Gisteren kreeg ik van mijn achterneef (of eigenlijk van de kleinzoon van mijn vaders neef) een brief doorgestuurd met foto’s van twee meisjes, die beide tot de Joodse Verveer familie hebben behoord, maar in de Holocaust zijn afgevoerd naar de kampen, en daar vermoord in de gas kamers. De brief was van een juffrouw die over de Joodse kinderen wou schrijven die de kampen niet hebben overleeft, en vroeg aan de restanten van de familie Verveer die wel zo gelukkig waren om levend de oorlog door te komen, of wij bezwaar hadden dat deze foto’s gepubliceerd worden in haar boek.
Twee gedachten over deze brief, ten eerste, waar voor niet, als het niet helpt het doet ook geen schade, en dit is een mooie manier om de slachtoffers te herdenken, maar mijn tweede gedachte was meer op mijn zelf gericht, kijk twee jonge meisjes, achter nichten van mij, zijn vermoord door de moffen als straf voor wat? Wat hebben ze in hemelsnaam fout gedaan, dat ze vergast werden, in deze moderne wereld.
Waar waren jullie Hollanders, die mee gewerkt hebben zodat de SS en de NSB deze kinderen kon oppakken, afvoeren en vermoorden? Hoe kunnen we zo een misdaad stilletjes aanvaarden, het excuus, ik was er nog niet, nog niet geboren, of mijn oom had Joden onderduikers in huis, zijn eigenlijk geen geldige humane excuses, jullie “Nederland” hadden de welvaart van hun burgers moeten garanderen, daarvoor waren wij burgers in het koninkrijk.
En nu, bijna 70 jaar later, de restanten van onze familie, die over het merendeel gevlucht zijn uit Holland, niet uit angst voor de moffen, maar uit angst voor hun medeburgers de Nederlander, die zijn Joodse buur heeft verraden.
Een groot deel van deze stille Joodse vluchtelingen zijn uitgeweken naar Israel, en daar voor de vrijheid van hun volk en land gevochten. Maar het geheugen van de Nederlander is kort, enorm kort, de synagoge in den Haag wordt aan de Islamieten gegeven, en staan daar nu twee minaretten op, met het excuus, er zijn geen Joden meer in den Haag. Maar dat is misschien te emotioneel van mij, alhoewel als ik het vergelijk met de geste van het publiceren van die twee Jodinnetjes, ik het gevoel heb dat jullie geen greintje van eerbied hebben voor de slachtoffers van de Holocaust.
Ben ik te gevoelig, overdrijf ik? Ik denk het niet.
Showing posts with label holocaust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holocaust. Show all posts
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
De Minaretten affair
De Minaretten affair
Door David Verveer
Toen een paar dagen geleden de Zwitser tegen het bouwen van minaretten stemden, en de reacties van discriminatie, bijval enz. de Internet vol zetten, besloot ik te wachten, voor dat ik mijn eigen persoonlijke mening zou uiten, die op zich zelf, heel weinig te maken heeft met de Islam en Europa, maar meer met de houding van de Nederlander ten opzichte van de herinnering aan de uit geroeiden Joodse Hagenaars, en de kleine restjes van Joden die de oorlog hebben overleefd en tijdelijk terug kwamen naar hun stad,Den Haag.
Ik schreef tijdelijk,want de meeste Joden pakten hun spulletjes op en zijn inmiddels geïmmigreerd naar Israël, Verenigde Staten, Canada, Australië, Zuid Afrika, enz. Meeste van de Joden die zijn gebleven, proberen hun afkomst te vergeten, en denken dat als ze niet opvallend Joods doen, Nederlands hun weer als vol zal accepteren, maar ik dwaal af, dit is niet het onderwerp dat ik wil bespreken, iedereen heeft het recht om zijn eigen nest zo in ter richten dat hij zich thuis voelt, en dat gaat niemand anders wat aan,
Je zult je wel afvragen wat heeft dit te maken met de Zwitsers en hun vreemde vorm van democratie, die alle seinen heeft van discriminatie, en in principe heeft dit niets te maken met de verdwenen Joodse gemeente in Den Haag, maar dan komen mijn gevoelens boven, die terug denken aan mijn jeugd jaren in Den Haag van na de oorlog, en onze ongeregelde bezoeken aan de grote sjoel (synagoge) in de Wagen straat, wat in onze ogen het centrum was van Joods zijn, zo als de Tempel was voor de Joden 2.000 jaren geleden. Dit heeft geen jota te maken met vroom of gelovig te zijn, dit was onze verbinding met het Joodse volk, het centrum van de Zionistische verenigingen, de plaats waar mijn Bar Mitsva gevierd werd, in kort het Joods centrum.
Intussen groeiden wij op, van kinderen die heel weinig van hun geloof en stam wisten, groeiden we langzaam en zeker, tot de overtuiging dat we niet in ons eigen land waren, als kind verwarde ik de kruisvaarders als helden, samen met helden daden van Joodse helden uit de bijbel en van heden, in Israël.
Veel begreep ik daar niet van, daar als kind, probeer je jezelf aan te passen aan de omgeving, en mijn omgeving waren kinderen die of Protestant of Katholiek waren, en in principe niet veel verschilden van ons, de Joodse niet religieuze kinderen.
