Roses in a Forbidden Garden; A Holocaust Love Story, by Elise Garibaldi.

The book begins with a photograph of an identity card of the protagonist, her face familiar from the cover with her beautiful eyes, and an inscription below the identity card:-

"Inge “Sara” Katz, age 13. The Nazis added the middle name of “Sara” on all passports and other official papers to identify any woman as being Jewish."

If one had any questions about whether this is a novel, however much based on the truth of the era, this answers them. If any doubts, this silences them all.

And yet, despite the very real story of concentration camp survivors who lived through the horrors, it's also almost a fairy tale love story as well, with a good king and a beautiful princess, a rose garden and a very gallant handsome prince, and of course, the incredibly horrid bad wolves that nazis were, and the disgusting horrors that the concentration camps were that these survivors lived through.
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The first chapter begins the transition from a still safe life, albeit under nazi regime's antisemitism beginning to be enforced, towards a highly uncertain one where nazi goons ransack and destroy homes of Jews and take the men away. One good thing is the photographs of people, making it come alive.

After they'd returned home, cleared it of the signs of destruction, they waited for Carl, father of Inge, who did return after a month but very different from the strong and upright handsome man who'd been a distinguished WWI veteran. They visited his sister, Bertha, in Berlin, after his father's funeral, helping Bertha take their newly widowed mother from Bremen so Bertha could care for her, and Inge decided to stay on. Bertha was happy since her own children had been sent to Palestine. Inge began learning dressmaking at a class and made friends.

"Inge was genuinely coming to enjoy her new life in such a cosmopolitan city. Everything for the time being felt surprisingly normal and comfortable as she became increasingly at home in Berlin. Even when, after being there for nearly six months, there was an announcement on the radio that World War II had begun, it barely affected her. It was September 1939, and while she understood that this was a serious time for everyone, it actually meant very little to a 15-year-old like herself. Moreover, it didn’t seem real. Rarely did she see airplanes flying overhead or hear soldiers marching through the streets. There was nothing like that.

"It took nearly a half year following its outbreak that the local newspapers began to report the bombing of cities. Then Inge started to become increasingly anxious about what might happen were the Allied troops to bomb Berlin or Bremen. The war would then no longer be something distant, something happening elsewhere. One morning in particular, while she was in sewing class, she suddenly found herself worried about her family’s safety. She felt as if she were too far away from them. And, as if she’d had a premonition, when she returned home from her class that evening, she received an urgent call from her father. “Inge, it is time for you to come home,” was all he said to her in his deep and authoritative voice."

She was not unhappy about being with her parents again, but she'd felt closer to her dream of opening her own a relief in partnership with Ruthie when she was learning the trade in Berlin.

"In Berlin, she had felt so far away from reality, which is how Germany was planning to handle its “Jewish problem.”

"Upon returning to Bremen, Inge didn’t return to 33 Isarstrasse to live. Rather, her parents had been ordered to move to Legion-Condor-Strasse 1, to what had become known as Das Judenhaus (The Jewish House). This way, the Nazis decided, it would be easier for them to keep track of the Jews, that is, keeping them all in more concentrated locations. Inge’s family was housed on the first floor of a house that had once belonged to a cousin of Adolf Gruenberg (husband of Grandma Rosa). Days of comfortable and proper living were now gone. The three of them had to share just two rooms, one became their living room, and the other their bedroom, which had but one single bed. Inge had no option but to sleep on a chaise lounge at one end of her parents’ bed. Just across the hall from them was the Frank family: the husband, wife, their three sons, and the wife’s brother. At the far end of the floor was a single room where Frau Aronstein lived by herself. They all had to use a single bathroom."

"On the other two floors in the house there were separate kitchens, so thankfully, those residents didn’t add to the chaos when meals had to be prepared. On the second floor were the Jonas and Horowitz families, along with a second Horowitz family that had settled in with a niece. The third floor was occupied by the Hertz family, Frau Wortheimer and her two children, and a Jewish woman with her non-Jewish husband, Herr J. Lisiak. The Nazis had put this man in charge to monitor all the others and to report anything of note back to them. Inge, like everyone else, neither liked nor trusted this man.

"He would always, most suspiciously, need to work on the furnace in the kitchen during their mealtimes. As it turned out, Inge’s family would often receive special offerings from shopkeepers. It appeared to Inge that they did so because it upset them to see children denied the healthy food they needed. They would secretly add such items into Inge’s packages that she would then share with all the other families. Some of these merchants even left groceries for them on the doorstep. The man from the local fish store would also purposely place shopping bags in front of his door when he knew that any of the Katzes would be passing by on their way back from the synagogue. They would then have to take great care to conceal such additional foods that Jews were not permitted to purchase from Herr J. Lisiak.

"Among the various tenants residing in the Judenhaus, Inge found that the most interesting one lived on the top floor. One could usually find her shuffling to and fro, with her frail body bent forward under the weight of the large hump protruding from her back. She would always have a deck of cards with her and told everyone to call her Tante Marta. Inge didn’t believe that that was really her name, but she liked her, and she even allowed her once to tell her a fortune using that deck of cards. “Aah…” she sighed mystically, as she laid out the cards before her. “A very good fortune, indeed,” she said, smiling kindly at Inge. “Plenty of money, and lots of love from a good family, and a good man, I see…”"
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Inge and Ruthie worked together again, although not at such a high fancy atelier as Frau Herbert's had been, but they were together.

"When she thought about those days, the sky, trees, and flowers in her memory appeared quite different than those around her now. Even though she was still living in the same part of Bremen, the sky never appeared to be as clear or as blue as it did in her memories of 33 Isarstrasse. Her recollections of playing in the front yard and on the street facing their home depicted her and the other children playing in crisp white or yellow linens. Now she sensed that everyone, including herself, were dressing in hues of navy, taupe, and gray. When she walked along the path to school or town, she remembered them as being tree-lined and covered with rose bushes, and there were flower boxes on the window ledges overflowing with begonias. But now all she saw were the thick cobblestones she stepped upon with caution, so as to avoid turning an ankle.

"However, it wasn’t long before the uncertainty she had been running away from no longer permitted her any illusions of normalcy. The latest instance of it was the Nazi decree that all Jews over the age of six must have a Gelben Stern, a cloth patch depicting the six-pointed, yellow Star of David sewn onto their clothing, with the word “JUDE” (Jew) appearing on it. After the initial shock, Inge, once more, regained her footing, along with her usual positive and can-do attitude. She decided it really didn’t bother her all that much to wear the star.

"While the Germans meant it to be a mark of shame and ostracism, Inge felt quite proud to have it adorn the side of her jackets on top of her heart. After all, wasn’t she a Jew? Not only had she always been proud of her heritage, she never even wished, much less pretended, to be anyone other than who she was. Besides, everyone within the community already knew who the Jews were, so she felt this way of identifying them to merely be a silly overstatement of the obvious.

"When she walked through the streets of Bremen or stood in the back of the trams, as Jews were no longer permitted either to sit or to be in the front, surprisingly, no one ever treated her with hostility or made her feel as if she were being isolated. In fact, she thought, that it made many of the non-Jews regard her with some compassion. When food was rationed for the Jews, there were even some shop owners who threw in something extra, sometimes even food Jews were forbidden to purchase. She couldn’t tell whether this was the case for everyone who wore the star, but it was what she experienced for the next several months.

"Even with all this, Inge thought, it was an existence she felt she could get used to. They had all, in fact, become quite adept at making the best of difficult situations. For example, rather than feeling overwhelmed by the number of people living in a single house, these young ones, along with others their age, used it as an opportunity to hold dances, which they were no longer allowed to attend at school. They would all go up to the third floor (Ruthie was included, of course), play records, and had a terrific few hours dancing to the music. Within those cramped quarters, they could forget for a little while that a hostile world existed just inches beyond them. Yes, Inge thought, this was not so bad at all."

"But she was not prepared for the night Ruthie came home with tears in her eyes."

"“Oh, Inge, I’m so frightened,” she began, as Inge took her cousin’s hand in her own. “We just received word that we are to collect our things and that we must go in two weeks.”

"“What do you mean ‘go’?” Inge pressed her. Was she going to be able to get to America after all? Oh, she would miss her terribly, but at least Inge could relax in the knowledge that she would be safe.

"“I don’t know where exactly,” Ruthie said, as she took a tissue out from her sleeve and dabbed at the tears falling from her eyes. “They are calling them the Sonderzuge (the special trains). All I know is that they are going to be sending us Jews ‘out east.’”"
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Ruthie's family and other relatives left, but Inge and her family were told to stay back. She saw them off at the station.

"The skies were overcast, and a harsh damp wind was blowing. Still, she stayed there, allowing all those Germans on the platform, those permitted the dignity of entering the Bremen train station through its main entrance, to continue pretending not to have seen what had just taken place—and to continue pretending not to know what was happening to these Jews."

Their departure took another few months.

