One day Annie went to visit her father and was
shocked to see that the windows were smashed in. The neighbors shouted that
they were just carried off and taken to the Hollandsche Schouwburg (the theatre where Amsterdam Jews were
gathered before being sent to Westerbork transit camp). Annie hurried to
the Schouwburg and watched a big truck offloading people. An SS-man tried to
kick her and she fled. Just before being taken from their home, Samuel and
Rachel had in panic managed to bring their newly born baby Sara to the
neighbors, asking them to take care of her. The neighbors though, handed her to
the nazis, who brought the baby to the Jewish Nursery at Plantage Middenlaan (opposite the Theatre). She was saved by
Kees Chardon, a young law student at the Vrije Universiteit.
This year I interviewed my aunt about her lifestory:
Sara
Dresden’s Narrative:
Marja: "What do you
remember from your early childhood?"
I remember my first day in (primary) school. My
foster mother brought me to school… a girl there asked me: “Who is that woman?”
“That’s my mother.” “You don’t have a mother at all, you are just a Jewchild,
and a foundling.” I was six years old then.
Then my ‘computer’ began working.
People always think that a child does not register anything, but after I
heard that, I overheard fragments of conversations that were about me. From my
father, other people, and how my grandfather presented us: “this is my daughter
and that is my daughter’s foster child.” In the street I heard all kinds of
stories: I was a Jewchild, I was thrown out of a train and my current mother
walked on the railroad in order to catch me, and now I think, what’s this
rubbish, throwing a child out of a train, who would actually walk on the
railroad, but then I thought it was true. A remark I often heard as a child
was: oh, the lame one, or the Jewess.”
We lived in Delft, in those days a small city
where everybody knew each other. My foster mother came from a middle class
family. They knew: the Venselaar family have adopted a child, a Jewish
girl. They kept talking about it for
quite a while. Too often I was present when they talked about me. Aunt Engeltje visited periodically, she was
the only one left of the eight siblings of my father. She escaped from
Westerbork in a delivery-cycle, covered with a piece of canvas and she never
completely recovered. I only understood later that she was a sister of my
father’s. I used to write her postcards and letters. For a long time I thought
she was my mother. That was terrible.
She gave me lovely presents, I didn’t get many presents from my parents, and I
did from aunt Engeltje. So I thought: “she
is my mother but she is in a care home, that’s why I can’t live with her.”
During all of six years I asked my mother
everything and she always answered: ‘you are my girl”. Afterwards I would find a quiet place, stumping the floor
and crying: “you’re lying, you’re lying!” As a child, I could not understand
that one could love a child that isn’t one’s own. I was extremely jealous when
a cousin came to our home to play with me and my mother remarked ”that’s a
sweet girl”, then I would take her outside and I would kick her. I also kicked
the cat. I wanted so much to hear that I was sweet as well. They never said
that. I did understand that it was their
fear. Certainly at the beginning, when they were not be sure if I could stay
with them.
That was only clear after the war. I am still resenting
the way they left me dangling.. Only when I turned twelve I succeeded: I had
done my entrance examination for the Gymnasium and I asked my parents again. By
then I knew the facts, because in the evening, when they weren’t home, I
searched all the closets and I found documents. I began searching when I was
seven, so all those years I questioned my parents, I knew. When mail arrived
for Sara Dresden I threw it away or I wrote: return to sender. I didn’t want to be Jewish. Jews were evil,
that’s why they had killed six million of them.
That’s what I heard … Jews were on my radar. I didn’t want to be Jewish,
I wanted to be Maria. They never told me the truth.
Until I
turned twelve. I questioned (my mother) again and again she denied it and I grabbed
her by the collar: “If you don’t tell me now!” and then she had to.
It was
still a shock when I heard it because I had hoped that it wasn’t true. I always
hoped I might have siblings who were somewhere looking out of an attic-window
if I would come for them, and who then would hide again. Ridiculous of course,
but that’s what I thought …
I was always searching.
