The Sisters of Auschwitz

by Roxane van Iperen

  Two women approached, saw what was happening and pounced on the Germans without any hesitation. They were both overpowered and tossed into the truck with the children. Marion stood there watching and decided then and there that she would offer resistance – even if it would kill her.

  She registers Jewish babies as her own then finds them hiding places throughout the Netherlands. She has a two-year-old boy stay with her for months, pretending he is her son. She helps a heavily pregnant Jewish woman whose host family does not want to hide babies. Immediately after the birth she takes the newborn from Amsterdam to Rotterdam, where she has found a family with four children who are willing to adopt the baby. Her most courageous act, however, follows the request to find a safe place for Freddie Polak and his young children of four years, two years and two weeks old.

  It is August 1943 when the youngest one, Erica Polak, is born. Her mother is a member of the resistance and soon after giving birth, she is arrested and put into prison. Marion finds the family a hiding place just outside Amsterdam, in the village of Huizen – as it happens, right next to where Karel Poons is hiding. Marion soon moves in with Freddie to look after the children while he works on his thesis. Marion is like a mother to the little ones and makes the neighbours think they are her own, Christian children. Still, she is very worried they will be found. Underneath a few floorboards and a carpet, she creates a crawl space, where Freddie and the children must hide when yet another raid is imminent. To keep baby Erica quiet at such critical moments, they sometimes give her a sleeping pill.

  Nonetheless one night it goes wrong. Four SS officers barge into the house under surveillance of a local police officer, a notorious Dutch Nazi. The men search the house, find nothing and leave again, but the local officer waits around as dusk begins to fall. Marion is familiar with this tactic and urges Fred to stay in the hiding place.

  Then the little ones become restless and she has to get them out – no one was given sleeping pills this time. The officer walks around the house, lets himself in and comes face to face with the three Jewish children. Marion has one second to decide. She grabs a gun from the bookcase beside her and fires.

  A web of silent helpers comes into action. Marion panics; she worries what might happen to the Polak family if the murder is discovered, and calls on her friend and neighbour Karel Poons for help. Together, they come up with a plan. Marion wants to bury the body in the garden at the back, but Karel has a better idea. He ignores curfew, races through the dark to the local baker, whom he trusts, and asks him to come and collect the body with his van. The baker is willing to help and brings the body to the local undertaker. Marion begs the undertaker to help her get rid of the body in order to save the lives of three children. He does. The dead police officer is put in a coffin with a recently deceased person and is buried the following day by unsuspecting relatives.

  Days, weeks, months go by while Marion is anxiously waiting for someone to show up on her doorstep, looking for the Dutch police officer who has disappeared off the face of the earth. Family members, colleagues or the four SS officers who accompanied him that day; surely someone has to miss him? But no one comes. Apparently, Marion was not the only person who was relieved that she no longer had to fear this man.

  It is this twosome Jan Hemelrijk calls on to save the life of little Kathinka before it is too late. He tells them that he has asked Van den Berg to hand the child over to him. When the doctor refused, Jan had tried to get Kathinka out of the house himself. As soon as he was inside, Mrs van den Berg started crying like a wailing siren, whereupon the doctor called the police and Jan quickly had to make his escape. The police now stand guard at the house.

  Marion and Karel instantly approve, although Marion thinks she should go alone; if Karel gets caught, he, as a Jew, is done for, while she stands a chance of getting away with a prison sentence. Karel will not have any of it. Kathinka is the daughter of his dear friends Lien and Eberhard, who got him his false documents; he is determined to help save the girl from being deported. Jan Hemelrijk gives them instructions; it has to happen the next morning.

  On 14 July 1944 at half past eight, Karel and Marion head to the village together. While Karel is chatting to the police and the doctor at the front, Marion slips into the house via the back entrance to search for Kathinka. She finds the doctor’s wife and her children in the bathroom upstairs, immersed in their morning rituals. Kathinka is there too, all dressed and ready. As the woman sees the intruder, she begins to scream again, but Marion pushes her into the bathtub with no mercy.