Zelde werd ik voor Rot Jood uit gescholden, niet omdat zo iets toen niet bestond, maar kon men niet aan mijn uiterlijk zien dat ik een Joods kind was, en na de oorlog werd het Joods probleem heel weinig besproken, waarschijnlijk omdat het een zeer punt was bij de Hollanders.
Intussen groeide ik op tot een leeftijd dat ik zelf mocht beslissen waar en wat ik wil doen met mijn leven, en besloot ik om naar Israël te immigreren, daar ik mij persoonlijk steeds minder thuis voelde in Nederland, dit is geen verwijt aan Nederland en zijn bevolking, maar een gevoel van niet er bij te behoren, en als kudde dier, voelt men het beste als je er uit ziet en voelt net zo als je omgeving.
Jaren gingen voor bij, tot ik de gelegenheid had om Den Haag weer te bezoeken, en als een goede zoon, zocht ik de gevel van een winkel in de Wagenstraat waar op stond geschreven, dat dit gebouw was gebouwd bij Architect Emanuel Verveer, mijn vader die in de oorlog was gefusilleerd door de moffen, als verzetsstrijder. Natuurlijk ging ik ook kijken naar onze vertrouwde sjoel, toen ik tot mijn grote schrik zag dat de sjoel nu twee minaretten had gekregen en een moskee was geworden. En ik moet eerlijk zeggen, dat kwam als een grote schok, niet alleen dat symbolisch, het Jodendom was verdreven door de Islam, maar ook de onsmakelijke houding van de Nederlandse regering en de gemeente Den Haag, die dit hebben toegestaan.
Weten jullie dat Den Haag had de tweede grootste Joodse Gemeente in Nederland, waar nu de grote winkel centra zijn in Den Haag, rond de Spuistraat woonden voor de oorlog voor meer dan twee eeuwen een grote en bloeiende gemeenschap, die veel heeft gedaan voor de commerciële vooruitgang van Den Haag. Al dit is uit gewist, niet alleen door de moffen, maar ook door acties zo als het bouwen van minaretten op onze sjoel. Er is heel weinig te vinden om ons aan de Joodse gemeente in Den Haag te herinneren, ergens in een kelder is een plaat, een monument of een naam plaatje, maar Den Haag heeft zijn Joodse medeburgers totaal vergeten, en Hitler zijn programma om het Jodendom uit te wissen is zeer zeker gelukt in Den Haag.
Ik heb niets tegen minaretten, hier in Israël zijn er duizenden, er meestal erg mooi en fleuren te omgeving op, ik vind dat iedereen vrij moet zijn in wat hij geloofd of niet geloofd, dat is ieders eigen recht, ik denk dat de Zwitsers fout zijn in hun beslissing, en de mensen die schreeuwen in Nederland om deze beslissing ook in Nederland te maken, net zo fout zijn, maar mij doen de minaretten op de grote sjoel van Den Haag pijn, dat is een van de meest ongevoelige beslissingen die de overheid in Holland ooit heeft gemaakt, maar ja, ik heb geen rechten meer in Nederland.
Door David Verveer
Toen een paar dagen geleden de Zwitser tegen het bouwen van minaretten stemden, en de reacties van discriminatie, bijval enz. de Internet vol zetten, besloot ik te wachten, voor dat ik mijn eigen persoonlijke mening zou uiten, die op zich zelf, heel weinig te maken heeft met de Islam en Europa, maar meer met de houding van de Nederlander ten opzichte van de herinnering aan de uit geroeiden Joodse Hagenaars, en de kleine restjes van Joden die de oorlog hebben overleefd en tijdelijk terug kwamen naar hun stad,Den Haag.
Ik schreef tijdelijk,want de meeste Joden pakten hun spulletjes op en zijn inmiddels geïmmigreerd naar Israël, Verenigde Staten, Canada, Australië, Zuid Afrika, enz. Meeste van de Joden die zijn gebleven, proberen hun afkomst te vergeten, en denken dat als ze niet opvallend Joods doen, Nederlands hun weer als vol zal accepteren, maar ik dwaal af, dit is niet het onderwerp dat ik wil bespreken, iedereen heeft het recht om zijn eigen nest zo in ter richten dat hij zich thuis voelt, en dat gaat niemand anders wat aan,
Je zult je wel afvragen wat heeft dit te maken met de Zwitsers en hun vreemde vorm van democratie, die alle seinen heeft van discriminatie, en in principe heeft dit niets te maken met de verdwenen Joodse gemeente in Den Haag, maar dan komen mijn gevoelens boven, die terug denken aan mijn jeugd jaren in Den Haag van na de oorlog, en onze ongeregelde bezoeken aan de grote sjoel (synagoge) in de Wagen straat, wat in onze ogen het centrum was van Joods zijn, zo als de Tempel was voor de Joden 2.000 jaren geleden. Dit heeft geen jota te maken met vroom of gelovig te zijn, dit was onze verbinding met het Joodse volk, het centrum van de Zionistische verenigingen, de plaats waar mijn Bar Mitsva gevierd werd, in kort het Joods centrum.
Intussen groeiden wij op, van kinderen die heel weinig van hun geloof en stam wisten, groeiden we langzaam en zeker, tot de overtuiging dat we niet in ons eigen land waren, als kind verwarde ik de kruisvaarders als helden, samen met helden daden van Joodse helden uit de bijbel en van heden, in Israël.
