This last week was
difficult. It is this time of year between Passover and Day of Independence
when emotions are saturated with pain and the whole nation feels the
tension.
The counting of the Omer
starts right after Passover, and until Pentecost (also known as: Feast of the Weeks;
Shavuot) the days are counted as days of mourning. Only on the 33 day of the Omer count, weddings will be allowed. This year it will
fall on April 28th.
But while the counting of
the Omer shows mostly in the occasional non-shaved man, the pain of the memories
is heavy on everyone. Last Sunday was
the Holocaust Memorial Day; Memorial for the fallen of IDF and the war of
independence is next week on April 15th.
The tension build up during the week prior to the memorials and it did
not come down as of yet. People were crying, at unexpected time and place, and
many participated in memorial services. With 6 million deaths during the
Holocaust, most everyone in this country is feeling the loss.
For us, my husband and me,
memories came from a different direction. Some of my family died in Russia
during the Holocaust. They were my maternal
grandparents’ siblings and I heard only some of the stories. Others had suffered
in Italy, on my parental grandparents’
side. Again, I heard only some of the tales
of heroic escapes from Mussolini. My strongest
feelings of sorrow this week were related to my husband’s side of the war
accounts .
Willie is the first born of
a Canadian Veteran and a Dutch lady. When
Ernest entered Holland with the allied armies, and brought with him units of tanks
and trucks after a few days of no-sleep and going through fields full of mud
and death, he somehow managed to meet Johanna, his future wife. Only a year or so ago, on his 90th
birthday, did he tell us his story of pain
and horrors. His experiences in the war
were similar to many others in the Canadian army who freed Europe. Like them, he too kept them secretive. It was
too painful and horrible to live through the war again by telling the story. So
he kept quiet.
Johanna, Willie’s mother,
was 15 years old when the war started. Being a relative to the Dutch queen, she
was in training as a chef to the palace. During the war she replaced her spatula with a
bicycle and the palace kitchen with the outdoors. Jo became a go- between the partisans and the
Dutch resistance delivering messages on her bicycles right under the Nazis noses.
For a little girl (5 feet nothing) of 15
year of age this was a great fit! She was very brave. She learned to fight for truth and righteousness
from her father. Grandpa hid Jews and
resistance fighters in his barn. He
moved during the war to a farm and continue to hide partisans and Jews alike
under bales of hay and in cellars. For 5
years Jo rode her bike, and grandpa hid people until the war was over.
She never told her war
stories to her family. When I arrived on
the scene, Jo gingerly asked if I want to hear some of her accounts. Her children,
she said, did not. She thought it might have scared them, so she told the stories
to me. To my charging, I listened, but I did not record them. When we arrived in Israel, I tried to repeat
these war accounts at the Holocaust Archives but without proper identification
of the ones who were saved they were not able to include her or the family in our Holy People from the
Nations memorial. The Dutch cousins do
not have documentation either, and the older generations have all passed on.
This Holocaust Memorial Day I cried for my mother-in-law and
for Willie’s family who saved people from my nation without a pay back and without
a reward. They saved them because the love of God was in their hearts and they
knew what is the righteous thing to do. I cried because my wonderful mother in
law died at 77 years of age and although it was years ago, I still miss her gentleness
and her love.
Willie’s dad, the veteran
who freed Europe is alive at almost 91 years of age in Eastern Canada. Willie’s
mother is buried in a nearby cemetery in Sussex NB Canada, where she had arrived as the very first war bride. May God keep them in our people hearts and
memories as the “good guys” they were.
Living among my people
ORITH
1 comment:
I was so interested to read about Willie’s parents...you had told me a little, but I don’t think I knew about the messages on the bicycle...a brave thing to do...when I read things about the war or when I remember things from my own experience or what my parents told me, the most amazing thing to me was always all the courageous, life-threatening things that various people did just because it was the right thing to do...those stories should be kept alive and never forgotten. All the little people who just did what they could where they were, at the risk of their own lives, should always have a voice. What she did was very impressive. H.
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