A Memoir by Jetty and Betty, Child Survivors of the Holocaust
This post is a translation from Dutch of a chapter of a book published in 1985 entitled: "Children of Then; Eyewitnesses of the Second World War in the Netherlands and Soviet Union". It is a memoir by Jetty Furth (nee Dias Santilhano) and Elisabeth ("Betty") Bloom (nee Dias Santilhano), sisters who, together with their mother, were taken from their home in Amsterdam for deportation to concentration camps on 18 March 1943. At the time, Jetty was 14-years-old, Betty 8-years-old.
The original Dutch version can be found by clicking here.
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| Jetty circa 1983 |
JETTY: I've been seeing a psychiatrist for six or seven years now, just like my sister. Every year they assign me another which [my care network] prefers. I don't know why. I used to use valium, 20 tablets a day. I was able to stop a year ago now.
BETTY: I've been addicted for 23 years now. When the second world war began, I was six-years-old, Jetty was 12. We lived in the Eastern part of Amsterdam, in the Vrolijkstraat ['Cheerful' Street]. My parents, my beloved grandmother, and us.
JETTY: Father was a salesman of fabrics and traveled throughout the country. He was a religious man. His motto was: "You must be able to get along with everyone, but it is also important to know your Judaism." That's why afternoons after school I went to Hebrew school. There I received instruction in history and Jewish religion.
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| Jetty circa 1942 |
BETTY: Children can be terribly cruel amongst themselves.
JETTY: After a time — when we were already wearing the Star of David — the German restrictions became stricter. For example, you weren't allowed in certain shops, you were no longer allowed to ride the tram...
BETTY: Our father was helping guard the Portuguese [Serfardic] synagogue when the WA [the paramilitary unit of NSB, the Dutch Nazi movement] stormed Jewish neighborhoods. He came home bloody one evening. Much later we heard that he had stabbed a member of the NSB.
JETTY: One day, our father was arrested in Den Bosch and later was brought to the Weteringsgans in Amsterdam. He didn't have his papers with him that specified that he was allowed to travel.
He was interned with a professor of Jewish studies in the jail in Amsterdam. That man was eventually freed and came to our house to bring us news of our father. He told my mother: "I want to take the children to go into hiding with us." The man lived in Putten. But I didn't want to go because I was concerned that we couldn't leave my mother alone. She had suffered a deep depression ever since our father was arrested. She spent much time in bed, didn't cook, couldn't do any of the household chores; she had become completely apathetic.
Our father was transported via Amersfoort to the concentration camp Mauthausen in Austria. In 1942 we received a preprinted postcard from the SS that informed us that our father had died.
BETTY: Jetty clearly took the lead of our household: she was both father and mother. She also went to work because someone had to put bread on the table.
JETTY: I had to cut gloves for the Wehrmacht. They came into our shop one day to verify our papers. There was something wrong with my ID. When I arrived home I said: "Tonight, we will be rounded up." My mother didn't believe me. She said: "There's always something with you. Still, to be sure, we'll take the opportunity to say goodbye. Then we'll see where we are tomorrow." We visited all our aunts and uncles to say goodbye. That evening, 18 March 1943, we were indeed rounded up and taken away.
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| Betty circa 1983 |
JETTY: Every evening we anticipated this might happen. Friends' entire families were disappearing all around us.
By that time, our grandmother had already been taken away. That happened toward the end of 1942. She was just stopping by to visit her brother who lived next door. She had nothing, absolutely nothing with her.
Our mother, my sister and I were first brought to Euterpestraat, the headquarters of the SD [the Nazi intelligence arm]. There we sat on benches overnight.
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| Betty circa 1940 |
Every day they took a group of us children and made us walk outside. One day I came across my best girlfriend who was with her mother. I yelled "Nellie... Nellie..." real loud. They didn't react. That made me terribly sad. I didn't understand why my friend didn't want to know me anymore.
JETTY: One day I left the Hollandse Schouwburg and took my sister from the creche across the street. The stay in the Schouwburg was like a war of attrition; there was no place to lay down and sleep. You just sat there waiting... waiting.