"As they left, Inge didn’t look out of the window at the city of her birth that she sensed she was now leaving forever. There was no one left there to wave good-bye to, and Inge didn’t want to see the faces of all the non-Jews standing on the platform who pretended not to know what was happening to them. ... The date of their departure was July 24, 1942."

The person appointed to take them to the train left at Hanover.

"“Auf Wiedersehen (German for goodbye, until we meet again), Herr Linnemann,” Inge called after him, still not fully comprehending the insidious role he had been playing. Only much later did she come to understand what he then said to her as he departed. He replied, smiling all the while, “If we ever do see each other again, you will find me hanging by my neck from one of Bremen’s lampposts.”

"“What an odd thing to say,” Inge thought."

So the Germans were quite aware they were committing crimes.
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Inge met someone from Czechoslovakia, Schmuel Berger, who began to court her, which not only brightened her life but seemed to hold promise of future, giving her sustenance and strength.
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"Hitler, to keep the peace with the Danes, fellow Aryans in his mind, decided to allow representatives of the Danish Red Cross along with a couple of others from Sweden and Switzerland to visit Theresienstadt to see for themselves whether all those incarcerated there were being treated humanely. Germany also did this to maintain its working relationship with the Swedes, so that it wouldn’t disrupt Germany’s ability to import ball bearings for the war effort. Thus, the Nazis permitted a contingent of the International Red Cross a brief visit to Theresienstadt."

"Before those selected to be part of this farce could briefly enjoy any of its benefits, something had to be done with all of the cremation remains stored in Theresienstadt. Once the mass graves outside Theresienstadt’s walls had been filled to capacity, the Nazis began to cremate the bodies of inmates and then store the ashes in boxes, each labeled with the name of the deceased. By the time of the scheduled Red Cross visit, so many had accumulated that the Nazis were fearful of their being detected. To avoid this, the Nazis issued an order for an assembly line of able-bodied elderly inmates to pass along these boxes of remains down to the river where they were dumped. When Frau Abt, a friend of Inge’s who was one of those on that line, was handed the box containing her husband’s ashes to be passed on for disposal, she burst into tears.

"There was not only the problem of too many of the dead to worry about, but too many of the living as well. During the month prior to the Red Cross visit, transports to the east also increased. Between seven and eight thousand were sent out, which, as far as the Nazis were concerned, would suffice to alleviate the problem."

"Not only were many older inmates recruited into the Germans’ effort to pull the wool over the Red Cross representatives’ eyes, children, too, were given a role. Those who were allowed outdoors during the visit were cleaned up and given fresh clothing to wear. They were permitted to play with toys in the pavilion, having been prepared beforehand for what they had to say when offered food by SS First Lieutenant Karl Rahm during the actual visit. When handed chocolate, they were to respond, “Uncle Rahm, the same dessert again? Why do we always have to get the same thing?” Likewise, when he offered sardine sandwiches for lunch, they were to say, “Uncle Rahm, sardines again?”"

"Inge, however, didn’t have as much trouble controlling herself. Each morning, she packed a small serving of bread smeared with some margarine and jam to take with her to the wooden barrack for lunch. She left the walls of the ghetto for her job on days when the Nazis were filming the propaganda film about the ghetto, Hitler Gives the Jews a City, which was made so that no one would ever believe that the Germans weren’t treating Jews well. The Germans forced Kurt Gerron, the famous Dutch Jewish filmmaker who had starred in My Blue Angel, to put it together. Once he completed the job, they sent him off on a transport to his death."

"The day after the Red Cross visit was her twentieth birthday."

Schmuel gave her a ring. She began to feel hope of future.

In September, he seemed downcast. When she asked, he told her he was going to be transported.

"The likelihood of her ever seeing him again was slim at best."

He gave her a wild rose, and a photo of himself, on the last evening.
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Schmuel was transported to Auschwitz Birkenau in the inhuman way nazis used cattle cars for the purpose.

"Shortly thereafter, he was told to wait near a section of the camp where women were being held, and to his great surprise and joy, he came upon four of his sisters whom he hadn’t seen in over six years. While he could barely recognize any of them, given the physical hardships they had endured, he was still thankful at having been reunited with them, even if that reunion didn’t last for long. Sadly, though, when he had asked about what had become of their parents, he received the awful news that they had been gassed immediately upon arriving at the camp. His mother was not yet fifty, and his father was under sixty. Also, his eighty-seven-year-old grandmother, her sister, and a number of other relatives and friends also perished— murdered—and that their bodies were disposed of via Auschwitz’s crematoria."

He was later transported elsewhere.

"Schmuel had mixed feelings as he thought about his sisters still in Auschwitz. As the distance increased between himself from the inferno known as Auschwitz Birkenau with every rotation of the train’s wheels, he felt laden with a sense of guilt at having to leave the four of them there. True, he had no control over what was happening to him, but he believed that the camp was the true incarnation of hell on Earth. Now he had to endure forever the thought of the excruciating suffering that Rose, Gizi, Olga, and Elsa had to continue to endure, something he had no way to alleviate."
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Theresienstadt was liberated by Russians on 5th May, 1945.

"From November 24, 1941, until May 8, 1945, nearly 180,000 Jews were held prisoner there, and of the 88,323, whom the Germans transported to Auschwitz and other death or labor camps from there, fewer than 4,000 survived the war. In addition, another 34,000 died while still in Theresienstadt, mostly from contagious diseases, starvation, and exposure to the elements, or in the course of performing brutally hard labor."

Russians, shocked at the state of the inmates, fed them, and proceeded with health check and help.

"From the time the International Red Cross took over providing food, 430 liberated inmates in Theresienstadt died, and another 1,137 died during the following month, as a consequence of all the hardships they had suffered while imprisoned. That brought the total of those sent and perished in the ghetto to 35,088. Inge was struck that the horrors of the war still continued to take their toll even after the hostilities ceased. She couldn’t fathom when it all would end."
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Inge and her parents were among the last to leave Theresienstadt, but were finally transported to Bremen. The U.S. military visited the house they stayed st, and her host family as well as her parents encouraged her to accept attentions of one who was interested in her, Kurt Bird, a Viennese Jew; she wanted to wait for Schmuel, but they were unsure.

Schmuel escaped from the transport train from Dachau that inmates had been forced on by Ukrainian kapos and SS with dogs, the former beating the inmates and latter threatening to let loose dogs and then set fire, but then the transport train was strafed by allied planes, guards ran away, and Schmuel along with other inmates from the train escaped into woods. They wandered until they were fed and sheltered one day by the mayor and his wife in Unter-Igling, and were subsequently housed there at the command of U.S. military who arrived the next day. The mayor needed them to plead for his son. Schmuel and his fellow escaped, a Romanian Jew named Shlomo, were given new clothes by the military, and Schmuel saw how emaciated he was.

"Later that day, after the mayor had reported for a meeting with the Americans, he returned to his home greatly agitated. Some of the villagers also showed up soon after. The largest room in the house in fact filled up. Schmuel remained sitting, just outside the door, not to eavesdrop but to catch the late day’s sun. He heard shouts coming from within the room. “Somebody get a doctor! He’s having a heart attack!”

"The mayor had collapsed—although not from a heart attack. Probably a result of all that shock he had experienced that day. Schmuel had offered to help but was then informed by the Americans of what had transpired. The mayor, with others from the surrounding villages, had been ordered to witness the criminal devastation perpetrated by their fellow countrymen and then recount what he was shown to the rest of the population. The mayor had just returned to his home with others from that experience. Among the awful scenes were those of Schmuel’s Camp 4 as well as the derailed train he had been in."

"Schmuel found out that the SS hadn’t delivered empty threats to him and the other patients in the typhus barrack that night they were being moved. The SS had piled the innumerable dead along with those who had been ill onto a single, gigantic heap, doused it with gasoline, and then set the pile on fire. Schmuel hoped that, at the very least, they hadn’t released their dogs on those poor souls. He later learned that the SS commander of Camp 4 had shot himself in the neighboring village of Hurlach to avoid being captured. Such news annoyed Schmuel. It seemed a far too easy and merciful death considering how he and his fellow inmates had suffered."
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Inge accepted Kurt Bird's invitation to one evening at the U.S. military officer's club. She was unable to dance, however, or to feel happy there.

"The American soldiers had all invited pretty German women as their dates. As far as she could tell, none were Jewish women liberated from the camps. Only German women who had so recently been their enemies. It appalled her to see how quickly they could switch their allegiance. What had happened to all they had believed in? How many of those present had approved of, or actually participated in the murderous acts committed against Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, Russians, cripples, or even their fellow Germans critical of the Nazis?

"These women, she thought, had too quickly discarded their former views. And for what? Cigarettes? Pantyhose? A more comfortable life in America? Inge was disgusted by what she was observing and sensed that she couldn’t enjoy an evening spent amongst them. Just thinking about it was making her upset. Being seen there with an American officer by these women might make them think that she, too, was one of them. Still, she felt that she had to remain at least for a little while so as not to disappoint or offend Kurt. They left early that evening, regardless. Inge vowed to herself that she would never return to the officers’ club.

