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976: Coming To England Alone Aged 5 Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Hannah Wurzburger, age 5, was on the last Kindertransport from Berlin. She left on September 1, 1939, and arrived in Britain on September 2: Hannah Wurzburger Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Hannah Wurzburger's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2018 • Learn More → Hannah Wurzburger Close Family Murdered Kindertransport Not Remembering Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Hannah Wurzburger, age 5, was on the last Kindertransport from Berlin. She left on September 1, 1939, and arrived in Britain on September 2: It's a bottomless pit. So absolutely appalling. Children are so vulnerable. Especially when they're separated from their family. I don't know how they can do this. The whole thing is just a nightmare. Terrible. It took a long time to... accept the situation that I had gone through. Hannah's parents & most of her family were murdered in the Holocaust. I left Berlin when I was 5, so I don't have much recollection there. I do remember coming downstairs & saying, “Hello!” to my mother. And she said, “Oh you don’t have to say hello.” My father teaching me a few things in English: “Let me broom the kitchen”, for instance. I was on the last Kindertransport. It was September, a couple of days before they declared war here. I don't remember the journey. I seem to have a picture—whether it's made up or not—of being with lots of children. This train—I think I had actually a teddy bear. My mother I remember, I think, at the station. I don’t know how they got me there. It may be an imaginary thing. I don't know. What you think you remember is probably more important than what actually happened. I don't remember anything of the journey or arriving here. I had an aunt over here. A little while after I left Berlin there was a letter from my mother. A card perhaps with a photo. I can't remember exactly. But that was it. That was all. My aunt went regularly to the—was it the Home Office where you went, to inquire about refugees? Who had escaped & managed to come over? They had lists of names. She went there regularly. She was not worldly, she had such a struggle, she did really quite a lot. But she—she didn’t come up with any family names. I didn't understand my situation. I wasn't very worldly. I mean I just took everything that was thrown at me & there was quite a lot! You accepted it & relied on your fellow sufferers, if you like, for friendship & talking & so on. There was no... It all seemed to be very... narrowed down & concentrated…" If I hadn’t been forced to leave. I think I would have probably learned to play some musical instrument from my parents, both of them. It's fascinating to think about. My life would have been totally, totally different. No one's life follows a smooth path, does it? We're all going all over the place. But. My life certainly would have probably been more stable. I do think Britain should take more child refugees. They seem to have the size & space. But there's this backlash of native people who say, “We get all these refugees, all these bloody foreigners.” They're afraid they're going to impact on their lives, take away their jobs & whatever. But I think there's still room in this country for many more. They've just got to be gradually assimilated at the beginning. You can't just throw them in. But you have to remember, there's no such thing as blue-blooded Englishman, never has been. They've always had foreigners. 976: Coming To England Alone Aged 5 Hannah Wurzburger Edited from Hannah Wurzburger's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2018 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

971: Equalising What Happened Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Dr Charlotte Feldman, 100-years-old at the time of her interview, came to Britain in 1939. Born in Bratislava, Charlotte remembers the rise of the antisemitic Hlinka party: Dr Charlotte Feldman Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Dr Charlotte Feldman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2024 • Learn More → Dr Charlotte Feldman Attempted Humiliation Close Family Murdered Never Finding Out Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia See Locations Full Text Dr Charlotte Feldman, 100-years-old at the time of her interview, came to Britain in 1939. Born in Bratislava, Charlotte remembers the rise of the antisemitic Hlinka party: They used to demonstrate in the street below us. They used to shout, ‘Jews to Palestine!’ I had a very happy childhood. I did lots of sport. My mother was very beautiful, so I’m told. My father was quite a handsome man. Charlotte travelled to the UK on New Year's Eve, 1938. I was very forward & there were two dons from Oxford on the train. I had a whale of time! Charlotte was 15 when she came to London. She lived with the Mayor of Richmond, Mr Leon, & his family, attended The Old Vicarage School & studied medicine at Leeds General Infirmary. Charlotte's father was murdered in Auschwitz. I didn't get any details. I found it difficult. Charlotte never discovered what happened to her mother. I always felt that there must be something to equalise what's happened & I always thought my long life makes up for their short lives. 971: Equalising What Happened Dr Charlotte Feldman Edited from Dr Charlotte Feldman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