It was only told me much later that I really
had sisters. From the moment I knew that, I began looking for them. I had already the age that I was allowed to
go alone by train to Amsterdam. I think I didn’t even tell my foster mother; I
went secretly. It must have been before my 16th birthday.
They told me that my father and mother were
deported and that Kees Chardon, a young lawyer, got me out of the Jewish
nursery opposite the Hollandsche
Schouwburg. I was five months old when I arrived at the Venselaar family, so in
the meantime a lot must have happened to me.
There is a story that I was (hidden) in the Northeastpolder …but there’s
nothing known about it.
My foster mother told that Jews were
killed. So I said: You see….creepy
Jews.” If you aren’t bad you won’t be killed and all these people were killed.
It is now perhaps ten years ago that I accepted the name Sara, I kept it as my
legal name. I am called Sara Brix-Dresden, but I hated Sara, because I
associated it with being Jewish. When my mother finally told me I burst out in
tears and I collapsed. I don’t remember my mother’s response anymore.
I used to be in and out of hospital. I had a clubfoot and that wasn’t properly
taken care of because of the war. My foster mother always came to visit. I was
six weeks in hospital in Leiden and every day she came, cycling from Delft to
Leiden. She was not able to show love but she was affectionate in deeds. I was
so needy for a mother who would hug me, and that nearly never happened. My
father almost never showed his love until his dying day. Then he said he loved
me. I knew that he loved me, I could sense it. I did everything with my father
… He was a professional actor and when he was on stage I went to see him. Jules
de Korte was his pianist and he gave acting lessons to the Lutz boys, they were
in and out of our house a good deal. That was very interesting to me. I also
wanted to attend the Academy for Theatre Arts. I could have done that. Until I
read in my Jewish file that my father said to Jewish Social Work: “She always
wanted to be on stage, but that was impossible, right, because of her leg
handicap.” He never told me that. What he did say was: “You should have
finished your Gymnasium, then you could have attended the Academy.” I’ve always
felt guilty that I didn’t complete high
school, that I hadn’t listened, then I could have gone to the Academy. At age
twenty I ran away to Amsterdam.
Afterwards an uncle settled in Delft. He was a
brother of my mother’s, a survivor of the war. He and his wife began a boarding
house for students.
He settled in Delft when I already knew of
being a foster child. After the war, all of them heard that I was still
alive. They could contact me. And they did: Engeltje, but she was too
confused to take me in, my two half-sisters Greet and Annie but they were too
young, fifteen and sixteen. My uncle said: “Let her stay with these people, she’s
gotten used to them now.”
My foster mother told me that my real father
was an alcoholic. Until I left home she took care that I didn’t touch any
alcohol. Not even brandy-beans or cherry liquor bonbons, because she was afraid
it was hereditary. When I met my husband
Fred in Amsterdam, I had not yet ever had a drink. If I had moved to Amsterdam
as it is now, I wouldn’t have come to much good … I was so much looking for love, if I had met
a wrong guy things would have turned very bad.
I am happy to have met Fred… a decent man.
One day I was at the door of Greet, my
half-sister in the 1st Jan van der Heijdenstreet in Amsterdam. That address I knew. I rang the bell and asked
“Are you Mrs. Ruijterman? Can you come down for a moment?” She came down the
stairs and the only thing she said was: “my little sister!” Like in a movie. She screamed. The same day she rang our sister Annie, that
was all very nice and cordial, that contact, for a number of years. I’m at a
loss to explain why it didn’t last. But then
there was always Marja, Greet’s daughter, who I kept in touch with and who went
looking for me when she was sixteen. History repeated itself. I was a the bakery’s and saw a girl coming in
to our srteet and I thought: “that could
be me”. She was Marja, my niece, and it was so special, until today we are
still in touch.
Marja took
her mother Greet and Annie to visit Sara/Maria, shortly before the two sisters
passed away, one day in succession.