"From that time forward, Inge would only attend the Saturday night dances sponsored by the Jewish Community Center run by the Jewish military chaplain, Manuel M. Poliakoff. They were held in what had been an enormous residence at 17 Osterdeich. ... Both survivors and Jewish military personnel would attend the Sabbath services. Weddings, after a while, were also held there, and eventually, a great number of them were performed. So many of the survivors were most anxious to marry and to return to more “normal” existences, and to leave the horrors of war as quickly as possible. Whenever there was a marriage taking place, everyone in the community was invited to join in the festivities with the newlyweds. Kurt, who was often away attending to military matters during the week, always made it a practice to be back by Saturday to accompany Inge to the various social events being held at the synagogue."

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Inge received a short letter from Schmuel to say he was coming, and although Kurt argued that it may not happen, she had to refuse his proposal when it was time for him to leave. Schmuel arrived after 1945 was over, and each immediately knew that the other had waited.

"Inge and Schmuel were married the following year on June 24, 1947. It was on her 23rd birthday. Inge did eventually make it to America, moving there with Schmuel (who formally changed his name to Sam) and their two daughters, Hanna and Ruthie. They settled in Flushing, New York. Their marriage lasted nearly 60 years until Schmuel’s passing in 2006. Over the years, Inge never gave up hope searching for her cousin, Ruthie Cohen, and the other members of her family. But it was to no avail. She learned that they had each been shot in Minsk a few days after Inge arrived in Theresienstadt. But being that there was no physical evidence, she never gave up all hope. Sam’s sisters and brother managed to survive, except for Moshe who died just before the liberation.

"Inge’s parents remained in Bremen where Carl restarted his business with the aid of an American program to assist Jews. In 1945, he re-established the Jewish Community Center of Bremen, and he was also instrumental in the establishment of the newly constructed Bremen synagogue in 1961. In August 1968, he became the president of the East-West German Commerce Association, a position he held until his death in 1972, at the age of seventy-three. Marianne then moved to the United States to be with Inge and lived to be 104 years old, also dying in 2006, just shortly after Sam.

"To their immense joy, Sam lived long enough to develop close relationships with his five grandchildren and to even meet his two great-grandchildren. Marianne, with her two grandchildren and five great-grandchildren, also met her two great-great grandchildren. Both lived out their lives in good health and filled with warm friendships and close family ties. Inge, now 91-years- young, celebrated her milestone birthday surrounded by all those who love and cherish her. She has been an inspiration to everyone who knows her, and she has passed that quality of unconditional love on to her descendants for generations to come."

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January 16, 2020 - January 18, 2020.

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House Of Defiance: One Family's Stand Against The Holocaust; by Johanna Adriana Ader-Appels, Andrew Healey (Translator).

A memoir from the times of nazi occupation suffered by the Dutch, this book is very pastoral - often quite bucolic, even, in its pace - in more than one meaning of the word, and barely mentions the occupation and the war in the first fifth part. Serious part about holocaust and resistance appears after the first quarter is almost over. It's as if the author couldn't bear to think of it, or perhaps it was only a bruise to spirit until then but not real horror as it had been in other occupied lands.

The work is pastoral in its love of the land, and it would be very spiritual if the author weren't so afraid of it that she immediately rushes to anchor it to religion every time it occurs. No surprise, perhaps, since it seems to be written by a pastor's wife after all.

"During our first autumn in the pastorie we experienced many glorious days. Days when it was so still that with the wind from the west, you could hear the train in the far distance, gliding along its rails. That was always a very special sensation, as the train bound you to the world that you had left behind. And up to the railway, as far as the eye could see, stretched huge tracts of arable land that were being ploughed. Heavy, glossy brown horses walked before the ploughshare. They trudged straight forward and cast clods of red earth about, on which hungry crows alighted. All around you, you could see far, far away, to where your eyes would rest on the point of a distant tower, or a mill, yet on every side stretched the breadth of this still land, and above the fields rippled the hazy blue sky.

"In these days I thought often about the parable of the Sower. Figuratively, much of this land lay still fallow, which must first be thoroughly ploughed before the Word could be sown. And such ploughing was heavy work. We ourselves were the horses, figuratively speaking, who must be harnessed to the plough. The whole day we were harnessed, because everything had to be built from the ground up. And so it came to pass.

But the fear within oneself that recurs here, in the author and the protagonist, while experiencing simultaneous calm and rapture, in the swift flight from being in tune with nature to rapt lyrical expression to surge of spirituality, that fear is indubitably the result of centuries of repression by church that culminated in the inquisition, forever suppressong freedom of mind and spirit, even now in shackles despite renaissance, Galileo, rockets and walk on the Moon.
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Here is a not too subtle drawing of lines by the protagonist and author.

"One day, right in the middle of this phase of bombing and the nights devoted to the cable watch, a letter arrived. At this time, the persecution of Jews in our country was taking on ever more frightful forms. Domie and I had already considered what we could do for them. Thousands of Jews were dispossessed of their money and goods and left alone out on the dyke. How would these people then live? Then you often heard stories of Jews who were deprived, not just of their gold and goods, but also of their liberty. In Amsterdam, police vans raided the Jewish quarters and young men were dragged from their beds, or simply taken straight off the streets. Then they were sent to a camp in Poland and you never heard anything of them again – and for the most part, we’d heard it said that a large number of these young Jews had been killed.

"At the editorial office in Amsterdam where I had worked, a Jewish woman photographer had regularly come in to offer photos for sale. She had sometimes shared a meal at home with us. From that original business acquaintanceship had grown a more or less casual friendship. Lily had taken our formal wedding photograph. When Hansje was born I sent her a card announcing the birth. My silent thoughts now went out to her. How would she make it through all this? Was there anything that we could do for her? If so, what? And now, all of a sudden, came the answer: “May I come and stay a little time with you? I am in great need.”"

"On Sunday Domie had read out a protest from the Synod[46] against the persecution of the Jews. On account of that piece and from all the other things they knew about him, our friend Bertram, who was travelling by train to Groningen, overheard a couple of NSB loyalists chatting about “...that Domie from the Hörn... such an unsuitable one for the young people. We must get rid of him.”"

" ... This Samaritan ran the risk of having to pay for this act of charity with his own life, because the bandits could always catch up with him. In that mountainous region of Judea, life was never soft. It stands to reason that the priest and Levite were so keen to distance themselves from the wounded man, not because they were callous, unfeeling men, but out of raw fear for their own survival."

"Lily could be truly thankful unto Him that in the last mail collection of the day was an express letter to Amsterdam bearing the request, “Come to us as soon as possible on the last train out.”"

In the paragraph that follows, the author and protagonist firmly asserts that being true to her religion could have saved Germany from the evils of nazi ideology, without calling it evil, but in that she either forgets or deliberately lies, since it was church that preached a false propaganda against Jews for nearly two millennia blaming the subjects of Roman colonial occupation for the execution of one who was their own king.
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The book is more than 40% over before she is willing to deal with the issue.

"I suddenly realised that it did not make much difference if it were your own child or another’s. Our youth was truly exposed to this danger, and therefore an obligation fell upon those of us of the previous generation. For how could they begin to resist if we did not help them, and what gave us the right to say, “Don’t go!” if we afforded them no shelter nor stood as surety for them? The Russians only have to fight more fiercely, and the English and the Americans should accept the hazards and fly lower, face danger head on and risk being shot down, thereby losing their lives, but we don’t have to do anything, right? If only we could just sit here with our cup of ersatz coffee and listen to the radio news of how others are fixing up the world for us.

"We also must do what our hands find to do. We must commit to passive resistance. That was our duty. That was also our way of warfare; the only possible response, and furthermore the only one permissible. Not “taking up the sword” but a stiff passive resistance in a spirit of tough invincibility, a refusal to bow before the usurper who is violating our rights and our law."

"In recent times we really have got to know and believe in the incarnation of evil. Before that we were not so accustomed to it. Paradoxically, in the beginning there were some incidents of active opposition to the Germans. When the Jews by the thousands were robbed and led away in the most disgraceful and inhumane manner, a massive strike broke out spontaneously in Amsterdam. But little by little we got used to the oppression and started to weaken; we lay down and withdrew. But that means now evil has acquired even more power over us as a nation.

"The German people are busy heaping up great guilt upon themselves. Whosoever placidly and impassively quotes the first part of this prophecy in regard to the Jewish people and their exceptional history must seriously keep in mind the second part, and know that he, as a Christian, is accountable for the fate of his fellow men. Should everyone do his duty then nothing can harm us or our young men. As a nation we stand for each other; in unbroken fellowship we are made strong against the attacks of the aggressor. However, every step we go back means a step forward for the enemy. Always he is attempting to see how far he can go. He doesn’t make his attacks suddenly and openly, but cunningly, little by little, so that most people do not even know that he is busy stretching his net.