  Marion grabs the girl, runs down the stairs, through the back-door to her bicycle. She puts the child in a basket on the rack, takes a long run-up and peddles away like a maniac. Echoes of moaning and commotion shoot across the street from the open windows, but the girl on the back of the bike is completely silent – as if she understands what is at stake.

  Marion races for almost two miles in one straight line to Blaricum, where she delivers the girl at the address of two resistance friends. At a leisurely pace, she cycles back to Huizen, relieved that the child is safe. In the meantime, Karel, amid all the panic, has made his escape from the doctor’s house.

  Half an hour later, the Gestapo arrives at Van den Berg’s house to collect Kathinka for deportation.

  The Germans found Eberhard’s papers in The High Nest. Willy Lages understands that the couple are not married and orders his men to get Kathinka. Before he deports her, he plans to use the girl to get her father talking.

  The SD officers fly into a rage when they learn that the child has just been taken by an unknown woman on a bicycle. Doctor van den Berg has to face the full fury of the officers, but eventually he goes free.

  Everywhere in Huizen posters are put up with a picture of Kathinka and underneath, in bold letters:

  WANTED!

  Kathinka Anita Bos

  Born 8.8.1941

  Not a single tip comes in; the child is gone.

  Robbie and Liselotte stay with Doctor Schaaberg in Huizen for a few weeks and are then taken to their non-Jewish grandparents in The Hague. On the day of the raid Bob was indeed warned by the officer from the Huizen police station. After work he did not go to the The High Nest but straight to Trees Lemaire in Amsterdam. Eberhard, after Janny helped him to escape from the police van, has gone into hiding with Eva Besnyö at Leidsekade, also in Amsterdam. The men meet in secret at Eva’s place. Bob shares with Eberhard that Kathinka is safe – Jan Hemelrijk has told him everything. Eberhard in turn relates to Bob how Janny saved his life.

  Shortly after the rescue operation, Karel Poons and his landlady, Cecile Hanedoes, sneak to The High Nest through forest and heathland in the middle of the night. They want to secure personal belongings and any incriminating documents that might have remained.

  While Karel, nervously giggling, is on guard outside the house, Cecile shins up the drainpipe, smashes a window and searches the house. She tries to take everything that might incriminate the abducted residents, including the chest with sheet music and songs, hidden underneath the floor by Eberhard and overlooked by the Germans. Via Bob, they end up with Eberhard, who sends part of the music – with a hidden message – to Lien in Westerbork, hoping it will help her keep courage.

  Bob, Robbie, Liselotte, Eberhard and Kathinka; they are unsettled, they are spread throughout the country – but, miraculously, they are all safe. Bob and Eberhard pray that their women, the rest of the Brilleslijper family and their former housemates will stay in Westerbork until the imminent liberation is a fact.

  Part Three

  Surviving

  ‘We were so sad, we were tired, we were cold, we had gone without food for days, we were faint with – we were not even sure if we were hungry or not, because it goes away, I do not know if you ever . . . Thankfully, you will never know, oh God, please may you never know.’

  Janny Brandes-Brilleslijper

  1

  The Journey East

  More than 1,000 people have bee
n summoned and after a short moment of disbelief, panic spreads in the camp. Where is this transportation headed? Chaos everywhere. Some run around, trying to get hold of the right people, looking for exemptions or more information. Others gather their family, not sure what to do. Stay together? Try to escape tonight? Getting out of Westerbork is out of the question. They had better wait until they are on the train, jump off underway. What about the children, is there anywhere they can hide them? But if – best-case scenario – the train goes to a labour camp, would they not rather have the children with them, wait out the liberation together? Others consider faking symptoms of illness or beg doctors in the camp hospital for help. There are Jewish doctors in Westerbork who go to great lengths to save people, but for the Brilleslijper family that route is no option. Because they are in the punishment block, they cannot move around as freely as others; it would take several detours to get in touch with a doctor.