When I finally dared to go and ask my sisters
how my parents had lived, both my sisters died. One after the other … we had just
for the first time shared a meal at my home, it was nice and intimate. Fred and
I went on vacation to Spain – one day I got a telephone call that Greet had
died and the next day that Annie had died. They were together their whole life,
so they did this together as well. They
were so much older than I and they had shared everything together. They liked that
I was there, but I could never come between those two ladies, and I didn’t want
to either.
When I got to know my sisters I did not dare to
ask questions about my parents. I don’t know why … they were holy to me I was
afraid I would hear things that would bring me a lot of grief. So when they
finally were sitting at my table I thought: next time I am going to ask
questions, but … there was no next time.
Once I was sitting on a terrace at
Rembrandtsplein. “Are you a daughter of
Samuel and Racheltje? You are a mirror-image of your mother. Your dad was a
friend of mine. Tomorrow we’ll meet and
I will tell you about your parents.” He did not come – it turned out he was hit
by a car and died. (Fred Wiegman, August 14th 1924 – October 19th
1968), he played a part in the comedy De Jantjes.
The first few years were fun and pleasant. The
only difficulty for me was meeting Marja’s grandmother (Christien), for she had
been married to my father. I didn’t dare
to ask her anything. For a long time I
imagined that my own parents would appear at my doorstep. But then I was enough of a realist to think:
would I have loved them, because I never knew them. I would only be very happy
if they had not been through so many horrible things. I had a little sister,
Judocje, who went with them. With every
film and every television program about the war that I watch on t.v., I am
looking if I recognize something. I am looking with the eyes of a photograph
that I have.
Marja: My mother told me that my grandpa was a very
sweet man, who liked making lots of jokes.
Yes, he was proud of his girls, they told me
here … He couldn’t be proud of me because he didn’t know me.
My mother gave me
to the neighbors, who handed me to the Germans and that’s how I landed in the
Nursery. There were such good, loving
people who saved me. Kees Chardon (Delft
1919 – Wöbelin 1949) died in Camp Wöbelin, just before the end of the war. After the war everybody claimed
they had been active in the resistance … oh well … But you know, what would you
do if they were standing with a gun in front of you? You do not know.
I applauded my father after he passed
away. He was an actor who played on
stage, and he was a director, everything in a magnificent way. At his funeral I
said: “you deserved this applause. As a life-saver you did not want any
applause, but dear daddy, I love you and the last applause you are getting is
from me.”
“ If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have
stood here” I said to my foster parents.
Anyway, I stayed grateful to them.
My whole life consisted of gratitude. I’ve done everything that I could
for them, and Fred did as well. Some
people told me: “They weren’t forced to keep you, they also wanted you for
themselves.” I felt I have to be good for them.
At the time they took me in they didn’t yet
know that they couldn’t have children themselves. They had only be married
three years when I got there. They were very catholic and their expectation
was: lots of children, but that didn’t come true. They received me from Kees
Chardon. It was also “love of one’s neighbor”. They weren’t bad people but they
couldn’t express themselves and that was very unpleasant for me. I stole money.
If I had to run errands, we’re talking 10 0r 25 cents, not more, then I put one
cent in my sock: “because, if you really love me I can also have that money.”
But afterwards I could hardly walk from the coins in my socks. “come and take off your stockings and your
shoes!” Why? I don’t know … I wanted so much to hear that she loved me. We
lived next to a small square and once I told my cousin: “Go and tell my mother
that a car has hit me at the square and I am dead.” I imagined that she would run to me and be so
happy that I’m still alive, but I got a smack to my butt. I wanted to hear: “Oh
dearie, I am so glad that you’re not dead” but no, I got smacked!
When I turned eighteen I mingled with people
belonging to a Jewish Youth Federation and I felt very much at home there, we
spent time singing on the beach and they played guitar. I once came home when
my father had just suffered a gastric perforation. My foster mother said my
mingling with Jews caused it. That was
the end of my going there. Now I think: how backward, I was a bit meshugge!