"At first there was just a very innocent looking piece of paper. You had to respond to one question asking if you had any Jewish ancestors. Most readily filled it in without thinking. After all, hadn’t they done that sort of thing in the past? What devious use was surely made of that information! Thus followed the immediate dismissal of all civil servants who had Jewish forebears. A new provision followed: one was no longer allowed to employ Jewish personnel in service; Jewish businesses were ‘expropriated’ or should I say ‘confiscated,’ sounding all very civilised, and an administrator was appointed for this purpose. The rightful owners, dispossessed of their property, were unceremoniously put out on the dyke.

"Shortly after that followed more rules: Jews could no longer travel, they could not own a radio, telephone nor bicycle, they could not make use of nor linger around trams, parks, hotels, cafés and other public places, and finally, they were not permitted to enter the homes of Aryans. So that they would be recognised everywhere, where they could be robbed and raids held against them with impunity, they were branded with a star. Ultimately they were outlawed altogether and handed over to the wicked lusts of their evil tormentors. Since Christians, especially the churches, are the salt of the earth, and the light of the lampstand[85], they must protest against this maltreatment of humanity. And they have done so. The attitude of the Church is unquestionably praiseworthy at this time. Now the wheat is separating from the chaff in almost apocalyptic terms."

The attitude of some, due more to humanity than to church. 

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After the Germans had robbed her home and left:-

"“Anyway... I feel no hatred,” I said. I could tell him that in all truth, because I meant it. They had been badly enslaved by a cursed regime that was doomed to be overthrown. They had been guilty of a grievous sin: the sin against the first commandment: Thou shalt have no other gods before Me. Thou shalt not bow down to them nor serve them. The latter had they certainly done instead of worshipping the God of our fathers and of the ancient Hebrews; they had made themselves gods of race, blood and soil, and even of the man who together with all his ‘Führer-sheep’ led them to fall into ruin. They had taken our property, but I would never wish to change places with them."

That explains the congress, led by descendents of nazis and fascists, turning some Indian words into abusive ones, which had made no sense whatsoever since their being applied in India was and is fraudulent.

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The pastor was captured, imprisoned, and subsequently shot dead in a forest along with a few others, their bodies left in the forest and later buried in a mass grave; the village nearby had rumours, and some brave enough to investigate and give a proper burial to them individually. He was identified due to papers and his family notified.

It's unclear why one is so shocked and horrified at the treatment this family received from the occupying nazi forces, although one has read so very many of much more horrible accounts of nazi doings. Is it because one doesn't expect such treatment meted to a pastor and his family? Or is it because the authors pace has lulled one, with the first quarter immersed in the beauty of the land and the next in problems of logistics of hiding so many people?

After the death of the husband, the author is immersed completely in the account of her feelings and inner journey, whik e one is impatient to know how a lone young widow with two small babies managed to survive deprived of home, husband, property and almost everything. Where did she live, as the war raged on around? But she's going on the religion spree again, meshed with accounts of her memories of her husband.

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"“What my life could never achieve, God now will perhaps do through my death and so I will not have died for nothing.”

"“For nothing! Think of all the lives you’ve saved! Sometimes people ask me if it was worth the price.”

"“Whoever is constrained by the love of Christ, does not count the cost,” he said. “Someone once hung on a cross. He was a Jew. He hung there for us, for Aryans, for you and for me. Were we worth it? That Jesus died for us?”"

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"Gradually the days turned colder. One evening it began to snow. A giant white blanket lay for several hours over the immense plain. The soft tweeting of a pair of songbirds in the alders, who go there to sleep, made the stillness seem even more intense. In the far distance from the east you could see lights glowing. The glow came from a German concentration camp just over the border. Seeing those lights always filled me with a feeling of tightness inside, due to all the suffering that we knew would be endured there. Suffering that no-one really knew about, but that only left you guessing."

"But what I didn’t know was that, on that very night, four Poles would flee that prison – probably at the very same time that I stood there on the road; the culmination of weeks of carefully planned measures to escape. For through the fields of snow, shrouded in white cloth in order not to be seen, they came across the border that night. They knew all too soon that they had arrived in Dutch territory – from the street lamps that lit up all along the main road on our side of the border. For we, in a country still outside the hostilities, did not black-out anything at all! Later they told us that they knelt down on the road to express thanks for their rescue. They could now let themselves be quietly taken to the nearest military police barracks. But soon enough it was evident that they couldn’t remain there, and so they were quartered instead with our own soldiers in the local school."

"That evening the sound of Polish songs floated from the leerkamer. It was evident that the Poles had not done this for some time; how could they sing Polish patriotic songs in a German camp? At first they sang tentatively, as if either they lacked confidence, or they were out of practice, but slowly their voices were let loose; they sang duets and trios to a strange rhythm, and with a peculiar pathos, to which the youth of Groningen listened in wonder. And what rapture was exhibited in those impassioned faces. Our boys and girls between the ages of 14 and 20 stood around them and watched the gesticulating hands and the feet stamping on the floor, but they did not laugh. “Fantastic!” they cheered, when it was over. “More! Another one!” And after each round the Poles would launch into yet another encore. And each song shot like a bolt, straight to the heart. One was about their biggest river, where heavy cargoes were carried downstream. And in its rhythm you could hear the slow measured pace of the barges in tow. It reminded me of The Song of the Volga Boatmen.

"In response, of course, the Groningen folk had to perform their national songs for the Poles! They began with a folk-song from Groningen. They followed that with the Dutch anthem Wilhelmus. Then O splendid colours of the Netherlands flag, O ground of our treasured place and Where the white capped dunes... a long series of the most beloved songs, even those which our farm-labouring youth seldom sang in the days before the war. However, from now on these became the ‘conscience’ of our heritage, any objections to which seemed to be disregarded by this foreign audience. Was there a scintilla of the awareness that before long, our youth would no longer be permitted to sing these songs and that the word ‘fatherland’ would soon for them have a power that it had never before possessed? That evening we were late to break up, but no-one felt it was too late. They were all agreed that it had been a wonderful evening indeed.
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"The moonlight beamed softly over the young wheat in the field, upon the copper beech in the front garden, over the path going to the church with the blooming hawthorn hedges on both sides, on the lilacs and on the jasmine. I stuck my head out the bedroom window and inhaled their fragrance. A frog croaked in a canal nearby, and beyond, all was motionless; absolutely still. Everywhere was embraced by the white soft moonlight. Everywhere by this deep, abundant peace."

"Then suddenly a motorcycle thunders along in the night, breaking the silence with a crackling roar, discordant, noisy and disturbing. A wood pigeon flutters restlessly in the Linden trees and coos, comical, yet sad. Now the machine is rattling along our fence-line. A German soldier is sitting astride it. I can see his helmet gleaming in the moonlight. A rifle hangs on his back. Each night he takes this route to check whether our people, now brought into subjection, are behaving according to the imposed German regulations. German laws and curfews apply here, in our land! I suddenly feel the cold and shiver in my thin nightdress. I withdraw my exposed head and steal softly back to bed. My husband is sleeping peacefully. Tonight he is out like a light. I must take care that I don’t wake him, as he’ll then know, only too soon, the reality that we are now slaves in the hand of an oppressor. Slaves? But to whom? To this realm of lies and deceit, of might and violence, cannons and tanks?"

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"Wheat, barley and young sugar-beets, horse-beans and here and there a field of scented rapeseed flowers. It was not the shortest route, but certainly the prettiest. I rode on through Westerwold. Here the soil was poorer. Wheat gave way to rye. The land also undulated a little here and there, changing imperceptibly as I approached the landscape of Drenthe. And if you keep on pedalling, preferably eating your sandwiches on the bike or along the grassy banks of the roadside, then you eventually find yourself in Overijssel, where the water so clearly reflects the sky and the cows stand up to their bellies in lush buttercups. Ja, because at that time there were still a lot of cows in Holland. Just after the war began, the opportunity to make off with them back across the border into Germany had not yet presented itself, even if the general looting of resources was already well underway. It seemed to me that Holland was as a bride in the clutches of an undesirable lover, who was removing her jewellery piece by piece, all the while saying in a cajoling voice, “Keep still, girl, I’ve got your best interests at heart!”"

"It was as if, in some way or another, everything had changed after that fateful date of May the 10th, 1940, when for us the war truly began. But it was wonderful to both see and imbibe the scent of the heath and forest again after the flatlands of Groningen, to which I had admittedly pledged my heart, but where I still did not feel as quite at home as I did here in these woods. The red sun was slowly sinking below the tops of the pines. Our trusty Dutch clocks had been set forward by one hour and 40 minutes: German time."