Veel begreep ik daar niet van, daar als kind, probeer je jezelf aan te passen aan de omgeving, en mijn omgeving waren kinderen die of Protestant of Katholiek waren, en in principe niet veel verschilden van ons, de Joodse niet religieuze kinderen.
Zelde werd ik voor Rot Jood uit gescholden, niet omdat zo iets toen niet bestond, maar kon men niet aan mijn uiterlijk zien dat ik een Joods kind was, en na de oorlog werd het Joods probleem heel weinig besproken, waarschijnlijk omdat het een zeer punt was bij de Hollanders.
Intussen groeide ik op tot een leeftijd dat ik zelf mocht beslissen waar en wat ik wil doen met mijn leven, en besloot ik om naar Israël te immigreren, daar ik mij persoonlijk steeds minder thuis voelde in Nederland, dit is geen verwijt aan Nederland en zijn bevolking, maar een gevoel van niet er bij te behoren, en als kudde dier, voelt men het beste als je er uit ziet en voelt net zo als je omgeving.
Jaren gingen voor bij, tot ik de gelegenheid had om Den Haag weer te bezoeken, en als een goede zoon, zocht ik de gevel van een winkel in de Wagenstraat waar op stond geschreven, dat dit gebouw was gebouwd bij Architect Emanuel Verveer, mijn vader die in de oorlog was gefusilleerd door de moffen, als verzetsstrijder. Natuurlijk ging ik ook kijken naar onze vertrouwde sjoel, toen ik tot mijn grote schrik zag dat de sjoel nu twee minaretten had gekregen en een moskee was geworden. En ik moet eerlijk zeggen, dat kwam als een grote schok, niet alleen dat symbolisch, het Jodendom was verdreven door de Islam, maar ook de onsmakelijke houding van de Nederlandse regering en de gemeente Den Haag, die dit hebben toegestaan.
Weten jullie dat Den Haag had de tweede grootste Joodse Gemeente in Nederland, waar nu de grote winkel centra zijn in Den Haag, rond de Spuistraat woonden voor de oorlog voor meer dan twee eeuwen een grote en bloeiende gemeenschap, die veel heeft gedaan voor de commerciële vooruitgang van Den Haag. Al dit is uit gewist, niet alleen door de moffen, maar ook door acties zo als het bouwen van minaretten op onze sjoel. Er is heel weinig te vinden om ons aan de Joodse gemeente in Den Haag te herinneren, ergens in een kelder is een plaat, een monument of een naam plaatje, maar Den Haag heeft zijn Joodse medeburgers totaal vergeten, en Hitler zijn programma om het Jodendom uit te wissen is zeer zeker gelukt in Den Haag.
Ik heb niets tegen minaretten, hier in Israël zijn er duizenden, er meestal erg mooi en fleuren te omgeving op, ik vind dat iedereen vrij moet zijn in wat hij geloofd of niet geloofd, dat is ieders eigen recht, ik denk dat de Zwitsers fout zijn in hun beslissing, en de mensen die schreeuwen in Nederland om deze beslissing ook in Nederland te maken, net zo fout zijn, maar mij doen de minaretten op de grote sjoel van Den Haag pijn, dat is een van de meest ongevoelige beslissingen die de overheid in Holland ooit heeft gemaakt, maar ja, ik heb geen rechten meer in Nederland.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
the Pope and I
The Pope and me
By David Verveer
Today, the Pope is coming to visit us here in Israel, and indeed, as head of state and leader of the Roman Catholics, he should be treated with the Red Carpet protocol with trumpets and guards of honor. Our President, Prime Minister and other important people will be there to welcome him and tell him that we are happy with his kind gesture to come and visit us, 60 + years after his native people finished slaughtering our brethren.
Of course, we can not blame this German priest for the wrong doing of the Nazi beast; he was at the time only 16 years old, and member of the Hitler Jugend, the Nazi youth group. His participation or non-participation as young boy in extermination of the Jews would not have made any difference, and sure, more than 60 years have passed for him to regret his miniscule role in this sad era, I personally do not hate him for that.
But something peculiar is happening on his holy-land tour, instead of asking our forgiveness for this sad era, his deeds and un- holy thoughts, this ultra conservative German prince of the Christian World, comes here to criticize us, to tell us how to treat the Palestinians, at the same time, his rulings on issues such as his opposing to the use of condoms (while Aids are daily killing thousands of good Catholic Africans every day), the same representative of God on our earth, who declares homo sexually people, mentally ill. Could it be that this priest has doubts on God's creations, as the homo sexual is just like his holiness him self, a product of creation (or is my logic betraying me).
He is the last person on earth to be critical of the Jews and Israel, both because his murky past and human consideration with the plight of others. This un-clean person is today paying a visit to Yad va Shem, the Holocaust museum, to pay his tribute to the crimes of his countrymen 60+ years ago, and of course, he will claim innocence, like all Germans he will say something in the genre of "Ich habe es nicht gewust".
Does his holiness realize on his historical pilgrimage, that his God was a full blood, pedigreed Jew, as were his disciples, including Saint Paul, all with 4 Jewish Grand Parents? We should realize that this dictator who rules the Catholics world-wide is a watered down replica of the popes during the crusades, whose visit to the Holocaust memorial museum is an insult to their memory.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Thank God I am an Israeli, living in Israel!