In hindsight it is ridiculous: I didn’t dare
anything, I was afraid to hurt other people. When I read my Jewish Orphans’
file from Jewish Social Work I said to Fred: “You see, I didn’t imagine it all,
I mean you’re telling things and later you think: did that really happen?” Jewish Social Work came every half year to
check on me and I wasn’t allowed to say anything, because my mother said: “then
they take you away from me.” I was deadly afraid that that would happen. We
lived in a home with all kinds of students, subtenants. And exactly when I
thought there would be a room for me again, they rented that room out. For
months I slept behind the couch in the living room. When I went to sleep there
were 20 guys playing cards with my father and mother, talking and smoking, and
I lay behind that couch.
I felt really like Cinderella. There were sales
in January, then we went into the city and my foster mother bought everything
she could find and then some. But never a pair of panties or stockings for me.
They never bought anything for me.
When I had my birthday, it’s not about getting
a present, but about the gesture, I never got big presents. I had a blocked savings-account, my foster
parents could freely use the interest (usufruct). I had to ask my uncle if I
could give my parents a t.v. set from my account. My father slapped me once, but afterwards he
immediately came to my room to make up for it. I was raised without any
emotions. I was always ‘that girl’. At
birthdays everybody was asked what they would like to drink and for me it was:
“you get to buy your own wine, right?”
Marja: 'Did you
forgive them?'
Yes, I don’t bear a grudge. If they hadn’t been
there, despite all the wretchedness I felt, experienced and still experience, I
am still glad to be alive.
I sent them on holidays… I’ve given them lots
of presents, I gave them everything. I bought love. I bought dresses when I
began earning money and I gave them away to girl-friends. I gave away make-up … I always bought love,
because then they liked me.
When I met Fred it was right-away like coming
home, as if I’d known him for years. For him as well. We just dated for nine
months and got married, no we didn’t ‘have’ to marry, ha ha. We’ve been married
for 55 years now.
I did lose the big love of my life: Olaf, my
son. He was the first thing in my life that was really mine. Nobody could take
that away from me. The first few weeks I held him in my arms and nobody could
hold him. Then I woke up and thought, that’s not OK what I am doing now. It is
not going to work this way. Then other
people were also allowed to hold him. I
was afraid to lose him. That passed. I
did not get a second baby. After his birth my physician told me I should not
have more kids. After much praying and begging at the doctor’s I was allowed
get pregnant one more time. I kept repeating ”I want a girl” bur once, when
standing at the bus stop I thought: What are you doing, what does it matter and
I never said that anymore. When she was
born I called her Rachel, after my mother. Her second name is Jolande, after my
foster mother, whose name was Jo. I did that to please her. I often had to walk
on eggshells. But still I’m grateful. If they had not been there, I wouldn’t
have stayed alive.
On May 4th I’m watching t.v. with
all these stories of people. The thought that comes up: most of them still have
somebody. I went to one of these Conferences of the Hidden Child. Would that
really be for me … Fred said: “you’ve got a whole story, don’t get snowed under!”
At the meeting point there I stood alone.
And I thought, why is no-one looking for me? One of the female leaders
had the family name Dresden. I asked her: “Is Mrs. Engeltje Dresden a relative
of yours?” that wasn’t the case and she
moved away. ‘Oh God I thought, not so pleasant.’
Jewish Social Work took me in, took me under
their wings,that was beautiful. I could
tell my story. I’ve had lots of therapy. I am 76 years old now, but if they are
going to burrow deeply, I’ll go mad until I die. Just let me be. I’ve got lines in my face,
not just from crying, also from laughing. I often laughed my problems
away. Always playing the cheerful girl,
joking, but you should see me on the inside. I’m not going to open up
completely to everybody. I’ve had some therapies that helped me. For example, I had to learn to tell that my
parents were murdered. I used to say, my parents perished during the war. No:
learn to say, “they were murdered”. It sounds so harsh, but it is what
happened. I was also taught to look at my foster-parents in a different light.