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"According to the Germans we were also Deutschen and they thought that identification was a great honour that they had bestowed upon us. I looked at my brother and smiled. That was certainly a misconception on their part. We were surely a branch descended from different tribal stock – from the Franks probably, and therefore Johan’s heart would be drawn more to whatever the French were – to France and their French heritage and culture – but definitely he was no German!"

"Dutch youth had managed to persevere, sitting there and looking up at the sky, when there had been no help forthcoming from the English planes; how the Dutch army had withdrawn from conflict and how our soldiers had slumped, exhausted, sleeping upon the necks of their horses. They were so fatigued and defeated that only a miracle in the form of a heavy fog had saved our retreating forces from being bombed from the air, which would have surely decimated them. And how our Queen had just escaped to England – altogether a sad and bitter tale of the five days of war they had experienced so near at hand."

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"Silence and vastness and lark-song, and a lonely farm loft, where I may write."

"One level below, the loft looks through broad windows onto fields of barley and a more distant farmstead with a large barn. Harmonious are the lines of its roof, which stands rust brown against the blue sky. The wind surges through the barley stalks, inducing a silvery wave of bobbing heads.

"A great and good land this is. All the vain efforts of men seen from this distance seem small and less significant, including one’s own life, which you can survey from this viewpoint as if it were a dream.

"I think sometimes that from eternity we shall view our earthly existence as a coloured bubble on the surface of our inner life of the soul. All passions, fears and joys will then be stilled in the clarity of our observation of reality, whereof we now only glimpse but a small illuminated part.

"A large flask of milk stands next to me on the floor. One of the gifts of this land.

"Do not marvel at my sudden return to material things. Next to spiritual prayer, Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven, the Lord’s Prayer sets the plea: Give us this day, our daily bread."

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"“Clouds...” he said slowly, in raptures of delight, “...are so splendid. I could look at them for hours. Even as a child I already thought them so beautiful. Shapes of animals, mountains – you can see everything in them. Sometimes they become caverns, with the light of the sun behind. Or the sky looks like a great lake, with white water lilies.”"

"The stifling heat hovers over the entire countryside. The sun rises each day to stand in the sky like a burnished copper ball and parches the earth. Whenever you step outside the front door from the comparative coolness of the hall, it’s like stepping into an oven. Even the ground feels hot underfoot. No birds are singing. In this heat, scarcely anyone can be out there working the land. They thus begin very early in the cool of the morning and by midday they declare: ‘oldert!"

"Outside it’s dead calm – not a leaf stirring. Dark clouds are gathering and in the distance sounds a dull rumble. A couple of large thick drops fall. Thank God! Man and beast together yearn for liberation from the claws of this life and energy-sapping heat monster. The thunder sounds more threatening, comes closer. A white bolt of lightning shoots through the air. Now the storm breaks forth. It is really coming on apace. The flashes and thunderclaps follow each other more swiftly. It’s raining bucket-loads now, pouring out of the sky and flowing down into the glade and our shelter pit. We sit with each other in the room, kept in silence by the fury of the elements. It also causes something in us to relax. If it weren’t so silly to stand there under this pelting rain, I’d really love to go outside. But it’s such beastly weather!

"After an hour it has relented somewhat. We can now open the windows, which must be shut tight during storms and heavy rain. A marvellous smell of the wet earth suffuses the room. The wheat that is already laden with heavy ears lies flattened in various places. A bird begins to sing. The cool air comes drifting inside and dispels the warmth. Opening the doors makes this happen even more quickly."

"That night Emden was bombed. The old pastorie shuddered and rattled, but inside in the sickroom a deep peace reigned. It seemed that in those recent days that life was being ever more washed and purified. It had been set free even from the hate that had previously been such a persistent element.

"When we saw that calm face and all the patience with which Johan bore his suffering, then my husband and I could not help but say to each other, “How gentle he has become, and... ja... and become pure, almost as if he’s another person who doesn’t belong to this world anymore.”"

"It was as if the violence of the outside world could no longer penetrate inside this room, as if Johan already lived beyond the reach of the satanic powers which afflict this earth. Whenever a bomb fell or there were grenades exploding, then he communicated a look of mutual understanding to Domie, who kept watch, sitting next to the bed in the light of a small lamp. All that din repeatedly broke the intimacy of their conversation over eternal things, which was conducted therefore during pauses in the shelling."

"First light shimmered in through the chinks. Morning was cool and bright. We opened the shutters. It was everything Johan wished for. There should be the fullness of the light of day within the room of many books where he would die; the golden clarity of sunlight. A dove cooed in the beech tree. Slowly the blossoms opened in the light. I brought some of the white ones inside and put them by the bed. Johan nodded gratefully."

"I cycled through by-ways crossing our local polders where the grain stood ripe in the ears, awaiting the scythe. To me this was all a vast desolation, this sea of golden yellow under a midday sun – the lonely, tilled plain, where I found myself a stranger – and always would, as it was not the ground of my own birth. For at home there were woodlands and I had wandered within them with Johan. There was the little secret grove guarded by the over-arching willows, and there I had lain in the grass with my straw hat over my eyes and there Johan had read to me from Hans Christian Andersen."

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"In the stillness I lay listening and staring at the window. Very softly, snowflakes fell outside. Minute crystals attached to each other – thousands upon thousands of them. When we got up the next morning, the earth would be white. And I would never be alone again, for something new was ever growing in an equally enigmatic way as the snow blanket – something new, that had always been there and that I had always known in the secret life of my subconsciousness; something that I had known in a dream. Or on the edge of waking and dreaming, where I was now. That is why it took such distinct forms. That is why it was so close at hand, so that I could embrace it and we could smile together as we slept."

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"The plot of ground that we had been assigned to work had been neglected for years. The local adult generation was completely un-churched. Work had been done there, but among them politics often became a substitute for religion, and that authority which, for the believer, comes from God’s Kingdom, was attributed to Russia by the Communists living in these parts. If he could pray, it would not be “Thy Kingdom come,” but “Let Russia come here and then we’ll have Utopia.” Of course one could ask them a couple of practical questions, such as “There are many more farmhands than farmers, so don’t you think that you would quarrel over the division of farmland, if you’re already envious about a mere Christmas present?” But in the new utopia there is supposedly no place for dealing with jealousy and other base human traits which the Christian believer recognises as the old fashioned word, ‘sin’. They think change must come not from inside-out, but from outside-in. Make the world right and the people will automatically show virtue. Everywhere this romantic vision wields a great attractive power over the younger people. Among our young catechists we encountered these ideas over and over again."

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"A grey fog hung over the land, through which the evanescent moonlight could barely penetrate. There was expectancy in the air – something of the coming spring, something familiar – in that each year it returns, yet at the same time it was strange and unknown. Indeed, my mother must have felt this when she was expecting me, as I was her youngest. But even more strange and unfamiliar must have been that awakening feeling when Johan came into the world, because he was her first-born.

"Mother!

"When a man is about to die, he speaks her name. Johan had called Mother’s name one day before he died and he had now gone to be with her. And she who is about to face this mystery of life, of giving birth, she also calls her own mother’s name, but very softly, because it is only for her, and not for the living. She must know that in this hour you are in need of her. She hears your quiet prayer; can’t you now feel her constant presence? Do you not see her eyes in the twilight and hear once more her encouraging voice? I have left this for you my child. And now it is your turn.

"Certainly, Mother, now it’s my turn. But please stay with me for as long as I have need of you."

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"The bombardment of the submarine pens at Emden became increasingly more intense. You could set the clock by it: every evening at half an hour before midnight the English fly-boys came over, and it wasn’t until one-thirty or two in the morning when their droning finally ceased and the machines went on their way home. You sometimes glimpsed them flying like birds across the crescent of the moon in line-astern formation, their pulsating roar filling the air. Barrage balloons floated above Emden and everything there was blacked out, but despite that, from where we were on the other side of the Dollart, Emden was so lit up by the bombs that the English dropped, that in the light of the rosy afterglow you could almost read the newspaper. Shrapnel from the anti-aircraft fire randomly clattered onto our roof. First you could hear the whistle of falling bombs, then the loud crump as they exploded. On certain occasions aerial dogfights took place and then bombs fell all over the countryside. They even exploded behind the church – such that one night our bedroom was bathed in a brilliant white magnesium light – and they also fell on the farms. No-one felt safe anymore. The walls of the houses shook with the sound of bombs falling to the left and right around them. In such instances the cot with our sleeping baby was moved to another room, where there was less risk of flying glass shards and splinters. But would that now give Hansje sufficient protection? Could I even protect him at all from these infernal powers?"