988: Getting Up From The Dust Ivor Perl BEM Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Ivor Perl BEM, born in Makó, Hungary, survived Auschwitz, Kaufering & Dachau camps: I was only 12 when I was taken to Auschwitz. I feel very, very hurt that I haven’t got many memories of my family. I think I've only got three photos. Painful. I'd give my children a hug when they were leaving for school: 'Give me a kiss, have a nice day'. But people living in that part of the world at that part of the time had couldn't afford that luxury. The antisemitism was constant. Growing up I accepted being called a dirty Jew." Ivor was 7th out of 9 siblings. My brother Alec was the only other one who survived. He was two years older than me. We went together to Auschwitz & survived together. He looked after me. He saved me from the gas oven twice, literally. I was in the gate of hell when he saved me. When the Germans overthrew the Hungarian government [1944], from the following morning, edicts started coming out against the Jews, gradually. Jews mustn’t marry non-Jewish people. You must be home by 7. You mustn’t go from a certain street. Gradual, gradual, until the noose. We used to play football with non-Jewish friends. Those same boys, when the time came for us to be herded into Szeged ghetto, they were ones that herded us there. After the war my brother spoke to those boys we used to play with. He said, how could you do that to us? They said: Well, we didn't know what was happening. All we were told along was the equivalent of the Boy Scouts. The sergeant used to come along: tomorrow, turn up with a stick & we’ll give you ten shillings. And they turned up & their job was to herd us into the ghetto. My father & two other brothers were sent to the labour battalion & then to Auschwitz. One day in Auschwitz, my brother & I were walking along & he said to me: our father is here. I said: how comes? We used to have roll calls every morning & one day my father didn't come back. We've got the date of his sort of passing away but not the when or why, I've got no idea. As a young boy, you never realise the severity of it all. To show you how it was: when I first went on the cattle truck I laid down on the floor and could see the trains running from the railway lines, clickety-click, click, & I said to myself: Oh, wow, isn't this an adventurous journey? My oldest brother David was a rabbi at 21. When he went to Auschwitz, I heard later on that he worked in a Sonderkommando. Have you heard of that? What happened: people used to arrive at Auschwitz & be segregated. Those that could work were put to one side, those who were not just went to the gas chamber. But what happened after the gas chamber? Who took the dead bodies from the gas chamber to the crematoria? The slaves. The Sonnderkommando. But the Sonnderkommando were not allowed to live more than 4 weeks. Every 4 weeks, they themselves were put in a gas oven. I mean. Can you imagine? I wrote a book. My wife said: why don't you do something useful? You’ve got a computer, nobody knows your life story, including your children, write your life story instead of wasting your time. So I sat down at the computer for half an hour, not knowing what to write. As I started typing, suddenly it all came out. I was 50. Until then I lived a life of denial. I thought the best way forward for me, get up from the dust, dust myself down, try not to think too much about the past because I didn't want to hurt the children or the wife. But afterwards the children kept on telling us, why didn't you tell us about it? We said: Because we didn't want to hurt you. They said: they didn't ask us because they didn't want to hurt us. But we didn't have the luxury of therapy in those days. Was it the right way to go about it? I don't know. I don't know. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Ivor Perl BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2024 • Learn More → Ivor Perl BEM Attempted Humiliation Auschwitz Betrayed Close Family Murdered Concentration Camp Ghetto Incarceration Not Remembering Recovery Telling The Story Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Hungary Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

972: Discovering My Brother Was Alive Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Sweden, postwar. Mala Tribich MBE, recuperating after concentration camps, thinks she is the only member of her family to survive: Mala Tribich MBE Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Mala Tribich MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2023 • Learn More → Mala Tribich MBE Close Family Murdered Hostel Recovery Reunited Swedish Recuperation Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Sweden, postwar. Mala Tribich MBE, recuperating after concentration camps, thinks she is the only member of her family to survive: Then one day I got a letter from my brother Ben. We were in this stately home with all its beauty, I opened it, I read it & was so excited. I ran out into the grounds of this place. There were people milling around. It was a nice summer day & I was holding up this letter saying—shouting, I've got a letter from my brother, I've got a letter from my brother. I was sort of running through the grounds saying that. I think that probably it was nice for all of them to know that somebody’s found their relative alive. Then Ben & I started corresponding. And everyone started leaving Sweden gradually. In 1947 it was decided I was going to my brother in England. Oh, it was a great celebration. They were all very pleased for me. Most people didn't have anywhere to go. I travelled by myself. Today, they would send someone with you &, you know, everything. But in those days, they put me on the boat & I travelled. I was seasick. Ben was waiting with a friend. I could recognise him. It – three years. Mind you, that three years is different because one develops and – yes, I have some lovely pictures of his early time here. I was very excited. We got on the train to go to Victoria Station. I was quite fascinated by the houses. The back of the houses on a railway line, they don't look so great. That was just after the war when they hadn’t done anything to them. There were chimneys & chimneys & chimneys on some older houses, that's what struck me. Ben was living in a hostel in Swiss Cottage. A man had donated two houses, turned them into a hostel. We had games, dances, music, meetings. They were proper. Someone from the Central British Fund came to meet me. She said: 'we haven’t found anything for you yet but there's one girl who’s had an operation. 