattered spiritedly. Under normal circumstances I would have joined them without a second thought, but that night I was quieter than usual and went up to my room early.

As I lay in bed, I couldnt erase the image of the suitcase from my mind. Why had I been so evasive with my friends? Why did I beat about the bush when I knew precisely what to answer? I finally made a decision. The following morning I was still convinced: it was time to go public with the family secret.