by Irene Butter
Helene Cazes Benatar (1898–1979)
Madame Benatar was director of repatriation and emigration at the UNRRA Camp Jeanne d’Arc. She was a Moroccan-born female lawyer and a Zionist. During the war, she was the Northern Africa representative for the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (JDC), a relief organization based in New York City, where she tirelessly oversaw the JDC’s aid activities for Jewish refugees from Nazi-occupied Europe.
Gerda Bosch Schotanus (b. 1937)
Though I was seven years older than Gerda, I loved playing with this little blonde girl, fixing different hairdos with her long curls. Her parents owned a dairy store on my block where my family often shopped. The family was not Jewish, but they continued to be friends and be supportive even under Nazi occupation. Greetje, Gerda’s older sister, often shopped for us when Jews had limited access. One night Mr. and Mrs. Bosch allowed Pappi to sleep at their house when there was a rumor he might be arrested. Gerda contacted me through the Internet five or six years ago, and we have renewed our friendship. I visited her in Holland in 2017.
Stien Bremekamp (?–1980s) and Max Wulf (?–1980s) and their tenant Ri Ritsema (?)
Stien Bremekamp and her partner, Max Wulf, lived in the apartment one floor above ours in Amsterdam. They were close friends of my family. Max Wulf was a singer, especially of Schubert songs, and we often attended his concerts. Ri was a photographer. These kind people hid some of our most treasured possessions before we were deported, including my Poesie book, jewelry, some china, and some of the photos you see here in this book. Mutti and Werner brought these few things to the U.S. with them when they arrived as refugees in early 1946. We visited Stien and Max a couple of times after the war, and I fondly recall the heartwarming reunions with them.
Leo Buschoff (1883–1944)
Leo was my father’s best friend from World War I, where both were Jewish-German officers. He was in Westerbork at the same time we were and, according to my parents, he was the one who was responsible for keeping our names off the list of prisoners bound for Auschwitz. He ended up being deported and sent to Auschwitz, where he and his wife Else (1885–1944) were murdered.
Mrs. Eisenberg
I have no information other than my brief interaction with her on the train from Switzerland to Marseilles.
Anne Frank (1929–1945)
Anne remains the most revered and the most frequently read young author in the entire world. Anne was born in Frankfurt, Germany, and moved to the Netherlands to escape the Nazis. Our families lived in the same neighborhood in Amsterdam, but did not have close contact. Her family went into hiding in 1942, was discovered, and sent to Westerbork in August 1944. The next month they were transported to Auschwitz concentration camp on the last transport to ever leave Westerbork. In October, the Franks became separated. Anne and her sister, Margot, were sent to Bergen-Belsen where Hanneli and I met up with Anne. The sisters died in February or March. Only their father Otto survived. I am often asked to speak about Anne because of our similar backgrounds and experiences.
Hanneli Goslar (b. 1928)
Hanneli was born in Berlin where her father, a high-level government official, was forced to resign when Hitler came to power in 1933. Subsequently, the Goslars moved to Amsterdam and Hanneli attended the same Montessori School as Anne Frank where the two became best friends. Hanneli’s family was deported to Westerbork and Bergen- Belsen in 1943–44, where we lived in the same barracks. Hanneli’s mother died during the birth of her third child, so Hanneli raised her younger sister, Gabriela, or “Gigi.” Hanneli and I became friends and at times shared the task of childcare. Mr. Goslar died in Bergen-Belsen. Hanneli and Gigi immigrated to Israel after the war, and Hanneli and I met again in Jerusalem in the 1980s.
Hasenbergs
John (1892–1945): father
Gertrude “Trudi” Mayer (1903–1988): mother
Werner (1928–2012): son
Irene (b. 1930): daughter
My parents were married in 1927 in Berlin. After the war, and as a widow, Mutti was courageous and adaptive as a single parent and provider. But as the wife of a banker, she had not worked outside the home or attended college, so making a living as a factory worker and a cashier was tough for her. She found solace in music, art, and nature, passing on that love to her children and grandchildren.