They did want to keep me. “So, don’t spend the rest of your life thinking only:
‘ I am so grateful!’
Well that is engraved in my mind. I sort of was relieved when they died. I
brought my parents here, near to me.
They reached the age of 89 and 82. For twenty-five years they paid me a
visit every Sunday. When I went on vacation they said: “Just let us be alone …”
I always left with guilt feelings. Every time signing out when I went on vacation and signing in when I was back. For years I’ve taken care of them, every
evening I locked the door for them and in the morning I unlocked it again. They thought that every day there were
rapists and killers out there. They were afraid. I had to lock them in. When we
went on vacation, Rachel or Olaf had to do that. The neighbors were informed. My
physician said: “You’re going on vacation? Just put the key under the doormat
so I can let myself in.” They have always supported me very much.
Marja: 'What helped
you to keep your footing?'
I don’t know? Two years ago, within 14 months, we
lost our son and our son-in-law and we pulled trough. Rachel lost Peter, her
husband. We were very fond of him. I’ve got such a survival instinct… people
tell me, “jeez, how do you cope with such things?” What does it help if we keep
crying? I’ve still got a daughter, she also needs a father and mother to rely
on. She’s doing so much for us. I am eternally grateful to my child, but she
says: “in the past you two have done everything for me.” She used to have
pneumonia, broken fingers and what have you … I willingly took Olaf along to
the tennis court, I wanted to be a mother. If it was up to us we would have had
six little toddlers here. I once said to Rachel: “I am jealous of your mother” not
because it is me, but because of how we are with each other. I myself longed so
much for that way of being with each other. Then Rachel says: “Mom, it’s not
because of how you were brought up that you became who you are.”
As a child I always thought: you can’t love a
child that is not your own. Of course that is not true. For years I was the babysitter of children in
a family, I loved them very much and they still come to me. Every year they
come to aunt Maria. If it is up to me everybody I love is welcome to join us,
eat here, cozy and fun. A Yiddishe Mamme.
Marja: 'You are
speaking Yiddish, you make a Yiddish impression, how can that be? You were
raised in a catholic family?'
As a small child I already had that. It’s in my
genes. It is unconscious. When telling a witz, I do it with a Yiddish
accent. No idea where that comes
from. When I really think about it, it’s
weird.
As a small child I could not say goodbye. Always glad when I have everyone around me
again. I may cry when someone goes on vacation. I am happy for them, but so
afraid they won’t return. I can’t say goodbye.
Jewish people couldn’t do that either, they didn’t know whether they
would come back.
I always need people around me to eat with and
share: come to me! Especially when you have problems, so I don’t have them!
I am sensitive to people asking: “how are you?”
Just when you want to answer they talk about what they watched last night on
tv. I only really answer if someone
really wants to go deep.
How I’ve processed everything? I don’t know. In the past I loved getting
into someone else’s skin, on stage … but now?
I often listen to deliciously sentimental music
at night. Glorious …. For instance ‘Nights in white satin’, just blues or soul,
old tearjerkers … howling guitars. Then I can howl too. Nobody hears me here,
so I loudly sing along. Percy Sledge,
Fats Domino, they were my idols. A tearjerker can really make me cry, such as
‘a bouquet of white roses’ by Ria Valk, where the mother dies with the baby in
the coffin …tremendous. ‘The Rose’ by Bette Middler, great. Music does it for
me.
My philosophy of life? Live and let live … let everyone do their own
thing. Live well and don’t cheat anyone. I need to feel ‘senang’ in my social
circle, people must be real. I used to have 80.000 friends … we lost many
friends when Fred lost his job and we did not get whisky on the table any longer.
After the death of Olaf, he had left our home
25 years ago, we still received two hundred and fifty condolence cards … that
strengthens you in a lot of things. It’s not about money or possessions.