Thank God, I am an Israeli, living in Israel!
By David Verveer
I just finished to read 200 reactions on an article by a Dutch Journalist, Jaap Hamburger, who consider himself in having objective opinions on Israel and Israeli policies, specially concerning Israeli treatment of the Palestinians (Arabs) living in and around Israel. The article was published in the Dutch daily, de Volkskrant, and received more than 200 reactions, opinions of extremists against and pro Israeli, with arguments based on religion, history, racism and mostly, insufficient data based on propaganda media proclaimed by all sides involved in the conflict.
Clearly, this discussion is an intellectual exercise which has no influence, what so ever on the situation, but today, with the existence of the Internet, people are free to try to convince others of their insight on the crimes and behavior of those terrible Israelis / Arabs, etc.
Don't worry, I am not going to add to this my one-sided opinion on our rights (Israeli) and why we do what we do, and are rather successful in doing it. This letter has an entire different purpose, I am trying to show you that I became Israeli and Zionist, not because of having a feeling of superiority on other people, but due to what happened to me, during my life-time, I can put my trust only in people of my kind, as I was a stranger (and fugitive) in my native country, "the Netherlands".
I was born one year before the German invasion of Holland, and being only three years old (and one day), I was taken into hiding, and during 3 years, I was moved from one place to the other, when the last place became unsafe (neighbors talking and traitors living near by). I was saved by good Dutchmen, who risked their own life in order to save mine. The last 1 and half years I lived in a village near Leiden, in the house of a Protestant church alder, in the middle of the German Army Division Head quarter, which had taken over the neighborhood. The fact that I survived was mainly because we lived in the middle of the spider web, a place were they did not count the number of children next door, and the SS hesitated in entering.
The war ended, and the war-worn country was run by the Allies, who put restriction on traveling. My mother, who had been hiding in the north of the country, in order to find her family, had to fight to get travel permits put upon her by the Allies, but mostly fight the Dutch civil administration, who during the war served the German, and now again carried on as loyal civil servants. Letters and permits issued by these Dutch clerks showed that anti-Semitism is something you can learn, but not lose.
My father, an civil engineer and architect was caught by the SS and murdered in October 1944, when in service of the résistance, tried to prepare drawings of the famous Ijsel Line, a design of critical dikes systems, which if bombarded, would put half of Holland underwater, and complicate the Germans from retreating with their tanks, back over the German border.
I am one of four children, three boys and one girl. My sister who is the youngest, was not as lucky as me, and was arrested by the Germans (she was nearly two years old at that time), and transported to the concentration camps, which she survived. A documentary was made of this called "the unknown children".
After liberation, she was send back to Holland by the Red Cross, and after uniting for a weekend with my mother, sent to Switzerland to recover and strengthen.
My older brothers also survived, and were sent for recuperation to Denmark.
I was nor so lucky, suffering from a skin disease, the Red cross did not accept me, and my mother and me received a temporary home in the village from where we fled 3 and a half years earlier. Our previous prewar (rented) house was still standing empty with our own furniture inside, but the wise civil administration decided that a woman with one child does not have to live in a big house, and should live in a leaking wooden summer house, in the middle of the woods, during a severe winters (1945 / 6)
The family was united in 1946, when my mother was appointed director of a Jewish parent home, which served at the time as first stage collection center for Jews surviving camps and returning to Holland. I don't have to explain that this was not an ideal place to bring up children, having them selves suffered sufficient traumas to last a lifetime.
Only in 1947, my murdered father was recognized as War hero and resistance fighter, and we were allotted a pension that enabled my mother to move to a flat and start rebuilding the family. We never became a normal family, and about 8 years later, the family fall apart, when one brother immigrating to Israel, the other brother in the Dutch Army sent to Suriname (S.A), and me, going to England to study Agriculture. My mother and sister remained together in Holland.
None of us remained in Holland, as we felt not belonging, not trusting anybody and un-equal with our neighbors. Not that we suffered anti Semitism, but we were and are treated as "outsiders", and the few Jews who remained in Holland know either that I am right in this observation, or try to deny this and remain an outsider for life.
And now, I finally reach the reason of writing all this, Israel provides me with a feeling of belonging, I am here because this are my people, here I can do something against being hunted as animal because religion and race. Of course I do not agree with every political move of the Israeli Government, of course I don’t agree with any extremist from either side, but I am home, this is my country, which we fought for and succeeded in creating against all odds. We did not get the country as present from anybody, just the opposite; nobody made it easy for us.
How irrelevant and stupid are arguments from all sides in the Dutch, English or US papers, "promised land", Arab Palestinians, Israeli Arabs, discrimination, this one said, that one wrote, all bull-shit, Israel is a relative democratic society, existing in the middle of a sea of dictatorial and autocratic regimes, trying to be human, even though sometimes our behavior sounds illogical, remember we are here, we stay here and we have no other choice in being always the strongest, as we don't have the luxury of losing. Remember, the Europeans ousted us, not by a decision of the Spanish Monarch in 1492, but by allowing the Nazi beast to kill 7 million of my people.
We made true the phrase "never again" by creating our own fortress, not perfect, but independent, our current enemy fights us and tries to terrorizes us, but we are able to defend ourselves, we hit back, we do not have to go into hiding, we are not hunted as animals. The Europeans, or anybody else in the Diaspora, can not give us such assurance, the Islam is invading you and slowly but surely, you are losing your democracies, your freedom and right to live, and you will have to fight to regain your freedom, just as we did and do, and the sooner the better you need to realize that your criticism of our policies will not save you, nor spare you.