"With my little boy in my arms I witnessed a terrific light show in the northern sky that would have been awe-inspiringly grand if it were not so gruesome: falling shells that painted striking luminous stripes like fireworks on the canvas of the heavens. This wasn’t designed for our benefit however; it was only intended for the harbours of Emden. But how many bombs did fall over the town as well? How many mothers sat there in dark cellars, holding sleeping or screaming children in their arms? You inevitably feel a mixture of guilt, shame and disgust that we’ve all participated in such acts by thought, word and deed. And even if we were not in a position to act, the following day we’d still say to each other: “They’ve bombed Emden again,” and we’d rejoice over it! However, I knew very well that we were only saying that in the hope that this would hasten the end of the war and that the victory of the Allies would once again bring security. I knew that we had endured injustice and suffering under great duress. Speaking personally, I understood the truth of the Bible text, For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind – and that what we’d witnessed at Emden was therefore a just punishment for Warsaw, Belgrade, Rotterdam, London and other cities. “Wir werden Ihre Städte ausradieren” had boasted Hitler’s voice over the radio. And yet, and yet..."

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"Those days were also marked by the forced conscription by the Germans of Dutch citizens into the kabelwacht. Somewhere in our neighbourhood a German telephone cable laid across the countryside alongside the railway had been sabotaged – so they claimed. Therefore all our rural citizens were forced to do guard duty. One man from each family had to serve time, standing watch over the route of the cable along the railway line embankment. Excepting of course the NSB and Dutch sympathisers loyal to the Reich, as they would never have participated in such things as sabotage!"

"According to the night inspection patrol you could only be let off watch duty if you belonged to the NSB, or at least if your name was drawn on the list for winter relief duty. It was all a senseless and cowardly vexing of the people, who had to work during the day then stand on watch at night. Indeed, such a vague and indiscriminate way to mete out punishment made the whole affair so exasperating. No-one knew how long this would go on. But their reprisal against the common folk reaped in us all a sense of common brotherhood. The farmers brought bales of straw on their wagons to the railway. From it they built huts as well as for the Dominee, the blacksmith and the school master, who couldn’t do this task for themselves. All this was not permitted, of course, but the authorities turned a blind eye, and it was let through.

"“Punishment?” exclaimed De Lange. “Is it a punishment – to be outside on these marvellous midsummer evenings? Isn’t it wonderful now that it doesn’t get dark so soon? You’re sleeping through the best time of your life, man! And about four in the morning the birds are already starting their song and the blue poppies appear in the light just as the dawn mist is clearing.”

"With his optimistic take on life he really cheers up Elderling, stationed one pole further down the line. But altogether the dreary task lasts far too long! The rain sets in. They must wrap up so well that they parade a display of the most fantastic outfits ever seen along the road. They must pass through the slimy, muddy clay to get to their posts. Down the farm lanes it’s almost impossible to cycle. The clay sticks between the tyres and the guards, so that the bike becomes clogged up and can barely roll any further. Finally they then stand by their assigned poles hour after hour in the rain; or at least that’s how it would be if their comfy wigwams were not available. But fortunately they are, and from within, farmers and townsfolk alike keep watch, sometimes in twos or threes at a time. Until the inspector is seen approaching. Then they must scamper to be back at their own pole in a hurry!

"A German inspector once tried to approach them unnoticed on his motorbike. He did not take the usual way, but another route instead, running through a copse of willows. That was unfamiliar terrain to him and he unexpectedly locked wheels and shot head over heels into a ditch!

"But where were the sudden converts to the NSB from among these stalwart men, who could then be excused from watch duty? Whoever thinks that strategy would have worked doesn’t know the East Frisians very well. Did those Prussians actually think that they could persuade these freemen of the land by force? On the contrary, it only drove them on the defensive all the sooner and got their backs up, for now it had touched them all personally! They all felt as if they had been put in the stocks! No, the Prussians had not succeeded in belittling these men – if before they had been lukewarm, they now became fiercely anti-German! It is simply a human trait, to care about matters that directly concern us.

"These were certainly folk whose defiant outlook was not brought low by reprisals; even by the Germans’ forced acquisition of our sizeable assets of farm horses. For a long half hour, along the road sounded the clopping of all those magnificent animals – the pride and the glory of the Groninger. And you saw very few of them return. The requisitioning of their tractors was not too critical either, thought the farmers, but when it came to bicycles, then Holland was really in dire straits. Because isn’t it true that you have a bike and I do as well?

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Here is a not too subtle drawing of lines by the protagonist and author.

"One day, right in the middle of this phase of bombing and the nights devoted to the cable watch, a letter arrived. At this time, the persecution of Jews in our country was taking on ever more frightful forms. Domie and I had already considered what we could do for them. Thousands of Jews were dispossessed of their money and goods and left alone out on the dyke. How would these people then live? Then you often heard stories of Jews who were deprived, not just of their gold and goods, but also of their liberty. In Amsterdam, police vans raided the Jewish quarters and young men were dragged from their beds, or simply taken straight off the streets. Then they were sent to a camp in Poland and you never heard anything of them again – and for the most part, we’d heard it said that a large number of these young Jews had been killed.

"At the editorial office in Amsterdam where I had worked, a Jewish woman photographer had regularly come in to offer photos for sale. She had sometimes shared a meal at home with us. From that original business acquaintanceship had grown a more or less casual friendship. Lily had taken our formal wedding photograph. When Hansje was born I sent her a card announcing the birth. My silent thoughts now went out to her. How would she make it through all this? Was there anything that we could do for her? If so, what? And now, all of a sudden, came the answer: “May I come and stay a little time with you? I am in great need.”"

"On Sunday Domie had read out a protest from the Synod[46] against the persecution of the Jews. On account of that piece and from all the other things they knew about him, our friend Bertram, who was travelling by train to Groningen, overheard a couple of NSB loyalists chatting about “...that Domie from the Hörn... such an unsuitable one for the young people. We must get rid of him.”"

"Through Elderling’s high windows I was viewing the wide land with the ripening grain peacefully basking in the afternoon sun while in Amsterdam despair reigned. There were thousands of people who saw no hope for themselves; the most desperate had brought an end to their own lives. And one of them had asked us to rescue her."

" ... This Samaritan ran the risk of having to pay for this act of charity with his own life, because the bandits could always catch up with him. In that mountainous region of Judea, life was never soft. It stands to reason that the priest and Levite were so keen to distance themselves from the wounded man, not because they were callous, unfeeling men, but out of raw fear for their own survival."

"Lily could be truly thankful unto Him that in the last mail collection of the day was an express letter to Amsterdam bearing the request, “Come to us as soon as possible on the last train out.”"

In the paragraph that follows, the author and protagonist firmly asserts that being true to her religion could have saved Germany from the evils of nazi ideology, without calling it evil, but in that she either forgets or deliberately lies, since it was church that preached a false propaganda against Jews for nearly two millennia blaming the subjects of Roman colonial occupation for the execution of one who was their own king.

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The book is more than 40% over before she is willing to deal with the issue.

"I suddenly realised that it did not make much difference if it were your own child or another’s. Our youth was truly exposed to this danger, and therefore an obligation fell upon those of us of the previous generation. For how could they begin to resist if we did not help them, and what gave us the right to say, “Don’t go!” if we afforded them no shelter nor stood as surety for them? The Russians only have to fight more fiercely, and the English and the Americans should accept the hazards and fly lower, face danger head on and risk being shot down, thereby losing their lives, but we don’t have to do anything, right? If only we could just sit here with our cup of ersatz coffee and listen to the radio news of how others are fixing up the world for us.

"We also must do what our hands find to do. We must commit to passive resistance. That was our duty. That was also our way of warfare; the only possible response, and furthermore the only one permissible. Not “taking up the sword” but a stiff passive resistance in a spirit of tough invincibility, a refusal to bow before the usurper who is violating our rights and our law."

"In recent times we really have got to know and believe in the incarnation of evil. Before that we were not so accustomed to it. Paradoxically, in the beginning there were some incidents of active opposition to the Germans. When the Jews by the thousands were robbed and led away in the most disgraceful and inhumane manner, a massive strike broke out spontaneously in Amsterdam. But little by little we got used to the oppression and started to weaken; we lay down and withdrew. But that means now evil has acquired even more power over us as a nation.

"The German people are busy heaping up great guilt upon themselves. Whosoever placidly and impassively quotes the first part of this prophecy in regard to the Jewish people and their exceptional history must seriously keep in mind the second part, and know that he, as a Christian, is accountable for the fate of his fellow men. Should everyone do his duty then nothing can harm us or our young men. As a nation we stand for each other; in unbroken fellowship we are made strong against the attacks of the aggressor. However, every step we go back means a step forward for the enemy. Always he is attempting to see how far he can go. He doesn’t make his attacks suddenly and openly, but cunningly, little by little, so that most people do not even know that he is busy stretching his net.

"At first there was just a very innocent looking piece of paper. You had to respond to one question asking if you had any Jewish ancestors. Most readily filled it in without thinking. After all, hadn’t they done that sort of thing in the past? What devious use was surely made of that information! Thus followed the immediate dismissal of all civil servants who had Jewish forebears. A new provision followed: one was no longer allowed to employ Jewish personnel in service; Jewish businesses were ‘expropriated’ or should I say ‘confiscated,’ sounding all very civilised, and an administrator was appointed for this purpose. The rightful owners, dispossessed of their property, were unceremoniously put out on the dyke.