'She is on convalescence in Blackpool, so you can have her room. By the time she comes back we’ll have found you a room'. They sent someone to go with me, to look after me, & they sent me out to get some clothes. I had clothes but they felt that they wanted to fit me out. You had to have coupons. They didn't always have the clothes that you wanted & there wasn't another delivery for six months & you saw something in the window & you liked it & then they'd say no, but that's only for the window, we haven’t got anything for sale. Difficult, very hard times then but they took me out to kit me out. It wasn't anything too extravagant but they—anything I needed. Then they sent me to learn English. I went to a place in Warren Street called English for Foreigners. I learnt that very quickly [laughs]. Not because I’m good at it but because I knew how quickly I needed it. So then from there, yes, then they wanted to know what I wanted to do, to earn a living. I wanted to do secretarial work, so they sent me to a secretarial college for just about a year in Swiss Cottage. After that I was working & I was self-supporting. My first job was for Cape Times, the newspaper. They had a London office & that's where I got a job, at £4 a week, & I lived on the £4 a week. And from there, you know, I went up and up. 972: Discovering My Brother Was Alive Mala Tribich MBE Adapted from Mala Tribich MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2023 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

973: The Puzzle & The Blanks Jacques Weisser BEM Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Brussels 1942: 6-month-old Jacques Weisser BEM is hidden in children's homes & hospitals. His father is forced to become an Organisation Todt slave labourer. His mother is deported to Malines & murdered in Auschwitz. I should've delved more into it, asking questions. But most of the time after the war I wasn't with my father. When I was he never wanted to talk about it. 'It was what it was, we survived, we made a life for ourselves'. That's what he'd say. He refused to be interviewed by the Shoah Foundation. Maybe being on camera wasn’t his thing. My father was already gone when my mother was taken in the street. The question is, who was I with during that period? Who looked after me for a few days before putting me in this Meisjeshuis [children's home]? It’s a blank. Nobody can tell, nobody knows & I have no memories. There's nobody to ask any more & no records. In my understanding my given name would be 'Salomon Weisser'. Subsequently 'Jacques' became my nom de guerre but in the Jewish orphanage, they misspelt my name & got my birth of date wrong. That's why the research has been so hard. In Belgium there were a lot of children that were somehow saved in one shape, form or another. There was quite a decent underground. A lot of them were Jewish communists, including my uncle, Chaim Weisser. He was responsible for Charleroi. His son was also a hidden child. In August 1944 German officials decided to send the last orphans to Malines. The Belgian resistance hid the children instead. Jacques was hidden in the Ardennes with a boy called Bill. Many years later I found the lady who was involved in hiding in me in the Ardennes. I found her name, Mme Wittamer. I managed to make an appointment to see her but she never turned up. I subsequently learnt that she’d married & never told her husband that she’d hidden a child during the war. My father says that when he found me she didn't want to give me up. A lot of them didn't. She wanted to keep this child. He never talked about her either, which again I found subsequently difficult to understand because it was the last step, if you like, in the life story of being alive. The Resistance put me with her in the Ardennes. And, for whatever reason, no information of any kind from any of the family, apart from the fact that they may have met her once. Not from my father, not from my stepmother, not from anybody. That in a way hurts because that would have been [sighs]—it would have been good. To close the circle I suppose. I only know her first name because there is a card that was found. Her name was Wittamer. For many years I had photos of me, I knew it was me but where they came from, where they were taken, I had no idea. One of them gives my name on the back of one of the photos: 'souvenir de Jacqui'. Who wrote it, no idea. There's so many different layers—the puzzle, you know, trying to find the bits & pieces, it’s complicated, complex. Jacques' father was liberated by US soldiers in the forest of Waldenburg. He came to Brussels. In those days “the place to go to” when you came back was the station, always the railway station. There he met somebody he knew who told him: don't bother going to Antwerp, nothing there for you anymore, your wife died, your brother has survived. We believe your son is alive. So my understanding is he found where I was, through the Red Cross. He found me, he says in Virton but maybe in Esch-en-Raphaël, & brought me back to Brussels, met his wife-to-be, my stepmother, & his life carried on from there, as did mine. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Jacques Weisser BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, December 2023 • Learn More → Jacques Weisser BEM Close Family Murdered Finding Out Hidden Child In Hiding Never Finding Out Not Remembering Staying With Strangers Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Belgium Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