  From the moment all of their names are rattled off, Fietje Brilleslijper has been adamant: they must stay together. Whether they go to Bergen-Belsen, Theresienstadt, Wolfenbüttel or Auschwitz, what matters is not being separated.

  The five of them sit close together, hold each other, discuss scenarios. Auschwitz seems least plausible; the Red Army is in Poland, and it is said that Lublin is liberated, a city in the south, merely 250 miles from Auschwitz. But Janny is realistic as ever.

  ‘We must not make any assumptions. Not about other camps being better, either. Everyone is talking about Theresienstadt as if we would be lucky to go there, but how can we be sure? How many people have you seen coming back from Theresienstadt?’

  Father lies down on his bed, paralyzed with powerlessness. The others walk around the barracks nervously, with no particular purpose but nonetheless searching for a solution that might save their lives. Japie seeks the company of the girl he met here in Westerbork. Otto Frank rushes past several times, running back and forth to gather information. He believes they will indeed go to Theresienstadt, so things will work out.

  Time is their enemy. With every passing minute, the train that will collect them is creeping closer across the tracks, sleeper after sleeper.

  After a long day, during which some prisoners have run around in despair and others were quietly packing their things, everyone gathers in and around the barracks at dusk. The heat is less intense than in August and the ground cools faster at night. Families sit together, children on laps, arms wrapped around each other. Fietje is sitting on her bed and has gathered her husband and children. She wants to speak to them before each of them gets ready for the night that will end in the start of their journey. She leans forwards to rise above the noise, but when she speaks everything around them falls silent.

  ‘Make the most of every last moment we have left. Make it as good as it can be.’

  Fietje looks at her daughters and son intently, emphasizes each word, her expression as gentle as ever. The folds between her nose and her cheeks have deepened.

  ‘And remember: this, too, shall pass.’ She squeezes Joseph’s hand. Then she turns to her girls. ‘Janny, Lientje: make sure you stay together! Don’t worry about your father and me, the two of us will look after each other.’

  She looks at Joseph, her eyebrows raised, and he nods affirmatively. Then he looks from one daughter to the other, a sudden determination in his eyes, revealing a glimpse of the man they had so dearly missed.

  Fietje continues: ‘Jaap will be fine. He is young and strong and has enough stamina for all of us.’

  As she speaks those last words, she tries to smile to her youngest, who is leaning against a bed, his arms crossed on his chest. But Japie’s face remains tight; he cannot oblige his mother, not even for the sake of politeness. Of course he will be fine, but he is worried sick about his sisters and parents.

  Then, when there are no words left, they get up and hold each other. They assume it will be complete chaos tomorrow, when more than one thousand people are put on the same train, and there will be no chance to say anything – let alone say goodbye.

  3 September 1944

  Sunday morning. It is still a little dark outside, but when the Ordnungsdienst storm into the barracks, screaming, no one wakes up with a start. People are ready to leave, some wearing five pairs of trousers, double jumpers, some hiding compact powder in a bra, a lipstick in a shoe. Pictures and letters of loved ones, carefully sown into the pocket of a shirt.

  People lower themselves from their bunk beds, the sick and the elderly move with difficulty, little ones rub the sleep from their eyes. Fathers and mothers grab children’s wrists – all the colour drained from their fingers, even before they have left the barracks. People grab personal belongings, hurry outside, urged on by wildly gesticulating guards.

  ‘Move!’

  ‘Hurry!’

  ‘Don’t take too much stuff!’

  From the punishment blocks to the train track, they see hundreds of people approaching from the other side of the camp. Even camp commander Albert Gemmeker is present at this early hour – the shine of his boots is hard to ignore. With his SS officers and a couple of large dogs, he is watching from the side, relaxed but hawk-eyed, cracking jokes but dead serious about the job at hand.