We arrived in Westerbork [a transit camp for Dutch Jews] and luckily ended up in the same barrack together, mother, Betty, and me. We were confined there some 10 months. I was a messenger, bringing notes from the infirmary. Every Tuesday evening I had a little outing: watching and listening to a cabaret [put on by the inmates]. That was magnificent. In the early morning, a weekly transport departed taking hundreds of Jewish people to Auschwitz and Sobibor, and that evening was the cabaret performance. My mother never attended; she still mourned my father.
BETTY: You lived week to week; every Monday evening they announced the names of the people that were to report to the train the following morning.
JETTY: I dressed up for the cabaret performance, setting my hair the evening before so I would have pretty curls. I had a friend, Werner, a handsome boy. The cabaret had a band, singers, actors, and actresses. There were spectacular operetta performances. The first row was always reserved for German officers. Everyone had to stand when they arrived and watch until they seated themselves.
That's when I first saw Gemmeker, the camp commander. Later I often saw him by the transports, because my work required me to cross the railroad tracks.
I was called as a witness against Gemmeker in his trial held in Emmerich [Germany]. He claimed that he didn't know what eventually happened to the prisoners. But in Westerbork, I heard him yell: "You're never coming back!" I remember Gemmeker as an assertive personality, as a tall, handsome man with flashy polished boots, a nice uniform, and a riding crop in his hand. He frequently walked with his dog. A commander.
One terrible day, our family and others of Sephardic Jewish background were transported to Camp Amersfoort. The reasons for that were never explained to us. A month later we were transported back to Westerbork, which was a summer camp compared to Amersfoort.
BETTY: The prisoners were tortured by the Germans. For example, the men were forced to hop on one leg while the Moffen [a pejorative for "German"] stood by screaming with whips in their hands. The first day upon our arrival, a man was shot dead and left outside our barrack to serve as a warning. I also saw our own Uncle Jacob forced to crawl around our barrack as punishment.
JETTY: In Amersfoort, I worked in the kitchen. I thought: the closer to where things were happening, the better. That's when I started stealing: pieces of turnip and carrots. I hid them in a small bag under my clothes.
BETTY: Our mother asked everyone if they had known her husband. We wondered until long after the war whether he might still be alive. Even today I still wonder, could he still be living somewhere, maybe in Russia? That's possible, isn't it?
JETTY: One day we were forced on a transport to Germany. I had the opportunity to escape Westerbork with help from the Dutch military police who were guarding the camp. I said: "No, I want to stay with my mother and sister." My heart wouldn't let me leave them alone.
The day we left Westerbork was terribly cold, in the month of January 1944. By my estimation, we spent days in the pitch dark of a cattle car. Through cracks in the walls came the only daylight. The mood was somber and everyone was irritated. There were many arguments: this one wanted to sit, that one wanted to stretch his legs and needed some room, and this one was laying too long. Those kinds of arguments.
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| Jetty and Betty circa 1941 |
JETTY: I had a photo of our father with me; I was able to hold on to it and carried it with us. Our mother also had photos of the family. She even carried a photo of the old Queen; she was a fervent supporter of the House of Orange. On arrival at Bergen-Belsen, we were allowed to keep our own clothes on. In short order, I got a job working in the kitchen. Luckily, our family was still together. An uncle, aunt, and their three children were shot dead; we had already lost them by our arrival in Bergen-Belsen.
BETTY: In Bergen-Belsen is where my anxiety took hold. I slept poorly. We slept together in one bunkbed: my mother on the bottom bunk, Jetty above me and me in the middle. I would constantly reach to feel if my mother and sister were still warm. That would continue the entire night long. I kept feeling and feeling because people around us were dying like flies. If one day a child or woman remained lying in bed, you were 100% certain they would die.
JETTY: My mother wanted to stay in bed, but I kept pulling her up. I was very strict with her back then.
BETTY: In the beginning, there were only Dutch people in our barrack. Later, French, Italian, German, Albanian, Polish, and Greek people would come. All Jews.
JETTY: I also worked in the shoe detail. I had to pull men's shoes apart stitch by stitch. But most of our time in Bergen-Belsen, I worked together with my mother in the kitchen. Slicing turnips and carrots. Being caught stealing meant death. But we were so hungry, we took the risk. Or I should say, I took the risk. My mother was deaf and couldn't react quickly if something went wrong, so I didn't want my mother to take part.