By David Verveer
I just finished to read 200 reactions on an article by a Dutch Journalist, Jaap Hamburger, who consider himself in having objective opinions on Israel and Israeli policies, specially concerning Israeli treatment of the Palestinians (Arabs) living in and around Israel. The article was published in the Dutch daily, de Volkskrant, and received more than 200 reactions, opinions of extremists against and pro Israeli, with arguments based on religion, history, racism and mostly, insufficient data based on propaganda media proclaimed by all sides involved in the conflict.
Clearly, this discussion is an intellectual exercise which has no influence, what so ever on the situation, but today, with the existence of the Internet, people are free to try to convince others of their insight on the crimes and behavior of those terrible Israelis / Arabs, etc.
Don't worry, I am not going to add to this my one-sided opinion on our rights (Israeli) and why we do what we do, and are rather successful in doing it. This letter has an entire different purpose, I am trying to show you that I became Israeli and Zionist, not because of having a feeling of superiority on other people, but due to what happened to me, during my life-time, I can put my trust only in people of my kind, as I was a stranger (and fugitive) in my native country, "the Netherlands".
I was born one year before the German invasion of Holland, and being only three years old (and one day), I was taken into hiding, and during 3 years, I was moved from one place to the other, when the last place became unsafe (neighbors talking and traitors living near by). I was saved by good Dutchmen, who risked their own life in order to save mine. The last 1 and half years I lived in a village near Leiden, in the house of a Protestant church alder, in the middle of the German Army Division Head quarter, which had taken over the neighborhood. The fact that I survived was mainly because we lived in the middle of the spider web, a place were they did not count the number of children next door, and the SS hesitated in entering.
The war ended, and the war-worn country was run by the Allies, who put restriction on traveling. My mother, who had been hiding in the north of the country, in order to find her family, had to fight to get travel permits put upon her by the Allies, but mostly fight the Dutch civil administration, who during the war served the German, and now again carried on as loyal civil servants. Letters and permits issued by these Dutch clerks showed that anti-Semitism is something you can learn, but not lose.
My father, an civil engineer and architect was caught by the SS and murdered in October 1944, when in service of the résistance, tried to prepare drawings of the famous Ijsel Line, a design of critical dikes systems, which if bombarded, would put half of Holland underwater, and complicate the Germans from retreating with their tanks, back over the German border.
I am one of four children, three boys and one girl. My sister who is the youngest, was not as lucky as me, and was arrested by the Germans (she was nearly two years old at that time), and transported to the concentration camps, which she survived. A documentary was made of this called "the unknown children".
After liberation, she was send back to Holland by the Red Cross, and after uniting for a weekend with my mother, sent to Switzerland to recover and strengthen.
My older brothers also survived, and were sent for recuperation to Denmark.
I was nor so lucky, suffering from a skin disease, the Red cross did not accept me, and my mother and me received a temporary home in the village from where we fled 3 and a half years earlier. Our previous prewar (rented) house was still standing empty with our own furniture inside, but the wise civil administration decided that a woman with one child does not have to live in a big house, and should live in a leaking wooden summer house, in the middle of the woods, during a severe winters (1945 / 6)
The family was united in 1946, when my mother was appointed director of a Jewish parent home, which served at the time as first stage collection center for Jews surviving camps and returning to Holland. I don't have to explain that this was not an ideal place to bring up children, having them selves suffered sufficient traumas to last a lifetime.
Only in 1947, my murdered father was recognized as War hero and resistance fighter, and we were allotted a pension that enabled my mother to move to a flat and start rebuilding the family. We never became a normal family, and about 8 years later, the family fall apart, when one brother immigrating to Israel, the other brother in the Dutch Army sent to Suriname (S.A), and me, going to England to study Agriculture. My mother and sister remained together in Holland.
None of us remained in Holland, as we felt not belonging, not trusting anybody and un-equal with our neighbors. Not that we suffered anti Semitism, but we were and are treated as "outsiders", and the few Jews who remained in Holland know either that I am right in this observation, or try to deny this and remain an outsider for life.
And now, I finally reach the reason of writing all this, Israel provides me with a feeling of belonging, I am here because this are my people, here I can do something against being hunted as animal because religion and race. Of course I do not agree with every political move of the Israeli Government, of course I don’t agree with any extremist from either side, but I am home, this is my country, which we fought for and succeeded in creating against all odds. We did not get the country as present from anybody, just the opposite; nobody made it easy for us.
How irrelevant and stupid are arguments from all sides in the Dutch, English or US papers, "promised land", Arab Palestinians, Israeli Arabs, discrimination, this one said, that one wrote, all bull-shit, Israel is a relative democratic society, existing in the middle of a sea of dictatorial and autocratic regimes, trying to be human, even though sometimes our behavior sounds illogical, remember we are here, we stay here and we have no other choice in being always the strongest, as we don't have the luxury of losing. Remember, the Europeans ousted us, not by a decision of the Spanish Monarch in 1492, but by allowing the Nazi beast to kill 7 million of my people.