  Janny and Lien cling on to each other, try to stay close to the rest of the family, search the crowd for faces of friends who will attempt to jump out of the train along the way – hoping they might be able to follow them. But then names are called and chaos ensues. People go against the stream, family members shout at each other. One last touch, then they part ways: Janny and Lien to one side, Joseph and Fietje to another. Jaap disappears into the crowd – his surprised face with the arched eyebrows is the last they see of him.

  The train. No passenger train with seats and aisles and windows, like the one that took Janny from Amsterdam Centraal Station to Westerbork, but heavy wooden cattle wagons, mini barracks on wheels, boarded up to the roof – there are no visible vents. The carriages spread a pungent odour. A sour smell that stings the insides of their noses.

  The train seems endless. People swarm together in front of the rails; there is pushing, stumbling, but Gemmeker and his men are content to see how everyone, slowly but surely, is divided and disappears into the carriages. The sisters see how Fietje and Joseph are ushered to the same wagon as the elderly couple Teixeira de Mattos, then they lose their parents from sight. They can only hope that Jaap is with them.

  Dozens of people per carriage – sixty, seventy, eighty, plus their baggage – until the shack is crammed, toes and noses sticking out. People in the outer row face the platform, but their eyes do not register the ground, a few feet below, about to glide away underneath their feet. Then the door slides to, right in front of their faces, and both the camp and the sunlight are gone. An iron bar turns 180 degrees, locking them in, and the number of prisoners is chalked on the outside of the carriage. On to the next.

  People help each other climb into the train, Lien and Janny clutch to each other’s clothes, afraid they will be separated at the very last moment. But they are not. They go to the same carriage, probably because they are both labelled ‘political Häftlinge’ – prisoners.

  They are inside the carriage, wedged between strange bodies. Everyone tries to shuffle and shift, elderly people struggle to keep their footing, children disappear between their mothers’ legs, grown men stick to each other like glue, and everything is held by four wooden walls that do not have any give.

  Some thin slats at the top allow for a breath of air to enter, but the closeness is tangible even with the door still open. They are given one empty barrel and a bucket of water. ‘Hands! Feet!’ a guard shouts and the front row tries to shuffle back another inch. Then the door shuts.

  The carriage is left in pitch-darkness; it feels as if they’ve been buried alive. Everywhere around them is crying, heavy breathing, children panicking because they cannot see a thing. Someone is standing on someone else’s foot, a persistent cough in the corner is getting on people
’s nerves. Lien is scared, her chest is heaving and when she tries to move, she finds that even her feet are stuck between those of someone else. She squeals, starts panting, but Janny pinches the skin of her sister’s hand, right between thumb and index finger, where it hurts the most.

  ‘Stay where you are, don’t move. Stay calm,’ she repeats quietly to Lien until she is distracted and her sister pulls back her hand.

  They hear shouting outside, heavy footsteps on the platform, a few Germans laughing at jokes. The noise fades and slowly it grows quiet, inside the train as well. They just stand there and wait for what seems like for ever. And then with a massive jolt, they shout like one, would fall over like dominoes if it weren’t for the walls holding them up as the train begins to move. The steel arms slowly begin to grind; even the children are silent. A bump, and another one, faster and faster until the wheels pass the joints in a steady cadence.

  While the sun above Westerbork is climbing the sky, the cattle train crammed with 1,019 people slowly disappears into the distance.

  Although they try to make themselves smaller and smaller, the contents of the carriage seem to multiply. A few people try to sit, on their bag, on the ground, but most have to stand. Every inch that was empty when they left is now taken and the little bit of oxygen seeping through the cracks seems to be sucked up by more and more mouths. And they have only been going for one, perhaps two hours. A few elderly people cry softly without anyone knowing how to comfort them; mothers tell their children to stop crying, stop wriggling, and no, you cannot have a pee. Someone vomits. The stench is nauseating, but they get used to it.

  Then the train slows. Janny and Lien squeeze each other, try to catch each other’s eye, but it is too dark. The train jerks to a halt. Everyone in the carriage is dead silent, holds their breath. Now? Already? Is that a good sign?