My father...
Thinking about my father (may he rest in peace) I visualize a particular moment in 1943: Two kids at the age of 10 and 12 - my father and his older sister - abandoned for their sake by their father at a tram-station in Amsterdam. Picked up by the resistance and brought to a save hiding place.
- Having kids myself I can’t even imagine what my grandfather must have felt leaving his kids behind like that, nor the terrible feeling of three long years not knowing if they are still alive. -
The kids were separated. My father was hidden in the northern part of the Netherlands, Friesland, given a Christian name and brought up in the Christian doctrine by a righteous family.
- We frequently visited my father’s “hiding parents”, I was only too young to realize the importancy of these people to my life. They’re both deceased, but I wish I could tell them how grateful I am, also on behalf of my kids. -
My father had his bar mitzvah together with me...
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