We made true the phrase "never again" by creating our own fortress, not perfect, but independent, our current enemy fights us and tries to terrorizes us, but we are able to defend ourselves, we hit back, we do not have to go into hiding, we are not hunted as animals. The Europeans, or anybody else in the Diaspora, can not give us such assurance, the Islam is invading you and slowly but surely, you are losing your democracies, your freedom and right to live, and you will have to fight to regain your freedom, just as we did and do, and the sooner the better you need to realize that your criticism of our policies will not save you, nor spare you.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Third of September 1942
Third of September 1942
By David Verveer
Introduction
Even though, I spend approximately 3 years of my life in hiding from the Nazis, I never wanted nor could talk about this time. The reason for this, I presume that I did not want to think about the subject, and by keeping quiet about it, I removed the emotional distress, until I passed the age of 60, my children and specially my grand children never heard from me anything about the Holocaust, and all conversations and questions on the subject, I answered that I had been lucky that I survived, mainly because good Gentiles who risked their life to safe me.
Being a grand-dad brings the responsibility in telling your grand children the truth about the past, even when the subject is very difficult emotionally, and when I was asked to prepare my personal history, to be included in my grandson's "My family" album, I sat down and started to discover my own past, mostly by research, with the help of the last family of Dutch people which hid me during the last one and half years of the War. But, not realizing that this research would be relatively traumatic, and even a type of obsession. What bothers me is not the suffering and fright connected to this period, but the realization that humans could behave in such manner, both on the positive and negative aspects.
But I realize that I have to stop writing about it, as I do not want to become a slave of the Holocaust emotions, as I still want to enjoy the remainder of my life. Another reason for stopping, when my 2nd grandson did not want to invite me to speak to his school class, claiming; "Gramps only talks about the Holocaust, and now we need somebody to talk about the history of
But before that, there are two subjects which I promised myself to complete, the first is an autobiography on my parents, and the second, this essay, relating most likely, the most traumatic period of my life, when we fled from our normative life in rural Holland, into hiding from the Nazis, an event which surely influenced my life the most, and I can not remember, as I was only 3 years and one day old.
After having written these two essays, I will go back into being a sarcastic commentator reacting to everything which is happening today.
I personally hate reading Holocaust stories, not only because I don't see the sense in repeating time over time, the terrible things that happened during that period, but also because Holocaust stories sound extremely exaggerated, with stories of the hero (the persecuted Jew in the story) against the villain (the Gentiles, some bad and some good), and what I can not find in most stories, is that people continued living, even when the situation was impossible, normal things happened, sometimes funny, sometimes dramatic, nothing special to write about, but still, it was living. A positive example is the diary of Anna Frank, who wrote what she saw, as a teenager.
There is nobody with whom I can verify my story, as my parents were wise to wipe out all traces which lead to the departure on the 3rd of September 1942, but based on background data and trying to understand the emotional state of my parents mind, (and as result also my own), I hereby tell the story of what happened in those days to my family. Again, I try very much not to make it too emotional; I am not trying to get the readers pity, especially as this doesn't help anybody, but on the other hand, how is it possible that all this happened?
Our family
Our family of 6 souls lived in a small village, in the vicinity of Utrecht (central Holland), we had moved to there as in those years, it was very difficult in finding in the large towns (such as the Hague) work for a young architect / construction engineer, willing to do any building task, in order to feed the family. Even though, it was already in an occupied country, and being Jews did not make it easier, we managed to survive on the odd jobs of my dad. We were 4 children, with in 1942, my oldest brother nearly 8 years old, my second brother 6 years, and my kid sister, born in the beginning of the war, one year old. I was the third child, 3 years old, and just started talking, not very comprehensive, but very noisy.
My parents, after they had spend several years in Palestine, had returned to Holland in 1937, on dramatic pleas from family and friends, to return to Holland, as a war was pending which would surely involve Palestine, and Holland would remain neutral, like in the first Word War. German had signed a treaty with
We lived in a relative large house, (rented of course), with a large garden, where my mother cultivated potatoes and vegetables for home consumption, I presume they had also some chickens, but I am not sure about it. My mother told me that one day I wanted to help my father in the garden, and asked him if I could help with weeding, he did not understand my question, and in order to stop my nonstop talking, said yes, which resulted in my pulling out some of the tomato plants.
My oldest brother went to school in the village, until the time the Germans banned the Jewish children from public schools, my second brother started the first class, but did not finish the school year, for the same reason. Of course, I was too small for nursery (in those days) and my sister was still a baby. We were the only Jews in the village, and considered a harmless curiosity. Jews did mostly live in large towns, still generally involved in trading, shop keeping and business, and that time for Jews, living outside the towns was rather unheard of.
The assimilation of the Jews in Holland was relatively recent, my mother's parents were still very religious people, (shop keepers) living nearby the synagogue, with Yiddish as second language, but on my father's side, his grandfather already spoke Dutch as main language, and his father (my grandfather) was a professional master carpenter (not a very Jewish profession). My father was of the first generation of academics, studying building construction and architecture. The rate of practicing religion went together with education and assimilation. And, as so far I could discover, my father was a free-thinker, but that of course made no difference to the Germans.
Even though, difficult times, in early 1942, we were still a very normative functioning family, but clouds could be seen in the horizon, which eventually burst on us in September 1942.
The historical back-ground
On the night of 9-10 April 1940, German troops over run the
A German civil administration was installed under SS supervision. At its head was Seyss Inquart.