Nitra, Slovakia, September 1944: Miriam Freedman, her sister, mother, cousin & uncle & aunt go into hiding in a flat: At nighttime, the caretaker used to bring us food. We sat there, never able to talk, no toys or books or anything. Things becoming all the time worse. The caretaker was fantastic. Sometimes Germans came in looking accommodation for the officers. So what did the caretaker do? He changed the lock of the flat & said the owners were away & nobody can use this flat. He was very clever, the caretaker. He changed the locks. I can’t remember having a shower or a change of clothes. The caretaker had a daughter my age. They had a problem: why is her mother now cooking a lot of food? So the little girl had to be told about us, but she went to school & children often tell secrets they shouldn't. So they actually threatened her to death, the people who saved our life, if she revealed anything to anybody. The caretaker helped us because he was paid, but also because he was a communist. He disagreed with the Germans. At first my uncle had a little money. Eventually it ran out. But my uncle promised after the war that he'd be compensated. By that stage it was as bad for them as for us. If they're caught, if they reveal they're hiding Jews, they are in same position. They know they're going to be killed as well, if we get found. Once we were nearly caught forever. A drunken official came with about 20 soldiers, Hlinka Guard or Nazi, I do not know. They said: we know there are Jews here, we are going to find them one way or another. The caretaker took us down to the cellar. He'd carved a hole there. We went 8 people into this hole, like sardines. The size of this sofa, 8 people, lying together, when there was a rumour that the building is going to be searched. I don't remember ever eating, or going to the toilet. It was like you blocked it, are in a state of denial. You don't want to believe it happened. Next to our hole, in the basement, soldiers used to come regularly to exercise. A tiny wall between us & this big room where the soldiers were exercising. If you cough, we had it. So we had this continental quilt with big feathers. We all had it on our mouth, if you cough into the quilt you don't hear the echo. Sometimes we were there for long time. At night they left, so we could go out into the next part of the cellar. I went to see it a few years ago. You can’t believe it, how small it was. All I remember is, move, move, but where shall I move? There was only a wall & a pipe. It was so terrible. When things quietened down we went back up to the flat. But then a new rumour that they're looking for Jews here. The caretaker terribly quickly ran upstairs & told us: this is the end of it, we have to surrender now to the Gestapo because I can't take you down to the cellar. I can’t take you anywhere, say goodbye, pray, do whatever you like, say goodbye to each other, that is that. Believe me, he was in terrible danger too. But this is what he did: the officer took away all the bunches of keys from every single flat that the caretaker had. But what the caretaker did in 5 seconds: he slipped the old key into the chain & our new key was put away. We could hear the officer coming from door to door. We could hear them talking in the flat next to ours, but very merry, all laughing & joking. I suppose they gave more drink – drink, drink, drinking all the time. When they came out it was the turn of our flat & we could hear him. He tried to enter the key in the keyhole. It wouldn't go in, he couldn't get in. So the caretaker said to him, listen, the only way we can break this door, we go downstairs & get some heavy instrument to break it. For whatever reason, it’s not opening. So he convinced the officer who was drunk, gave him more drink, went downstairs & he said, well, we have seen all the flats, didn't we? So now we can say goodbye. It’s the only flat he didn't enter. Only flat. ’Cos he was so drunk he didn't know what's happening & they said there's no more places to look. This was our saving grace. We couldn't hide anywhere in the flat. There was only one cupboard there. Hiding there wouldn't have made any difference, we'd have been caught. This was the end of our life, would have been. Then we were rescued by the Russians. And trouble started with the Russians [laughs]. One story I forgot to tell you: Christmastime, the caretaker told me: I’m giving you a present. He brought his little daughter to play with me. It was something wonderful because I never saw a child my age. But I didn't know how to talk to her anymore. I had nothing to talk to her about. But I said one thing: if I survive this war I want to be a sportswoman. That was my whole dream: running, running, running. I said to her, I’m going to race you & you never could catch me. The war came over, I couldn’t walk any more. Because of lack of circulation our legs were so swollen. We didn't move. When you don't move for a long time you can't just start. So when the war was over, the girl said: Come on, let’s have a race. I couldn't even lift up my leg. But I was determined to become a sportswoman. I become one, & reached quite a high level. Running, swimming, handball, cycling. I trained for the Olympics. All my life was sports, sports, sports. Every possibility. When I got out of the war something in me wanted to move. The running represent freedom to me, to move. 999: The Caretaker & His Daughter Miriam Freedman Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 999: The Caretaker & His Daughter ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Miriam Freedman Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Miriam Freedman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Miriam Freedman Helped By Non-Jews In Hiding Near Escape Recovery Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia See Locations Full Text Nitra, Slovakia, September 1944: Miriam Freedman, her sister, mother, cousin & uncle & aunt go into hiding in a flat: At nighttime, the caretaker used to bring us food. We sat there, never