I’m not going to write much about anything tonight because I’m tired after two tiring but rewarding days at work, but I can’t let the day go by without making mention of Holocaust Memorial Day. And I do this not just because of what I have read, but through what my mother, who lived in Rotterdam throughout World War Two, and told me what it was like.
Her maiden name was Verburg. I never met her father, my grandfather, Marinus Verburg, but there was always a suggestion in the family, rarely spoken about, that somewhere there was some aspect of Jewry. The family knew of other Verburgs, who were jewish. I wonder if the Verburg’s they knew – the jewish Verburgs – were closer than just people they knew. She told me of stories of Germans, the Gestapo, knocking on doors searching for jews. No wonder they rarely talked about it. Marinus never talked about it. Ever.
Marinus was a carpenter and a very good one. He and his family lost everything in the war, three times over, as Rotterdam was virtually flattened by the Luftwaffe. When the Netherlands fell, the terror of the bombs was replaced by the fear of the invaders. Not the conscript German soldiers, many – most? – of whom would rather have been at home, but the disciples of Hitler. The Dutch resistance, heroic beyond words, saved the lives of more people than you could ever imagine or believe. They took more hits than anyone to save others. This small country, below sea level; the bravest of the brave.
I once asked a cousin of my mother about a possible jewish link to the family. “We don’t talk about that,” he told me, abruptly. “It is in the past. We don’t want to live there.” The words sounded more firm than they appear written. If I’d asked him to be more specific, he’d have been less specific.
I have no idea if I have jewish heritage, don’t care whether I have or whether I haven’t. But I think it mattered to my family on my mother’s side, all of whom are dead now, so there is no one to ask.
If push came to shove, I think my mother did know the answer and I suspect she took it to her grave.
This is my very tenuous connection to Holocaust Memorial Day, which commemorates the lowest point of human morality. We must never forget.
I am very proud that my Dutch family fought and tragically some died in the war against fascism and I am even more proud that they fought rather than allow the invader to walk in unopposed. And against the fascist enemy, we should never wave the white flag. The words of Pastor Martin Niemoller have never been more relevant:
First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me