Soon many laws were enacted against the Dutch Jews, such as in July 1940 abolishing the religious slaughter, Businesses run by Jews had to be registered, following a degree that all businesses where Jews had financial interests. Then the Jews were banned from working for the Government, teaching at Universities, studying in Universities. Then came the decree that all Jews had to register (a Jew is somebody with two or more Jewish grandparents).
Than in 1941 Jewish were barred to be at public places, followed by a curfew from 8.00 pm to 6.00 a.m., and shopping was permitted between 3.00 pm and 5.00 pm..
For transportation Jews needed special permits. Universities, markets, museum and libraries, etc. were of limit. Jewish assets were blocked, including bank deposits, cash, claims, securities and valuables. A maximum of 250 guilder a month was available to a Jewish owner for private use, finally, with effect from 3 May 1942, every Jew aged 6 and over was ordered to wear a yellow star on their left breast, with the word "JOOD" inscribed on it in black ink. In July 1942, the letter J was added to the Jewish identity cards. 389 Jews were arrested after clashing with the SS, which caused a general strike by the Dutch, which lasted only 2 days, however became very costly to both the Dutch and the Jews. The Dutch were fined huge sums of money, levied through the large towns, but the Germans realized that the Dutch did not support them in their anti-Semitic plans, decided to adopt a more radical solution towards the Jewish population.
The adviser on Jewish Affairs in
Eichman and his people from the "zentralstelle" started to organize the cleansing of
Most members of my mother's family believed the Germans and went to the camps, of which only one person returned after the war, my uncle Saam, my mother's oldest brother. From the 107.000 Dutch Jews deported to the camps 102.000 were slaughtered.
The transfer of Jews from
The German issued warning to the Dutch who assisted Jews to flee from the Germans, with death threats and severe punishment.
The civil administration became in the hands of the NSB (German sympathizers) and collaborators (mostly frightened for their own life.
1942, in the
From the above, it is clear that the situation of our family became extremely complicated and dangerous. People, who before had been pleasant neighbors and even friendly started to severe the association with us and refusing to allow their children to play with us. My parents, realists understood that something had to be done, that we could not stay there, started to find out if the resistance (my father had several friends in the local group) could help us to find a safe place to hide. From the beginning, it was clear that with the travel restrictions, and presence of SS and NSB everywhere, we could not stay united as one group, this would have been disastrous, the moment we would leave the house. The resistance promised to help us, provided we would break up as family cell, and let me remind you, we children were 1, 3, 6 and 8 years old.
They must have planned this terrible day of flight several weeks ahead, but how do you plan sending children from their normative home, with a chance they will not survive it, how do you tell them, what should you pack for them, but mostly, how can you prevent hysterical outbursts from young children, never been separated from their family. I don't comprehend the courage of my parents, and their wisdom, because anything else would surely have killed us.
The day before our departure, my birthday (3) was celebrated, our last fling as family. Photos were taken, which surprisingly survived the war, I have no idea who kept them, they would have disastrous if ever found by the Germans, as my father was wearing the star, and in any case, we did not look very Aryan.
I had never the courage asking my mother about that day, until it was too late, and she passed away.
Thinking about my family, I don't think I could have done it, but they did, an we survived (besides my father, who was shot in October 1944 by the Germans, after he was caught red handed on a spy mission for the Allies)..
I suppose we were told that we go on vacation, on that day in September, when we were collected, some on bicycle, some by feet. Each person separately, accompanied by courageous Dutchmen from the resistance, taking us to our first and after that many other hiding places, with families who risked their own life, in order to safeguard ours. Our luggage was small, in order not to attract attention. We were told not to talk, but how can you shut up normal healthy kids?
True, there were many bad seed between the Dutch, during those war days, but I am a personal exhibit, that also good people existed.
What I still don't comprehend is why they hated us so much? What did we do to them to create so much hatred? On the other hand, the kind people deciding if people like us are eligible for a pension, we are required to proof to them, that we are mentally (traumatically) disturbed. We proved the opposite (in their opinion) by creating a normal life and family. I am not an expert in minds, especially not my own, but "Kol Hakavod" (all honors) to us, that we had sufficient mental defenses to survive more or less normal, if normal as condition exists.
A last note, I wished that I could have illustrated this traumatic date, but sorry, I forgot because I was only three years and one day old.
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Saturday, February 9, 2008
reborn
Reborn
By David Verveer
Several weeks ago I wrote you about my identity crisis, as I was told to send a copy of my birth certificate, a document that was destroyed by my parents on the day (3rd of September 1942) when we fled and went into hiding from the Nazi regime terrorizing the Dutch. Since that day I did not have this happy tiding, announcing my joining the human race, as third son of Emanuel and Henrietta Verveer.
The Germans, from which we fled, operated in
In September 1942, most of the Jews living in the large cities such as
We however were living in a small village, relatively safe, until the existing mayor was forced to resign and a Nazi sympathizer was appointed to the job, who of course was a potential danger for our lives, thus our family consisting out of 4 small children aging from 1 year old to 8 year old, and my parents, were helped by the local resistance in finding places for us to live. Due to the fact that in local areas, a Jewish family of 6 souls would be difficult to hide, we were advised to split up as family, and separately we were taken to hiding places (mostly in the large towns of Western Holland, were many people were looking less Aryan than the rural Dutch).