able to talk, no toys or books or anything. Things becoming all the time worse. The caretaker was fantastic. Sometimes Germans came in looking accommodation for the officers. So what did the caretaker do? He changed the lock of the flat & said the owners were away & nobody can use this flat. He was very clever, the caretaker. He changed the locks. I can’t remember having a shower or a change of clothes. The caretaker had a daughter my age. They had a problem: why is her mother now cooking a lot of food? So the little girl had to be told about us, but she went to school & children often tell secrets they shouldn't. So they actually threatened her to death, the people who saved our life, if she revealed anything to anybody. The caretaker helped us because he was paid, but also because he was a communist. He disagreed with the Germans. At first my uncle had a little money. Eventually it ran out. But my uncle promised after the war that he'd be compensated. By that stage it was as bad for them as for us. If they're caught, if they reveal they're hiding Jews, they are in same position. They know they're going to be killed as well, if we get found. Once we were nearly caught forever. A drunken official came with about 20 soldiers, Hlinka Guard or Nazi, I do not know. They said: we know there are Jews here, we are going to find them one way or another. The caretaker took us down to the cellar. He'd carved a hole there. We went 8 people into this hole, like sardines. The size of this sofa, 8 people, lying together, when there was a rumour that the building is going to be searched. I don't remember ever eating, or going to the toilet. It was like you blocked it, are in a state of denial. You don't want to believe it happened. Next to our hole, in the basement, soldiers used to come regularly to exercise. A tiny wall between us & this big room where the soldiers were exercising. If you cough, we had it. So we had this continental quilt with big feathers. We all had it on our mouth, if you cough into the quilt you don't hear the echo. Sometimes we were there for long time. At night they left, so we could go out into the next part of the cellar. I went to see it a few years ago. You can’t believe it, how small it was. All I remember is, move, move, but where shall I move? There was only a wall & a pipe. It was so terrible. When things quietened down we went back up to the flat. But then a new rumour that they're looking for Jews here. The caretaker terribly quickly ran upstairs & told us: this is the end of it, we have to surrender now to the Gestapo because I can't take you down to the cellar. I can’t take you anywhere, say goodbye, pray, do whatever you like, say goodbye to each other, that is that. Believe me, he was in terrible danger too. But this is what he did: the officer took away all the bunches of keys from every single flat that the caretaker had. But what the caretaker did in 5 seconds: he slipped the old key into the chain & our new key was put away. We could hear the officer coming from door to door. We could hear them talking in the flat next to ours, but very merry, all laughing & joking. I suppose they gave more drink – drink, drink, drinking all the time. When they came out it was the turn of our flat & we could hear him. He tried to enter the key in the keyhole. It wouldn't go in, he couldn't get in. So the caretaker said to him, listen, the only way we can break this door, we go downstairs & get some heavy instrument to break it. For whatever reason, it’s not opening. So he convinced the officer who was drunk, gave him more drink, went downstairs & he said, well, we have seen all the flats, didn't we? So now we can say goodbye. It’s the only flat he didn't enter. Only flat. ’Cos he was so drunk he didn't know what's happening & they said there's no more places to look. This was our saving grace. We couldn't hide anywhere in the flat. There was only one cupboard there. Hiding there wouldn't have made any difference, we'd have been caught. This was the end of our life, would have been. Then we were rescued by the Russians. And trouble started with the Russians [laughs]. One story I forgot to tell you: Christmastime, the caretaker told me: I’m giving you a present. He brought his little daughter to play with me. It was something wonderful because I never saw a child my age. But I didn't know how to talk to her anymore. I had nothing to talk to her about. But I said one thing: if I survive this war I want to be a sportswoman. That was my whole dream: running, running, running. I said to her, I’m going to race you & you never could catch me. The war came over, I couldn’t walk any more. Because of lack of circulation our legs were so swollen. We didn't move. When you don't move for a long time you can't just start. So when the war was over, the girl said: Come on, let’s have a race. I couldn't even lift up my leg. But I was determined to become a sportswoman. I become one, & reached quite a high level. Running, swimming, handball, cycling. I trained for the Olympics. All my life was sports, sports, sports. Every possibility. When I got out of the war something in me wanted to move. The running represent freedom to me, to move. 999: The Caretaker & His Daughter Miriam Freedman Adapted from Miriam Freedman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Bea Green MBE went to secondary school in Munich: There were two girls who often turned up with their BDM—their Hitler Youth uniform. I stayed clear of them. One of them found me after the war. There were five Jewish girls in a class of 40. The five of us were in a little bunch. The other 35 were in their larger circle. It didn’t bother us, it kind of seemed normal & it didn’t mean that I didn’t talk to the others ever. I didn't think about them until the article in the Süddeutsche Zeitung about the Kindertransport & my visit to Munich. She read this article & rang the editor who