"Shortly after that followed more rules: Jews could no longer travel, they could not own a radio, telephone nor bicycle, they could not make use of nor linger around trams, parks, hotels, cafés and other public places, and finally, they were not permitted to enter the homes of Aryans. So that they would be recognised everywhere, where they could be robbed and raids held against them with impunity, they were branded with a star. Ultimately they were outlawed altogether and handed over to the wicked lusts of their evil tormentors. Since Christians, especially the churches, are the salt of the earth, and the light of the lampstand[85], they must protest against this maltreatment of humanity. And they have done so. The attitude of the Church is unquestionably praiseworthy at this time. Now the wheat is separating from the chaff in almost apocalyptic terms."

The attitude of some, due more to humanity than to church. 

"Had we not yet learned enough from the methods they practised on the Jews? Must we learn the lesson all over again from scratch when it concerns our boys? The Church had protested against the forced deportation of labourers to Germany.

"“Just wait,” said the German authorities. “Now we shall take the sons of your bourgeoisie as well, who study here at the universities. Such a life of study is just a waste of time. Our own boys don’t do such meaningless things. They do useful work – they soldier for the Reich!” (Ja, really? Any genuine productive activity on their part is completely inconceivable!) “Aha... simple! Those little Dutch lords behind the front can at least be employed manufacturing our ammunition for us.”

"“What?” respond the young Dutch capitalists. “That would be treasonous action directed against our own country!”"

"“Alright! Shut their mouths by closing the universities, which are all hotbeds of resistance anyway. Bury those old fossils of their professors in a camp and have students sign a paper stating that they are all in accord with what we wish. When we’ve collected all the papers, then we’ll see. If they all sign, then it means that they are under obligation to be deported at any time and that we therefore have a free hand with them. We can thus take them without a fight. But if only a small number sign the paper, what can we then expect from this stubborn people? Make those ones’ reward to stay back home and the rest will have to be taken away. Among the few compliant ones we see no problems here however, because they most likely will be already members of the NSB.”

"Then the unexpected happened. The card system with all the names of the students registered at the university at Utrecht was destroyed in a fire. That was a drawback for the Germans but they would take their captives nevertheless, by the old tried and tested way they had utilised to catch so many Jews. They held raids in a street where many students lived. They came with police vans and hauled them from their beds during the night. Or they sealed off the university campus with its laboratories and instigated a manhunt within the cordon. Some students fled right up as far as the collar beams under the attic roofs, but in the minds of these minions of the devil resided no hint of shame over such a godforsaken practice. They took along their powerful torches, especially manufactured for a manhunt, and shone them into the darkest corners.

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Somewhere from 35% to 55% there is account of the pastorie hiding several people while the pastor went around helping many more, and those hiding in the garage had to be stunted more than once due to warnings. Some were caught while in Amsterdam due to betrayal by nazi sympathisers, and similar betrayal had the author and protagonist arrested during her second pregnancy, her first born toddler left with neighbours while the pastor was in hiding. This last was in May 1944. Nazis arrested a large number of people from Amsterdam around this time. They let her go soon, but not long after that, she heard of her husband being arrested through resistance grapevine, and having consulted likeminded neighbours, had to flee with her son.

"What my brother told me of the situation was very alarming. Domie had been seized in the company of two deserting German officers and an undercover Jew. At the ‘hearing’ they had pressed him to name names. To this end, they had mistreated him. His legs, nose and ears were all beaten with a truncheon. The Resistance was steadfastly working behind the scenes on Domie’s behalf, but for the present we stood before a solid wall that barred our passing. They had originally wanted to liberate him from the prison in Haarlem on the coming Saturday. All previous plans to this end had been very thoroughly prepared, but on the Friday he had suddenly been transferred to Amsterdam. They could not effect an escape from that infamous Gestapo prison on the Weteringschans. Ja... escape! Surely that had been their original plan. In the anonymous letter, they had communicated that something was about to happen, and as a consequence I had to change my address quickly. And now, to our dismay, they did not dare risk an attempt because he had been transferred to the formidable Weteringschans. Their surprise assault which one week ago would have succeeded, had failed to materialise. And now Domie was in the clutches of the enemy with no chance of rescue. I had no more words to express my distress, but fled to the loft of our family home where my brother now lived."

She got a letter from him through the resistance. A few excerpts here:-

"Such a lot has been going on behind the scenes to gain my freedom. But before the time arrived to be liberated (Friday afternoon was the plan) I was suddenly transferred to the Sicherheitsdienst HQ in Amsterdam. It became clearly apparent that unless Germany collapses within a couple of weeks, it was again looking hopeless for me, and for three others who were arrested with me. Still others (some deserting German officers in hiding) will be executed very soon, unless I can succeed to turn the whole affair and stretch it out by naming names of refugees, who are no longer at their previous addresses. That has partly worked: one of the three got away, but two others I’ve lost and are almost certainly no longer alive!"

"Moreover, it was almost unavoidable that they would finally get on the track of my plan to crack Westerbork wide open. Nevertheless, that’s something that I can morally justify and it all slotted together very nicely (using a team of 200 men) but in their eyes such an operation certainly falls within the scope of “terrorism”. And the captain certainly will not pardon that. Yet it has all worked out well; that there are no new victims. But two German soldiers by their desertion and supplying uniforms etc. can’t be saved, to my regret. (Those were the two which I referred to at the beginning)."

"I have been able to hold to my course for a very long time indeed, and know the satisfaction of having been able to save many lives. I have been consistent in the view that under this regime of marauding and pillaging the only legal way of living is illegal. That I’m a pacifist at the bottom of my heart does not mean that I am a coward. I’ve been a good fighter on the domestic front. And I hope that our children will later know that and learn to appreciate their father."

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The author had nightmares.

"Did that imagery come from the terrible news that I had only just heard, about Hungarian children? Of children aged two to eight years, of the same age range as Hansje and his five-year old friend."

"Now the recent news reported that six wagons crammed with Hungarian children aged between two and eight had been taken away and transported to the gas chambers of Kraków."

"Fourteen days ago I heard a report about 9000 Jews who were gassed in Poland."

"How much longer will this fight continue we ask ourselves every day? Today is August 6, 1944. The Allied armies have this very day overrun Brest, St. Nazaire and Le Mans and are on their way to Paris. Turkey has broken diplomatic and economic relations with Germany; the Soviet armies have emerged from their land of vast rolling steppes and are knocking on the door of East Prussia, Hungary, Romania and the Baltic States; American divisions have already passed through Avranches and are also storming the German positions at Florence. There is a well-founded hope that the end is near. And in that hope, we live."

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After a few weeks, she returned home to the pastorie, to the delight of the toddler son who showed his love for the home by running around. She got another letter from her husband. While she was bicycling to send her reply, village people told her there were Germans at the pastorie. She hurried back, only to be informed she had to vacate the house with minimal personal possessions, within half an hour, and they inspected the procedure. The family was then asked to leave the premises, and the Germans ransacked the house. Neighbours went in claiming the books belonged to the pastorie, and soon boys of the village were dragging the created books away to the church. For the rest the Germans ransacked the home completely. 

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After the Germans had robbed her home and left:-

"“Anyway... I feel no hatred,” I said. I could tell him that in all truth, because I meant it. They had been badly enslaved by a cursed regime that was doomed to be overthrown. They had been guilty of a grievous sin: the sin against the first commandment: Thou shalt have no other gods before Me. Thou shalt not bow down to them nor serve them. The latter had they certainly done instead of worshipping the God of our fathers and of the ancient Hebrews; they had made themselves gods of race, blood and soil, and even of the man who together with all his ‘Führer-sheep’ led them to fall into ruin. They had taken our property, but I would never wish to change places with them."

That explains the congress, led by descendents of nazis and fascists, turning some Indian words into abusive ones, which had made no sense whatsoever since their being applied in India was fraudulent.

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The protagonist and author was persuaded by well-wishers in the village to leave, for safety.

"Bare and unwelcoming seemed that familiar land; bleak and utterly lonely. My mood was therefore in like measure. Off we went again, my youngster and I, toward an unknown future. Because the pastorie, which had once offered me such hospitality, I no longer knew.

"But it would be ungrateful of me to express such thoughts to the Churchwarden’s son. We first drove to his daughter’s place. Her husband was in the prison camp at Amersfoort and he went to their farm every week to help supervise the work. From there I would go further by bike, with Hansje perched up front in the basket."

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"But this war is still ongoing and I had no home. And in the nights, the long nights, I thought of Domie. Because everything was taking so long! The liberation seemed so close, but the attack on the bridge at Arnhem with British paratroopers failed through the treachery of a Dutchman. Field-Marshall Montgomery had instructed him to pass on details of the landing zone to the Dutch underground army, but he was a spy and instead gave the message to the Germans. Now we had to face a long, long winter full of hunger and misery and agonising uncertainty.