One day, we received a tip that we would be frisked. Wisely, I took nothing with me, however, one woman did. Just as the searches began, she threw what she had stolen between us. The Aufseherin [woman supervisor] asked me: "Is that yours?" I told her the truth that it was not. She said: "I want to know tomorrow morning who did this. That person will go in the bunker!" I went to speak with the woman and said: "If you don't admit to it, I will tell them. It's your life vs. mine. We were warned!" Wonders of wonders, the next day the Aufseherin didn't ask.
BETTY: In Bergen-Belsen, I saw how people were terribly mistreated. It was cold, it had snowed. I'm embarrassed to tell the story now, but this is the truth. A man had stolen a carrot and as punishment was forced to hold the carrot in his mouth. Every time the carrot fell on the ground, he was beaten. And we, children, stood by and laughed. It was an unusual sight: a man with a big carrot in his mouth. The Germans continued to beat him until he lost consciousness and fell dead. Then we cried.
JETTY: I wonder whether it was good that we returned, that we survived everything. Because we still carry the memories with us. We can't erase them no matter how hard we try.
BETTY: I believe guilt is also involved. Why did we return when others did not?
Twice I saw my mother beaten by the Germans. My heart skipped a beat, it was excruciating, and was above all degrading. Every day we reported for roll call, sometimes standing for hours on the assembly grounds. The longest roll call lasted twelve and a half hours. They counted all of us over and over because the tally didn't match their numbers. The dead had to also be counted. I found it terrible that the Germans strolled between us in their long leather coats, eating chocolate bars right in front of our noses. There you stood, you were exhausted, cold, and worst of all, starving. And you watched them eat their chocolate bars.
One time I started crying during roll call. I just couldn't take it anymore. I got a stiff slap from a French woman standing next to me. If you cried, the others had to stand even longer at roll call. We called one of the Germans that would count, Wilhelm Tell [a play on the Dutch word "tellen", to count.] Almost all the Germans had nicknames. For example, Red Muller and Poppey de Sailorman.
JETTY: What helped us tremendously was the humor. Perhaps gallows humor, but still... We would whisper to each other: "What are you serving tonight? What are you cooking?" Rich meals were fantasized by everyone. You would also hear one woman saying to another: "Are you going out tomorrow? What will you wear?"
BETTY: We were covered in lice. There were also bedbugs and woodlice in the barracks. I could barely take it, all those bugs. It was horrific. Our cousin Reina actually enjoyed sitting and delousing us. To this day, if she sees something on my clothes, like a piece of lint, she'll pluck it off.
I remember one birthday, I received a present from my mother and Jetty. A piece of bread that they had apparently stolen. Only later did we determine that the day was not my birthday. We mixed up the entire week. Slowly, we lost track of time.
JETTY: I Still remember the day when a group of orthodox Jews were rounded up. They were told to bring their spoons and they appeared happy, assuming the spoon meant food. But there was no food. First, their beards were shaved off and afterward they were forced to dig a ditch with their spoons.
BETTY: You became numb in the camp. That happened to adults and happened to children as well. But I remember crying because I could not go to school. I loved school, learning. I thought: I must continue learning or I will stay dumb. My mother and sister couldn't understand such a thing, that I grieved over — in their eyes — such insignificant things.
A cousin of ours told wonderful stories that gave us a bit of solace. She was a brilliant storyteller, you could envision everything happening. There was another girl who could tell suspenseful stories about the forest and wild animals. I believed it all.
I also longed for a doll in Bergen-Belsen. After the war I bought dolls. From time to time, my husband would bring me a doll as well.
In the camp, most people died from starvation. The dead would be stacked one on top of another in the hundreds. I never wanted to look at them but did anyhow. In my memory, the dead all have long black hair. After the war, I hadn't visited a cemetery until two years ago. I am terrified of the dead.
JETTY: At the end of the war we were forced to board another transport. For thirteen days we crisscrossed Germany, absolutely destinationless. Finally, we arrived in Tröbitz, close to Czechoslovakia. The Germans had no idea what to do with us.