gave her the address of the woman who wrote the article who rang me up & said could she–I said yes, you can give her my address. So she didn’t want to wait to write, she got onto directory enquiries & got my telephone number. The telephone rings: “Is that Mrs Green?” This is in German. “Ja.” I’ll tell it in English. “Were you the Beate Siegel?” Yes. Ah, she said. I remember, you were sitting in the front row by the door & you used to go & look out for the teacher. When he or she came, you used to dash back into the classroom & say: “Er kommt, er kommt” “He’s coming, he’s coming” But you were so quick that you were sitting down before he actually came to the door & I admired that because it was so courageous. After all this I said to her, but who are you? She told me her name. Now, the next bit came straight out, without going through the filter of my head, came straight out from wherever my soul is: 'But why are you ringing me I thought you were a Nazi?' Boom. Moment silence. Then she said: how can you say that, I was so shy. 'But you used to turn up in your BDM uniform'. Then she said that there was a good reason for that: 'I can explain it.' Her explanation was that her father was a civil servant accused of anti-Hitler sentiments, so she was making up for it. And I believe her, she’s decent. She said, but “Ich hab’ die Treffen immer geschwänzt”: I always played truant when it came to the meetings of the Hitler Youth by saying I have to practise my piano. She is now a professional pianist. You know, it rang true, I believe her, & we are in touch even now. When you hear stories like that, you get a view of history where you have to distinguish between the real bastards & those that kept quiet when they shouldn’t & those who kept quiet when they perhaps had no choice. She told me a good story also about the Director of my school. During the war, after I'd left & was in England, in German schools, whenever Hitler made a speech, all the children had to listen to the speech, so they were all taken into the big assembly hall. She told me the director had a pact with the janitor who fiddled with the radio. It crackled & crackled. The janitor would say every time “Sorry but the radio’s broken” & they all clapped & went back to the classroom, never listening to Hitler’s speech. Little anti-Nazi tricks & a director who was courageous enough to do it & a janitor who worked with him. And the girls who didn’t object or didn’t go home & denounce the director. So this went on in Germany throughout the war. 966: I Thought You Were A Nazi Bea Green MBE Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 966: I Thought You Were A Nazi ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Bea Green MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Bea Green MBE 's interview with Sharon Rappaport for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, Junw 2006 • Learn More → Bea Green MBE Hitler Youth Resistance Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Bea Green MBE went to secondary school in Munich: There were two girls who often turned up with their BDM—their Hitler Youth uniform. I stayed clear of them. One of them found me after the war. There were five Jewish girls in a class of 40. The five of us were in a little bunch. The other 35 were in their larger circle. It didn’t bother us, it kind of seemed normal & it didn’t mean that I didn’t talk to the others ever. I didn't think about them until the article in the Süddeutsche Zeitung about the Kindertransport & my visit to Munich. She read this article & rang the editor who gave her the address of the woman who wrote the article who rang me up & said could she–I said yes, you can give her my address. So she didn’t want to wait to write, she got onto directory enquiries & got my telephone number. The telephone rings: “Is that Mrs Green?” This is in German. “Ja.” I’ll tell it in English. “Were you the Beate Siegel?” Yes. Ah, she said. I remember, you were sitting in the front row by the door & you used to go & look out for the teacher. When he or she came, you used to dash back into the classroom & say: “Er kommt, er kommt” “He’s coming, he’s coming” But you were so quick that you were sitting down before he actually came to the door & I admired that because it was so courageous. After all this I said to her, but who are you? She told me her name. Now, the next bit came straight out, without going through the filter of my head, came straight out from wherever my soul is: 'But why are you ringing me I thought you were a Nazi?' Boom. Moment silence. Then she said: how can you say that, I was so shy. 'But you used to turn up in your BDM uniform'. Then she said that there was a good reason for that: 'I can explain it.' Her explanation was that her father was a civil servant accused of anti-Hitler sentiments, so she was making up for it. And I believe her, she’s decent. She said, but “Ich hab’ die Treffen immer geschwänzt”: I always played truant when it came to the meetings of the Hitler Youth by saying I have to practise my piano. She is now a professional pianist. You know, it rang true, I believe her, & we are in touch even now. When you hear stories like that, you get a view of history where you have to distinguish between the real bastards & those that kept quiet when they shouldn’t & those who kept quiet when they perhaps had no choice. She told me a good story also about the Director of my school. During the war, after I'd left & was in England, in German schools, whenever Hitler made a speech, all the children had to listen to the speech, so they were all taken into the big assembly hall. She told me the director had a pact with the janitor who fiddled with the radio. It crackled & crackled. The janitor would say every time “Sorry but the radio’s broken” & they all clapped & went back to the classroom, never listening to Hitler’s speech. Little anti-Nazi tricks & a director who