Thus on the day after my third birthday we fled and never were united again, as my father was shot by the Germans (as member of the resistance, caught red handed with drawings of military installations) 13 October 1944. We, the children and my mother survived and finally were all united approximately one year after the war was finished, and my mother had accepted the function of Director of the Jewish elder house, which was functioning at that time as reception center for surviving Dutch Jews returning from the concentration camps.
It would take another year before the Dutch Government recognized that my father was killed as freedom fighter, and not only because he was a Jew, and started paying us a pension, that enabled us to leave the before mentioned institution, in order to set up a normal household, in which we spend united the next 7 years, until the family cell fall apart, as my oldest brother immigrated to Israel, my second brother was send to Suriname with the Dutch army, and I left for England to study agriculture and after that immigrated to Israel. My sister and my mother remained for some years in
And all that time, I did not have a birth certificate, and never missed it. Until last month, when I was asked to send a copy of this certificate, in order to be included in a type of pension fund, and at the age of 68 I realized that I need to produce a proof that I am really born. I unjustly panicked and wrote an article about a identity crisis, but really my panic was uncalled for, because after requesting by email, a birth certificate from The Hague municipality, 10 days later I received by mail the confirmation that I really was born.
I have to admit that I was surprised at the administrative efficiency of the Dutch, and apologize for any bad suspicions I had, however, on the other hand, precisely this efficiency, has caused so much misery to us personally and our people in general.
I know that I am repeating myself, boring my readers if those really exist, but this subject, even though, like a storm in a coffee pot, occupied my thoughts for the last few weeks and really bothered me, as it really accentuated our fragile survivor status from the Holocaust.
As closing note, the clerk signing my birth certificate is called M.S.H. Ibrahim, thus somehow, the Germans did not succeed in their efforts to create a real Aryan state in
Friday, January 25, 2008
my ironic identity crisis
My ironic identity crisis
By David Verveer
This article was intended to be funny, but I am not sure that it is possible to poke fun at something which is based on the Second World War and the Holocaust. However, in my sarcastic manner allow me to discuss the irony and human stupidity, which again visited me and others in a similar situations.
Please realize that I am not complaining or protesting, I would not dare to bite the hand which might feed me at my old age. Further I need to say that I am neither surprised nor angry, I understand the need for bureaucracy, without it, life would be dull.
But let us start from the beginning, which when speaking of my birth certificate started obviously several days after my appearance on this world, in September 1939, when Holland still prayed to remain outside the forthcoming war in Europe, and my birth enlarged our family to 5 souls, joined by my little sister 2 years later).
I know at some tribes, the official birth certificate is an item placed in a frame and put on the wall, with celebrations around it every year on the birthday of the receiver. In
But then, 9 months later, Holland was over run by the Germans, and slowly but surely, these gentlemen started hunting Jews, and indeed, one day after my 3rd birthday, my parents decided to flee, and the underground took the 6 of us, separated them, and tried to hide them with non Jewish countrymen. At that time I had just mastered the trick of talking, which I did non stop.
I have now to report the apparently criminal deed of my parents with government property as they burned and destroyed all identity papers of the family, and we were sent on our way, (I was 3 years old, remember) without any trace of our criminal Jewish records. I was moved on from address to address, every time when the neighbors started asking questions about this talkative child, who certainly did not look very Aryan, without knowing my real name and background.
Obvious, I managed to survive the War, and after a few months, my mother found me back, not according identity papers but because a large birthmark on my right leg. I was now 6 years old, without any memory on my identity.
And funny enough, nobody ever asked for my birth certificate, and realizing now, that I can not proof the fact that I really have been born, gives me another reason for having an identity crisis. Perhaps my real name is Jan Jansen, and I suffered for no reason, and without guilt for the crimes of the Jewish people.
Growing up, realizing that as Jew (if I am really me) I knew that I could not take the risk again to depend on other people to safe my skin, and decided to join the young Jewish nation of Israel, as what ever danger, it is us against others, and my being me will not place anybody in danger because trying to stay alive. Not that I am not thankful of being left alive, but I started to have this funny feeling, that somebody did me wrong, and on my 65th birthday finally I filled in my claim against Germany, on suffering, etc.
About 3 months later I received a postcard, telling me that they received my application and papers, and I will have to wait for their decision if I am approved as a real sucker. In the mean time, as was written, I received a registration number if I would have been in the Concentration camps, I would have received my number much earlier, (on my arm) but who is complaining..
I forgot all about my claim, but surprisingly I received a letter that I have to send them in a period no later than 30 days, the following forms:
A – A document from the Israeli Interior Ministry, telling them my name, my family status and when I arrived to the country and registered as citizen.
B – A financial statement on all my possessions and finances, and C you guessed it, my birth certificate.
Why is this ironic, because precisely the representatives of the country who indirectly caused the destruction of this certificate, needs it now in order to decide if I have the right for compensation. Surely they realize that Jews surviving this period do not possess such papers, nor ever required them, but "order has to be". They know very well my identity, but it is written "birth certificate" and without it, no deal.
Indeed, I wrote immediately to the
The question of my right to claim to be me, without having a birth certificate, put me in dilemma, perhaps if I am really Jan Jansen, do I have the right to open letters addressed to David Verveer?
To be or not to be, all over again.
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