Werner and I shared a lot of joy and a lot of hardship early in our lives. We always stuck together and supported each other. Werner was always my big brother and I depended on him for guidance because he grasped the circumstances far better than I did. After Mutti, Werner, and I arrived in the United States and shared an apartment, Werner took on the role of head of household. He studied economics and was employed at the U.S. Department of Commerce in Washington D.C., for most of his career. Werner married Geraldine Barkan, and they had two children, a girl and a boy.
Pappi was a German officer during World War I, and was a highly respected banker and citizen. It is to Pappi that the three of us owe our survival. I think about that, and him, every day.
After we left his body at the train station in Biberach, Germany, he was buried in a small Jewish cemetery in the nearby town of Laupheim, which I found out years later. I have since visited his grave a number of times, becoming friends with the wonderful local caretakers. The cemetery was restored in 1970 and the town takes great pride in preserving it. Descendents of Jews who are buried there are welcomed with open arms. Students are invited to help clean the grounds and are educated about the Holocaust. It is a source of great comfort to know that Pappi is resting in a place of dignity.
On my last visit there I was the guest of Michael Schick and his family, who are deeply involved in care of the cemetery and also in remembrance of local Jewish life and culture before the Holocaust. Michael’s invitation to tell my story to Laupheim high school students prompted me to re-embrace my mother tongue after decades of refusal to hear or speak the German language. This experience became an opportunity for reconciliation.
Betty “Fanny” Ischenhauser (1923–?)
Betty and her mother Ada (1892-?) survived Bergen-Belsen. Although Betty couldn’t finish her training because of their deportation, she still served as a nurse in the so-called hospital in Bergen-Belsen and on the train in January 1945 where she was called to our compartment and certified that Pappi had died. After Algeria, Betty immigrated to Palestine; her mother returned to Holland. Betty married, had a family, and stayed there for the rest of her life. Despite a bout of polio, she finished her studies in nursing and had an extensive career. We met in Jerusalem a few years before she passed away.
Joski Family
Siegfried (1899–1970): father
Hilde (1899–1993): mother
Ellen (1924–2000): daughter
Bob (1931–2014): son
The Joskis came from Berlin. They were deported to Bergen-Belsen where mother, Hilde, and daughter, Ellen, were housed in the same barracks as Mutti and me. The moms became friends. The Joskis were my main source of support during our time together in camp Jeanne d’Arc, taking me in when I was the only child there from Bergen-Belsen without a family. Hilde looked after me with tender loving care and wrote letters to Mutti in Switzerland, reporting about my well-being. Siegfried, Hilde, and Ellen returned to Germany after the war, and Bob moved to the United States and settled near Seattle, married, and had a family. Sadly, the Joskis and I did not reconnect after we parted in Algiers late 1945. I owe them much gratitude.
Vera Kan (b. 1930)
Vera was born in Indonesia on the isle of Java, and was my best friend in Amsterdam after her family returned to Holland in 1940. During the German occupation, we were not allowed to visit each other’s homes since her family was not Jewish, so we spent a lot of time together outdoors. War separated us, but Vera tracked me down when I was in Algeria and wrote to me. In 1947, she sent me the first edition of Anne Frank’s Diary in Dutch, Het Achterhuis. With her husband, Vera spent most of her life in Aruba, raised three childre
n, and returned to Holland later in life. During the last decade it has been thrilling for us to reconnect and see each other.
The Loewenbergs
The Loewenbergs were friends of my parents in Amsterdam before the deportation. We shared a compartment with Lucie (1885–?) and her husband (?–1944) on the train from Westerbork to Bergen-Belsen. Mr. Loewenberg died at Bergen-Belsen, and Lucie ended up in Camp Jeanne d’Arc. She immigrated to South Africa after the war.
Mrs. Mandel
Mrs. Mandel is a pseudonym. Mrs. Mandel was one of my first lessons in understanding and forgiveness. I honor that by giving her and her descendants anonymity.
Tante Alice Mayer (1902–1943) and Oom Paul Ullendorff (1898–1943)
Aunt Alice, Mutti’s only sibling, was married to Uncle Paul. They moved from Berlin to Amsterdam some time before we did. Uncle Paul had joined a pharmaceutical company, and they lived along one of the Amsterdam canals where Werner and I loved to bike. Early in 1943, they were deported to Westerbork. Soon after our arrival they were deported to the Sobibor concentration camp and murdered shortly thereafter.