was courageous enough to do it & a janitor who worked with him. And the girls who didn’t object or didn’t go home & denounce the director. So this went on in Germany throughout the war. 966: I Thought You Were A Nazi Bea Green MBE Edited from Bea Green MBE 's interview with Sharon Rappaport for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, Junw 2006 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Harry Bibring, Vienna, 1938: It was perfectly OK to try & obtain Jewish property by purchasing it at a peppercorn price. There was actually an official place in Vienna called the Vermögensverkehrsstelle where a Nazi could go & say, “I’d like to buy a tailor’s shop”, or,“I’d like to buy a flat”, or whatever. I picked up some documents in the '70s in the Austrian State Archives: a man wished to buy my father’s shop for 5,000 Reichsmark, about £200. It was argued that my father’s shop was in debt. That wasn’t surprising, because he hasn’t any customers since the Anschluss. If it had happened, my whole life would have been different. Because my father would have lost his shop to these people. I don’t know why it didn’t go through. If it had gone through, the shop would have survived the war. I would have come back after the war, got my father’s shop back, possibly lived in Vienna. Follow in his footsteps. That’s a possibility. But because that didn’t happen, on Kristallnacht it was destroyed. What happened was this: on November 10 my father disappeared. The last employee that my father still had working for him, a non-Jewish man, a family friend, he phoned up & said my father hadn’t arrived at the shop. We found out afterwards that my father was arrested, together with other men from our block, from surrounding blocks. They were transported by a van to a jail, & locked up for 10 days. 12 to a cell. Fed on bread & water under the cell flap. No exercise whatsoever, except to bring them out for the wardens to amuse themselves & abuse them in various ways. We didn’t know any of that. Later that same day, Nazis came to our flat. And took my mother, [sister] Gerti & me, initially to the headquarters of the local Nazi Party. There were eventually about 30 women & children in this room. We were then marched through the streets for about an hour, flanked front, back & sideways with guards. And brought to a flat way out from where we lived. Some woman’s flat, a Jewish woman, living alone, in a large flat. She wasn’t told we were coming. We were told we had to stay there until further notice. We were actually relieved. I think all of us expected, although none of us said it, that we were being marched to a train station to go to a concentration camp. This was happening all over the city, though we didn’t know at that time. We stayed there for some time & had to find a way of getting food. Eventually Gerti was sent out to buy food. She was told where the local shops were. She took all the money that the old woman had in the flat & that other people had in their purses. She came back with a load of root vegetables, which was clever because they aren't perishable. Every root vegetable that you could think of. So we were all stuck there. After about ten days, somebody came & told us to go home. And when we were going home, we met my father coming from this prison—which we didn’t know he was in—from the opposite direction. We were reunited outside the front door. The scene is indescribable: a happy & sad scene. My father told us what happened to him, & we told him what had happened to us. It was then that he cleaned himself up & went to the shop & found it was totally destroyed. Not a pair of trousers left from his shop. Everything that was breakable was broken. It was also the point when my father told us that he was thinking of emigrating. Because now he can’t earn any money. There’s not much in the bank anymore. So talk started about emigrating. 995: Father's Shop Harry Bibring BEM Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 995: Father's Shop ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Harry Bibring BEM Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Harry Bibring's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2018 • Learn More → Harry Bibring BEM Arrested Destruction of Property Encounter With Nazi Officials Hitler Youth November Pogrom / Kristallnacht Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Austria See Locations Full Text Harry Bibring, Vienna, 1938: It was perfectly OK to try & obtain Jewish property by purchasing it at a peppercorn price. There was actually an official place in Vienna called the Vermögensverkehrsstelle where a Nazi could go & say, “I’d like to buy a tailor’s shop”, or,“I’d like to buy a flat”, or whatever. I picked up some documents in the '70s in the Austrian State Archives: a man wished to buy my father’s shop for 5,000 Reichsmark, about £200. It was argued that my father’s shop was in debt. That wasn’t surprising, because he hasn’t any customers since the Anschluss. If it had happened, my whole life would have been different. Because my father would have lost his shop to these people. I don’t know why it didn’t go through. If it had gone through, the shop would have survived the war. I would have come back after the war, got my father’s shop back, possibly lived in Vienna. Follow in his footsteps. That’s a possibility. But because that didn’t happen, on Kristallnacht it was destroyed. What happened was this: on November 10 my father disappeared. The last employee that my father still had working for him, a non-Jewish man, a family friend, he phoned up & said my father hadn’t arrived at the shop. We found out afterwards that my father was arrested, together with other men from our block, from surrounding blocks. They were transported by a van to a jail, & locked up for 10 days. 12 to a cell. Fed on bread & water under the cell flap. No exercise whatsoever, except to bring them out for