Born 1942, Haarlem, the Netherlands
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Just after the war started in the Netherlands in 1940, my parents moved to a house on a quiet tree-lined street in the town of Haarlem, about 15 miles to the west of Amsterdam. Life was as normal as you could expect under the circumstances: wartime, occupation, the persecution of Jews.
A large Jewish family lived across the street from us. The father was the president of the Jewish community in Haarlem. The family consisted of the parents, their seven adult children, and one set of grandparents. The house was nicknamed “The House with Elastic Walls.” On Shabbat, they sometimes had 20 people staying over, and even more people for Shabbat dinner. Our family was always invited, and we became very good friends.
When I was born in 1942, one of their daughters, Selma, often walked across the street to give my mom a hand whenever needed. One day, when I was about five months old, Selma was standing with me in her arms, looking out of the window facing her house. She saw a truck stop in front of her house and watched her whole family get rounded up, pushed on to the truck, and driven away. One of her brothers later escaped. From that time on, Selma stayed with my family. My family and Selma went into hiding soon after that horrible incident.
Selma took care of me, taught me how to walk and talk, and made the most beautiful doll as a present for my second birthday. From our days in hiding, I always remember her sweet smiling face and all the attention she gave me.
After we were liberated in 1945, Selma found out that her whole family, except the brother who had escaped, had been murdered in Auschwitz. Selma got married and adopted a brother and sister, two Jewish war orphans. Selma and her husband decided not to have children of their own so that they could give all of their attention to those children who had suffered such great losses.
I spent most of my summers with Selma and her family and loved it. My parents had decided not to talk about the war. They did not want to burden their children. I always had a lot of questions but I saved them until it was summer again because Selma was always willing to answer and explain. I realized much later how careful she was with her answers, in order not to step on my parents’ toes.
Selma dreamed for many years of making aliya to Israel. After her husband passed away, she did just that at the age of 82. Before she left Holland, I visited her with my whole family to say good-bye. My husband and daughters had met Selma, but we now had two sons-in-law and a granddaughter, Miriam—the same name as Selma’s mother. It was so important for me that my family know Selma and my special feelings for her.
Selma loved living in Israel and she was very close to her son and his children, who had moved there a few years before. My husband and I visited her every other year and it was always like we had seen her just the day before. We spoke often on the telephone and shared our lives in that way. In the independent living apartment building where she lived, she was a ray of sunshine for the other elderly people.
Selma passed away in 2003, but her warmth and love will always stay with me. I was so lucky to have had her friendship, and I consider her my best friend.
©2006, Louise Lawrence-Israels. The text, images, and audio and video clips on this Web site are available for limited non-commercial, educational, and personal use only, or for fair use as defined in the United States copyright laws.
Light is important in my life. We only have a dormer window, too high for a little girl to look outside. We get up in the morning when a strip of light shines through that window and when the window looks black, Mama quickly closes the blackout curtain and that is the time I love, watching Mama.
Mama is so careful with the candles; she makes new tall candles from tiny leftover candle stumps. I can see her hands as she carefully places a candle on top of the flame, holding it until the wax melts on the bottom and glues onto the leftover candle. This process fascinates me. The candle makes the room festive and warm.
At the end of every afternoon, I cannot wait until it gets dark. Since I am little I do not realize that the electricity does not work anymore and that the candles are our only source of light at the end of a day.
Mama has an old shoebox full of candle stumps. Every night she pulls the box out of the cupboard, and I wonder what she is going to do this time. We all stare into the flame and I hope that Mama will let me stay up for a little while longer.
How strange it is to see now that you can flip a switch to get light in your room. We miss the candles, but Mama keeps her box with leftovers carefully in a safe place. On stormy nights when the electric lamps flicker, we will have candlelight again.
I love the holiday Chanukkah, especially on the eighth day when we light eight candles, and the shammus*: nine flames—what a wealth.
Even today I have a shoebox in our cupboard, full of candle stumps. You never know when you will need light.
* The shammus, or helper candle, is used to light the other eight Chanukkah candles.
©2011, Louise Lawrence-Israels. The text, images, and audio and video clips on this Web site are available for limited non-commercial, educational, and personal use only, or for fair use as defined in the United States copyright laws.
May 5, 1945—the war in Holland is over. My parents and Selma, our friend, are so happy. My brother and I understand that the atmosphere in our attic is changing, but we do not understand the exact reason for the smiles on the faces of the three adults. My dad is running to the cupboard to get our last tin of cookies. Those cookies have helped us during the hunger winter, when we did not have much to eat. Dad opens the tin and puts it on the floor, and he tells us we can eat as many cookies as we like. That is fun. With a cookie in each hand we do not know where to start. After one cookie we are not hungry anymore and we put the other cookies back for next time. This must be the meaning of peace, eating cookies, we think.
It is about two days later and my mom says we are going outside. First, we have to go down four steep flights of stairs. It feels strange since I have never done it before. Then we arrive outside and there is the park. We have been living across from this park for three years. I am holding my brother’s hand very tightly, I am really scared. Where are the walls? Everything is open. My parents say, “Play, children, and breathe in the fresh air.” I am looking at my brother and I think I do not want this peace. I want to go home, I start crying. My brother must be thinking the same thing and he also starts crying. My parents are sad, but they take us back home. We forget our visit to the park and are happy again.
About two days later we are told that we will be going outside for a walk. There are so many people on the street, nobody is looking at us, but we still do not feel happy and are holding on to one another. We are used to the company of three adults. Who are all these people? Our parents talk to us and tell us that we are doing well and that we will be going out every day. Again we are happy to be home. Do we have to go out? All those people we do not know, they do not say a word to us.
About a week later, during our daily walk, we see other people. We see young men in uniform and they are smiling at us. They also talk to us, but we do not know what they are saying. They use words we have never heard before. They make us feel good, they are so friendly. We are still holding on to each other, but we smile back. Then these men in uniform reach into their pockets, their hands come out with Hershey bars, and they give one to each of us. We look at our mom—can we accept this? Mom nods her head and we try our first piece of chocolate. It tastes so good.
Our parents do not have trouble taking us outside after this. The friendly smiles and words, which we do not understand, make us trust people for the first time.
Note: The Canadian army liberated Amsterdam. I have never forgotten the friendliness of those soldiers and have always had a special place in my heart for them. I met one of our liberators a few months ago and was finally able to thank him for liberating us and the soldiers for letting a little girl trust people with their smiles.
©2011, Louise Lawrence-Israels. The text, images, and audio and video clips on this Web site are available for limited non-commercial, educational, and personal use only, or for fair use as defined in the United States copyright laws.