"It’s September 25, the anniversary of our wedding day, and early morning finds me pouring out my heart on paper in the light of a small lamp. Would he also be thinking of this day, or would he know neither the date nor the time in that dark prison? And nine years ago, neither did we know what was ahead!"

She had another letter from him, towards end telling her he might be transported to Germany.

"Rain trickled down onto the balcony, right against the balcony door, then down to the canal below and soaked down through the bales of straw laden onto a canal boat that was slowly being punted forwards. Rain, rain. And everybody is digging. A whole line, from Zwolle to Delfzijl. No one can avoid the rain. In this emergency they’ll just have to suffer getting soaked through. From our community the men are away. And then there’s that young farmer, at whose home the Mice had once stayed. They took him away to a concentration camp too, which happened after they set a trap for his mother and sister. They’re digging now at Zwolle. The Netherlands has become a concentration camp in the cold, wet, everlasting rain, without any prospect of liberation. The Germans have held their positions for five weeks along our great rivers. It’s the middle of October. This week the boys wrote a letter, the contents of which amounted to this: “We have been devastated and cut off from you, but we long to return.”"

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"Little Dikkie was born under the roar of English aircraft and the shouts of German commandos on exercise in the Winschoten Hospital grounds. There still was no peace in the land when my son was born, despite all the favourable predictions to the contrary, and his own father was still languishing in prison. I won’t forget that trip to the hospital in the pale, dim light of a November morning. My thoughts were with Domie, as they always were. Occasionally, whenever I was not in too much pain, the doctor and I exchanged a few words en-route in the car."

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"Assumptions, guesses.

"Until one evening the doctor rang. He had received a message by telephone from my brother.

"At Veenendaal there was an exclusion zone. A couple of Dutchmen had entered the area that was off limits, and therefore were trespassing. A German shot at them; one of the Dutchmen returned fire and the German was wounded. In reprisal six prisoners were then selected and executed. Three from the Weteringschans, Amsterdam, and three from Utrecht."

"It was between four and five in the afternoon when the car stopped in the forests of Agterberg. The night was already falling. The November twilight faded behind the woodland. The voices of the German soldiers were the only sound that broke the silence. The trees stood motionless, like the pillars of a cathedral. A short, sharp command. Then twelve shots rang out and echoed around the edges of the forest. The mouth that had spoken that last blessing was closed forever."

"They departed, leaving their victims in the rain, which dripped mournfully onto the dense carpet of leaves. Nobody knew anything. It was all completely silent and had been carried out in secret. Yet that very same night my sister-in-law had a remarkable dream. She dreamed that she saw a strange funeral procession; a farm cart with a white cloth draped over it. My brother walked behind with a baby of 14 days in his arms. They had strewn flowers over the coffin. They were proceeding down a long hilly road when suddenly they were mortally terrified by rifle shots. “Oh, God,” she said softly. “They’ve killed another one!”

"When she awoke the next morning she related the dream to her daughter Margo who had helped Domie so faithfully in his undercover work. That was on Tuesday morning. On Wednesday morning that dream became reality. Domie was buried in the churchyard in Veenendaal without anyone knowing or coming to pay respects, laid out on a farm cart brought along the very road which she had seen in her dream. When she cycled along the same route on the following Saturday, after rumours of the terrible fact had penetrated her consciousness and she wanted to gather further information, she affirmed to Margo, “It was this road! This really was the road from my dream!”

"And how is it to be explained that during his imprisonment, some friends of Domie in Rotterdam, who had never before played Domie’s favourite gramophone recording of Cesar Franck, now did so on that very evening of 20th November?

"Two days later, in silence and reverence, some loyal Dutchmen dug in the churchyard at Veenendaal. No one knew who they were, but there were found in Domie’s sack a Bible full of notes and a hymn book with my name inside and a few letters. By these Domie could be identified. They therefore made the connection with my family."

"And finally, the letter of a friend from Amsterdam: On Wednesday morning we heard the terrible news, but we did not have confirmation. That we did get... however, not expressly, but from observing the conduct of official people and circumstances on the following Friday, when we had to fetch his laundry from the Weteringschans. At both the Weteringschans and in Euterpestraat where Jo has been, their evasive responses and terse “no comment” confirmed the truth that something irreparable had occurred."

"I walk through this ruined house with my ruined life, in barren, bitter desolation."

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It's unclear why one is so shocked and horrified at the treatment this family received from the occupying nazi forces, although one has read so very many of much more horrible accounts of nazi doings. Is it because one doesn't expect such treatment meted to a pastor and his family? Or is it because the authors pace has lulled one, with the first quarter immersed in the beauty of the land and the next in problems of logistics of hiding so many people?

After the death of the husband, the author is immersed completely in the account of her feelings and inner journey, whik e one is impatient to know how a lone young widow with two small babies managed to survive deprived of home, husband, property and almost everything. Where did she live, as the war raged on around? But she's going on the religion spree again, meshed with accounts of her memories of her husband. 

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Just before Xmas, the mayor of next town who was a collaborateur came to rob the pastorie of all that was left, including the coal stove. The village elders protested, so he returned some of the things, but left them at the Alm house, where he was told that no one was in need of them as much as the pastor's family.

"Furthermore, that he, now in his official capacity as Consulent, came to enquire about the key of the pastorie, because he had heard that it was in the mayor’s possession. At any rate, it was high time that I had a roof over my head and that my long peregrinations with two small children in tow, including a newborn, should now finally come to an end. To which the mayor replied, “Hard times, hard measures.” I wonder whether he will as glibly apply this philosophy to himself should like troubles come his way?"

Wonder if Dutch collaborateurs met anything akin to the reprisals meted out by French resistance to theirs?

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The village youth helped clean up the pastorie, and from various people in surrounding villages came gifts of necessities for the family to return to live at the pastorie. She recalled the husband's life and persona, thoughts and acts.

"Last year he shared an example of this after our Christmas dinner, when we had all the extended family together in the study. In a small hamlet in Hungary, he had attended a church service. He himself spoke there through an interpreter. At the end of the service he had a strong conviction that he had to part with the last of his cash and place it all in the church collection as a gift to God. But that was a very risky venture; he had nothing left. It was towards the end of the month, so in a couple of days I could telegraph part of my salary, but where would he live for those two days? Yet he had done it because he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. That afternoon he saw a small party of Hungarians coming toward him: two girls and a boy, who helped him push his heavily loaded bike up the mountainside. Along the way they naturally fell into a conversation. When they had reached the top, the young people told him,

"“In our country we have a tradition that when we meet a stranger who we find is friendly toward us, we give him one of the coins we have in our purse, as a kind of lucky coin. No, you must not refuse to take it, because it’s one of the good traditions of this country that you are passing through.”

"And a moment later he had several coins in his hand, which, when he afterward calculated their value, represented exactly double the amount that he had previously given in the church. He stood there for a moment, stunned at the outcome."

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"To this nightmare that we call war, an end has finally come. A very unreal and anticlimactic end.

"On a May morning back in 1940, at the dawn of the day, we were startled by the roar of German airborne divisions flying overhead. The first German ground troops invaded our border shortly after that; a few scouting outriders on their bikes, everywhere spying for the soldiers who themselves arrived armed to the teeth, and carrying a grenade in each hand, ready to throw them. We had got dressed and were standing on the stoep in front of our house.

"Wo ist die Schule? they shouted to us, whereupon we turned our backs and retreated inside. A feeling of nameless dread kept me feeling trapped.

"And so it had begun."

"Now, it is 16 April, 1945. I am standing again on the stoep, but this time I am standing there alone. There was some exchange of fire, short but intense. Then the fast Canadian tanks rumbled past. And it became quiet once more. We have been liberated. People came out of their hiding places and looked rather surprised in the broad light of day. This is an April afternoon lit by a hazy sun. The tower clock has stopped at five minutes past two; the moment when it was shot to pieces.

"Now it has to come, even for me. The whole atmosphere already spoke of expectation and for days in advance hundreds of people have been passing through here already, all of whom have come back over the border, heading for home. Now it was really all over."

"“But we can’t live without you – the children and I can’t and neither can our church.”

"At my words, he smiled. “I’m not really leaving you,” he said. “Did Stephen ever really depart from the first Christian church? The blood of the martyrs is indeed the seed of the Church. What my life could never achieve, God now will perhaps do through my death and so I will not have died for nothing.”

"“For nothing! Think of all the lives you’ve saved! Sometimes people ask me if it was worth the price.”

"“Whoever is constrained by the love of Christ, does not count the cost,” he said. “Someone once hung on a cross. He was a Jew. He hung there for us, for Aryans, for you and for me. Were we worth it? That Jesus died for us?”"

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January 11, 2020 - January 16, 2020.

ISBN: 978-1-911473-77-0
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