Opa Julius Mayer (1863–1942) and Omi Pauline Mayer (1879–1942)
My maternal grandfather, Opa, owned a bank in Berlin, where Pappi was a partner. When Hitler came to power, the bank was taken away from the family. Opa and my father had to stop working. Pappi eventually found employment in Amsterdam. Opa and Omi were not allowed to emigrate from Germany to Holland with us. They were deported to the Theresienstadt concentration camp and were murdered. Thanks to Gunter Demnig, a German sculptor who invented the Stolpersteine (stumbling stones), there are two named stones placed in front of their house in Berlin. These stones mark the homes of those who died in the Holocaust and help us remember that they once lived. It pleases me that they continue to have a place and an identity in this city.
Miss Pino and Mr. Pinto
Miss Pino and Mr. Pinto were my two favorite teachers in elementary school in Amsterdam: Miss Pino from grades one through three; Mr. Pinto in grades four and five. Both made a deep impression, and my Poesie book includes verses from both of them, giving me purposeful guidance.
“To fly high without wings
let that not be your path
no one becomes smart by doing nothing,
without effort nothing is gained.”
—Miss Pino, 1941
“Sometimes there will be rain and darkness
when everything seems black and grey
be brave, be a blessing; things will soon lift again.
Go through life strong and fair
Dear child, this is your teacher’s advice for you.”
—Mr. Pinto, 1942
Roseboom Family
Abraham (1898–1947): father
Karoline (1900–?): mother
Alexander “Lex” (1928–1998): son
Abraham, the father, was very tall, husky, and bright with the personality of an “official,” which enabled him to deal with the Nazis in Bergen-Belsen and allowed him to get the less arduous or more popular jobs for himself and his family, like a kitchen job for his wife. Karoline was my swimming teacher in Algiers. Lex was a tall, handsome guy, and my boyfriend in Algeria. The Rosebooms returned to Holland in the fall of 1945 where Lex helped his father revive the family’s burlap sack business in Amsterdam. Lex married a classmate of mine from elementary school, and they had three children. Somehow, Lex ended up being the last to write in my Poesie book in February 1946, probably before it was mailed to me in the States. It includes a photo of him looking dapper in tie, suit, and hat, and with a cigarette poised in his left hand. Around the photo he wrote in English “Do Not Forget Me!” and in Dutch:
“When we sat on the beach or walked along the waterfront of this beautiful sea, we forgot the sadness of BB [Bergen-Belsen].”
Rudi Berg(?) (circa 1929–?)
Sadly, I don’t remember Rudi’s surname and know nothing of his fate, other than he and his family were sent to Auschwitz.
Omi Silten (circa 1878–1944)
Omi Silten was the grandmother of my distant cousin Gabriele “Gabi” Silten, the daughter of Ilse and Fritz Silten. Gabi, her parents, and Omi lived in our neighborhood in Amsterdam and were deported at the same time we were on June 20, 1943. Omi Silten was a very warm, outgoing person, and in some sense Werner and I related to her as our Omi. She struggled with the conditions at Westerbork, and when the family was notified that Omi would be deported to Auschwitz, she begged her son Fritz, a pharmacist, to help her commit suicide. Through this act, Fritz saved his mother from being murdered by the Nazis. Gabi and her parents were sent to Theresienstadt concentration camp in January 1944. The three Siltens survived and moved to England after the war. We met on several occasions before Gabi settled in the United States and we had more contact.
Sussman Family
Friedrich (1900–1990): father
Margaret (1896–1988): mother
Peter (1928–1995): son
The Sussmans, originally from Germany, were also deported to Westerbork from Amsterdam. The father, Friedrich, worked in the book trade; the mother, Margaret, was a social worker; and son, Peter, was Werner’s classmate. Our paths paralleled through Westerbork, Bergen-Belsen, and Camp Jeanne d’Arc. Peter and his father traveled to America late in 1945 on a ship restricted to males, while Margaret and I followed about a month later aboard a ship for women. After New York, they moved to Switzerland, but Peter ended up in Colorado and became a successful attorney, married Genifer, and together they had three children. The Sussmans and I remained friends for many years.
Vitek
I have no other information than our time together at the UNRRA Camp Jeanne d’Arc in Algeria.