The wildest rumors were spreading: we would be thrown in the Elbe or dropped at Theresienstadt. They exerted less control at that time; the Germans had realized that they had lost the war. For example, I would sneak off the train whenever it stopped and went into the villages along the rail line to steal food. We had to eat, didn't we?
BETTY: My mother was seriously ill during the transport. She asked me to fetch some water when the train stopped. I left the train in search of a faucet. I was terrified that the train would leave me behind: my sister searching for food, me on the platform, and my mother on the departing train. That theme still haunts my nightmares.
JETTY: One day we came across a train carrying food and sundries, close by us near our platform. Like lightning, I stole a large box from the train and brought it back. After excitedly opening the box, I realized it contained scouring powder. I cried terribly. After thirteen days it appeared the war had ended. One morning, the doors to our train opened and we saw Russian soldiers on horses: our liberators!
BETTY: Tröbitz was a beautiful village with large villas. Those that could walk began plundering. The Germans had enormous food reserves.
JETTY: The Dias Santilhano family commandeered a large house. "This house is ours," we proclaimed. We mercilessly evicted the woman who lived there. A photo of Hitler was still hanging in one of the rooms.
In the pantry, we found condensed milk with sugar, glass jars filled with preserved meats, preserved vegetables, drink, fruit... all from your best dream. Our first meal lasted from eleven in the morning until eight at night. Our mother had an aunt who prepared dinner. It was a lavish feast with no end. The table was set beautifully but after we finished we just threw the soiled tablecloth away. The German woman that we had chased away came to beg that we not put hot pots on the furniture because it would make rings. Those sorts of crazy things happened.
BETTY: We soon ended up in the hospital. Some of us suffered from dysentery, almost all of us had typhus. When we arrived we were still covered in lice. First, they shaved us all bald, then deloused and bathed us. We stayed in the hospital for eight weeks. We arrived back in Amsterdam in June.
We had to learn to live all over again, to adapt to the normal world. For instance, we thought it ridiculous when we came across a woman wearing a hat or carrying a handbag. We laughed hysterically the first time we saw a woman on a bicycle. We found it such an odd sight.
JETTY: Our arrival at Amsterdam Central Station was a confused mess. The welcoming committee had no idea what to do with us. We sat there waiting for hours.
I received some rock-hard biscuits but was still happy to have them. I went off to the ladies room and when I returned they were gone, stolen.
We finally were allowed to enter the city where we were promptly harassed because we were bald. People thought I was a whore for the Germans. And of my sister, they yelled: "look... there goes a little German whore."
BETTY: After all those horrific years, I had to return to school as though it was normal. I was the only Jewish girl and bald as well. The children laughed at me and yelled: "Baldy, Baldy, Baldy!" I was very aggressive and fought with them. I had no interest in listening to the teacher; he left no impression on me. He had no rifle, so why should I listen to him?
JETTY: After the war, we never parted. We stayed together and lived in one house.
In 1956 we decided to emigrate to America. There was unrest in Hungary. We thought there would be war again. And if we traveled far away, we could escape the mayhem. Don't forget that this was just eleven years after the second world war.
But what happened? My son was called up for military service to fight in Vietnam. That's why we speedily returned to the Netherlands.
Postscript
An important element of Jetty's story was deleted by the original book editors, presumably because the book was intended for publication in both the Netherlands and the Soviet Union.
Upon their liberation, Jetty, who at that point was emaciated and lice-ridden, was brutally raped by one of her Russian Army liberators. She was not shy of relating this fact and I include it here to provide the full context of the brutality that she endured at the hands of the Nazis and the Russians.
Though Jetty, her family, and mother returned to the Netherlands in 1970, Betty and her family remained in the United States. The sisters saw each other frequently until Betty and her husband emigrated to the Netherlands in 1994. Eventually, they both came to live in an assisted living residence in Amsterdam in 2012. Jetty passed away in August 2014 and Betty passed two years later in July 2016.
The heroism of my Tante (Aunt) Jetty, — who was forced into the dual roles of provider and protector in 1942 at the age of 13 after her father was arrested and murdered — is the sole reason the family survived.
The world is a lesser place without her and Betty, my mother. May their memories forever be for a blessing.
— Dave Bloom
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