Another motto for life: Enjoy, you only live
once! I enjoy looking out of my window
here, and I see the hares running around. When I am with friends of ours in
Schoonloo, there is a garden, then the men go take a walk, while I see
squirrels. A squirrel eating from a dish in
the windowsill, and a mouse sitting under the table where birds are
cleaning themselves and the mouse eating the crumbs, then I am enjoying myself.
I love to see someone with a baby, seeing a
bride, that moves me. A lot of things do. Like when I am watching television
and thinking: what’s that rolling down my cheeks? Then I’m not aware even of
crying.
Sick people who have the energy to still be so
active, great! Athletes, sport for disabled people, of which television shows
so little. Those people have to work much harder for it than healthy athletes.
My body doesn’t want what I want … I’ve been
hospitalized circa 42 times and had operations.I still need some operations,
but I won’t go, I stop. One of my lower vertebrae is narrowed but it is too
dangerous an operation, so I choose chronic pain. I always have back pain, pain
in my arms, dystrophy. I was eating a bread roll and I couldn’t cut it. I
didn’t have the strength to cut my bread. Rachel helped me. I can still solve a cryptogram, but sometimes
I can’t cut my bread anymore.
And I
accept it, because if I don’t then I have to fight and I don’t feel like
fighting.I have always accepted everything with my mind and heart and all.
I’ve never had a real fight with anyone. I’ve
been angry but not like ‘furious’, I cannot.
I would like to do that: to get all-out mad.
Once I received a big compliment from Rachel:
about how most people think, when I’ll be an adult, I will never do what my
parents did … “You will probably think so too, right?” I asked. “No Mum, with
you and Dad there is nothing that I would do differently later.” So that feather I can put on my hat.
One time I really got furious … then I got into
my car and did some driving around until the emotion was gone.
I’ve also had lots of fun. Every day I try to
get something out of life every day. “Dry your tears, Pierrot! And keep
laughing…” My therapist said: “In the
morning go stand in front of the mirror and say: I love you!” and I answered:
“yeah, then I stand there with my hair in a mess and I have to say I love you,
now that’s enough to start laughing.”
Marja: "How is it
for you to be in Germany?"
I don’t have a problem with that … never had.
In that regard they didn’t raise me to hate. My father said: “Well, some boys
had to go. What do you do when they face you with a pistol?” Yes of course
(there was the expression) ‘those bastard-Krauts’… Once I had an experience in Germany, I wanted
to buy cufflinks. I am always wearing a necklace with my Star of David , when a
kind of nurse walked by with a very small woman, and I heard the small one
asking the big woman: “Is that a Jew?” “Yes, that’s a Jew”. I turned around and
thought: ‘I didn’t hear this.’ Afterwards Fred remarked: “Good that I wasn’t
there, or World War III would have broken out.”
I’m always wearing my Star of David, also in
Germany. Germany is a beautiful land, clean, the people are friendly and it is
close by. How they commemorate the war victims - we could learn something from them. Everywhere
there are ‘stumbling stones’ and memorial boards to tell what happened there, what
they have done there. Very impressive.
Recently I was present when stumbling stones
were placed in front of the house where my grandparents and an uncle of my
mother’s side have lived, in Groningen. There were photos of them there, I
never knew them … people prayed … I don’t understand (the Hebrew prayers) but
it does move me.
When I brought all my correspondence and the
information about where I was after the war to Westerbork, then on leaving the
place, I saw the portret of my mother on the memorial wall. It gave me the
feeling that my mother gave her permission. There is nothing coincidental!
Also read: Marja's story of Sara Dresden and how we first met.
English translation: Eva van Sonderen, journalist, Jerusalem
Also read: Marja's story of Sara Dresden and how we first met.
English translation: Eva van Sonderen, journalist, Jerusalem
Samuel and Racheltje, parents Sara/Maria
Sara/Maria
Sem Dresden
Engeltje and her sisters
Sara/Maria and her husband Fred
Kees Chardon
Annie en Greet
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