Rebecca - In Memoria
In
the course of writing my book about my family’s experiences in the Netherlands
during WWII, I came to know a couple of individuals, perhaps more than I ever
thought possible. Rebecca is one of those. Mom was 17 years old, and Rebecca,
who went by Beppie, was 24 years old when the war broke out. They were
neighbors and became friends.
How did I come to know Beppie? After
my father passed away in 1999, Mom and I grew close and I would spend evenings
with her, usually with a glass of wine or whiskey. She liked Black Velvet. Mom
would reminisce, often about her experiences during the war, and I would take
notes. One such night, with a faraway look in her eyes, she began:
“I knew a girl who lived across from
us on Keizerstraat. She and her husband owned a store that sold artwork and
other home decorations. Her name was Rebecca Strauss, and I think his name was
Johan. I remember they had the most beautiful rugs upstairs.”
“Interesting that his name is so
close to the German composer.” I replied, rather absently.
“The Strauss family had a tough time
during the war. Being Jewish, they had trouble getting food and other
necessities. I remember climbing over fences and onto roofs to sneak to their
home with bags of supplies. Many of us helped them as much as we could, despite
the Nazi restrictions.” Mom continued.
“What else do you remember?” I
wanted her to keep talking, as Mom took a sip from her glass.
“They had two young kids, one was
born just before the war broke out…a boy, I think. The older child was a girl.”
“During the war, we all had to move
away from the beach, and we went to a house on the Gensestraat. The Strauss
family moved to an apartment in The Hague. One time, I rode the trolley and visited
them. Their apartment was tiny, and their beautiful rugs didn’t fit in the
rooms. I remember seeing the edges of the rugs curled up against the walls. It
wasn’t as nice as their home on the Keizerstraat. It was really sad.” I could
see the wistful look on my mother’s face.
“Then, one time I went to visit, and
they weren’t there. I never found out what happened. I often think of Rebecca
and wonder what became of them.”
That last phrase haunted me. Mom has
been gone more than ten years, but two years ago, during my research, I “googled”
Rebecca’s name. I stumbled upon a website entitled “Digitaal Joods Monument”, a
memorial to the Dutch Jews of WWII. The site had the following entry:
Rebecca Strauss-de Rood
Delft, 31 May 1916 – Auschwitz, 23 August 1942
Reached the age of 26 years
My
heart sank. It is one thing to know that six million Jews perished in the
various Nazi death camps, and it can be an abstract number. But seeing a name
connected to one’s past is sobering indeed. The entry also contained the rest
of the family. Beppie’s husband Johan, was 27. Their son Levie was five years
old, and their daughter Johanna was three. They all died on 23 August, 1942.
Perhaps
I could find a number for Rebecca, recalling that many prisoners had a number
tattooed on their arms, I thought. I continued to dig on the internet, but to
no avail. What I learned was even more disturbing.
More
than 1.3 million people were deported to Auschwitz during the war, of whom one
million were Jews. Only 400,000 were registered and imprisoned. The other
900,000 were gassed and incinerated within hours of their train’s arrival*.
I
cannot imagine what Beppie’s final hours, or final days were like. The long
ride, crammed into cattle cars during transport, clutching each other and not
knowing their fate, certainly was excruciating. Arriving at the camp, they were
likely herded by soldiers and barking dogs into a building, ripped from each
other and stripped before being pushed into what looks like a shower room. The
hydrogen cyanide gas likely killed them within two minutes**.
This
week marks the 83rd anniversary of the Strauss family’s passing. Rather
than thinking of an abstract number, I choose to remember an individual…a
person. It drives the horror of what happened home, and though I never met her,
Rebecca’s name will be forever etched in my memory.
*Jews
in Auschwitz / Categories of prisoners / History / Auschwitz-Birkenau
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