Vogeltje, or “Little Bird”
I think this may be Vogeltje Groen-Knoop (1874–1944) who died in Bergen-Belsen, and who was married to Abraham Groen (1873–1940).
Wolf Family
Henri (1898–1974): father
Sara “Lien” Swaab (circa 1906–1945): mother
Jacob “Jack” or “Jaap” (1929–2014): son
Marie “Mieke” (1933–2009): daughter
We lived very close to the Wolfs in our neighborhood in Amsterdam. Werner and Jack were classmates in elementary school. Henri, the father, was a language teacher in Amsterdam. The Wolf Family and my family were deported at the same time from Amsterdam to Westerbork, to Bergen-Belsen, later to Camp Jeanne d’Arc in Algiers. Sara, the mother, died in Algiers shortly after our arrival, from cancer. Mieke and I shared the grief of having lost a parent right after liberation. Mr. Wolf became the language teacher for the young adults in Jeanne d’Arc, and with his help we made a good start at learning English and French. Both our families resettled in New York City in 1945 where Mieke, Jack, Werner, and I used to get together on weekends. Mr. Wolf took an administrative job in an office. Jack finished college and embarked on a career with the Social Security Administration where he worked until retirement. Mieke worked as an assistant to patients in a clinic. Although they have all passed, I feel fortunate to be in contact with two of Mieke’s daughters, Lorrie and Patrice.
Acknowledgments
From Irene:
Thanks are due to the hundreds of students who over some thirty years have listened to me in their schools, blessed me with letters, drawings and verses, and described the relevance of my story to experiences in their own lives. The many tough questions students asked have not only lent depth to my memories but have inspired me to write this book. Of course I am also thankful to the many teachers who have invited me to speak in their classes to interact with their students in the United States, Germany, and Israel. Teachers whose classes I visited repeatedly include Jon Berger, Suzanne Hopkins, Ton Broos, Annemarie Toebosch, June Griffenhagen, and Hank Greenspan. They enabled me to reach out to new generations of students for which I am grateful.
I feel fortunate to have a number of close friends who are familiar with navigating the writers’ world. Loui
se Borden, a well-known author of books for children of all ages, has given me valuable insights during our long friendship about the writing process as well as persistent encouragement for staying on track. Penny Schreiber, writer and editor, generously spent many hours helping me shape a frame for the book in its early stages. Mary Bisbee, my publicist friend, provided a different perspective on the complicated world of writers and publishers. With Leslie Stainton and Michelle Segar, also writer friends, I have enjoyed fruitful conversations about the various steps and stages required to carry out a plan so that it becomes a book. Jan Jarbou Russell clarified an important segment of my journey that I had not been aware of before she interviewed me for one part of her book, The Train to Crystal City. All of these friends have assured me that my story merits publication and I am most thankful to them.
Most of all Kris Holloway and John Bidwell deserve huge recognition for helping develop the main characters and voices in the dialogues of Shores Beyond Shores. During the countless hours we have spent together visiting, Skyping, or on the telephone they succeeded in reviving, enlivening, and deepening memories that were solidly buried in my past. Without their unrelenting dedication to the relevance, freshness, and intensity of my journey the book would not be what it has become. They transformed the account of an amateur writer into an engaging book. My gratitude to Kris and John is beyond words.
Members of Kris’s writers group also deserve credit: Jacqueline Sheehan, Ellen Meeropol, Marianne Banks, Lydia Kann, Pat Riggs, Kari Ridge, Celia Jeffries, and Brenda Marsian. A number of the group’s meetings were devoted to chapters that Kris presented for review and critique. The group provided constructive feedback regarding organization, elaboration of details, delving into feelings, etc. The opportunity to receive suggestions from a group of professional writers has been most valuable.
Last but not least is the role of my family. My husband Charlie supported me from beginning to end by giving me all the space and time needed for writing, even when it led to neglect of other aspects of our lives, for several years. My children, Ella and Noah, have taught me many valuable lessons during my post-Holocaust journey. Ella as a young child was the first one ever to insist that I tell my story to her. Noah has had a big impact on my life by introducing me to Buddhism and mindfulness. Both helped me understand what it is like to grow up as a child of a Holocaust survivor, and made me aware of the importance of breaking the silence. I have been blessed with many gifts.