the wardens to amuse themselves & abuse them in various ways. We didn’t know any of that. Later that same day, Nazis came to our flat. And took my mother, [sister] Gerti & me, initially to the headquarters of the local Nazi Party. There were eventually about 30 women & children in this room. We were then marched through the streets for about an hour, flanked front, back & sideways with guards. And brought to a flat way out from where we lived. Some woman’s flat, a Jewish woman, living alone, in a large flat. She wasn’t told we were coming. We were told we had to stay there until further notice. We were actually relieved. I think all of us expected, although none of us said it, that we were being marched to a train station to go to a concentration camp. This was happening all over the city, though we didn’t know at that time. We stayed there for some time & had to find a way of getting food. Eventually Gerti was sent out to buy food. She was told where the local shops were. She took all the money that the old woman had in the flat & that other people had in their purses. She came back with a load of root vegetables, which was clever because they aren't perishable. Every root vegetable that you could think of. So we were all stuck there. After about ten days, somebody came & told us to go home. And when we were going home, we met my father coming from this prison—which we didn’t know he was in—from the opposite direction. We were reunited outside the front door. The scene is indescribable: a happy & sad scene. My father told us what happened to him, & we told him what had happened to us. It was then that he cleaned himself up & went to the shop & found it was totally destroyed. Not a pair of trousers left from his shop. Everything that was breakable was broken. It was also the point when my father told us that he was thinking of emigrating. Because now he can’t earn any money. There’s not much in the bank anymore. So talk started about emigrating. 995: Father's Shop Harry Bibring BEM Adapted from Harry Bibring's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2018 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

966: I Thought You Were A Nazi Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Bea Green MBE went to secondary school in Munich: Bea Green MBE Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Bea Green MBE 's interview with Sharon Rappaport for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, Junw 2006 • Learn More → Bea Green MBE Hitler Youth Resistance Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Bea Green MBE went to secondary school in Munich: There were two girls who often turned up with their BDM—their Hitler Youth uniform. I stayed clear of them. One of them found me after the war. There were five Jewish girls in a class of 40. The five of us were in a little bunch. The other 35 were in their larger circle. It didn’t bother us, it kind of seemed normal & it didn’t mean that I didn’t talk to the others ever. I didn't think about them until the article in the Süddeutsche Zeitung about the Kindertransport & my visit to Munich. She read this article & rang the editor who gave her the address of the woman who wrote the article who rang me up & said could she–I said yes, you can give her my address. So she didn’t want to wait to write, she got onto directory enquiries & got my telephone number. The telephone rings: “Is that Mrs Green?” This is in German. “Ja.” I’ll tell it in English. “Were you the Beate Siegel?” Yes. Ah, she said. I remember, you were sitting in the front row by the door & you used to go & look out for the teacher. When he or she came, you used to dash back into the classroom & say: “Er kommt, er kommt” “He’s coming, he’s coming” But you were so quick that you were sitting down before he actually came to the door & I admired that because it was so courageous. After all this I said to her, but who are you? She told me her name. Now, the next bit came straight out, without going through the filter of my head, came straight out from wherever my soul is: 'But why are you ringing me I thought you were a Nazi?' Boom. Moment silence. Then she said: how can you say that, I was so shy. 'But you used to turn up in your BDM uniform'. Then she said that there was a good reason for that: 'I can explain it.' Her explanation was that her father was a civil servant accused of anti-Hitler sentiments, so she was making up for it. And I believe her, she’s decent. She said, but “Ich hab’ die Treffen immer geschwänzt”: I always played truant when it came to the meetings of the Hitler Youth by saying I have to practise my piano. She is now a professional pianist. You know, it rang true, I believe her, & we are in touch even now. When you hear stories like that, you get a view of history where you have to distinguish between the real bastards & those that kept quiet when they shouldn’t & those who kept quiet when they perhaps had no choice. She told me a good story also about the Director of my school. During the war, after I'd left & was in England, in German schools, whenever Hitler made a speech, all the children had to listen to the speech, so they were all taken into the big assembly hall. She told me the director had a pact with the janitor who fiddled with the radio. It crackled & crackled. The janitor would say every time “Sorry but the radio’s broken” & they all clapped & went back to the classroom, never listening to Hitler’s speech. Little anti-Nazi tricks & a director who was courageous enough to do it & a janitor who worked with him. And the girls who didn’t object or didn’t go home & denounce the director. So this went on in Germany throughout the war. 966: I Thought You Were A Nazi Bea Green MBE Edited from Bea Green MBE 's interview with Sharon Rappaport for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, Junw 2006 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

993: Jews Not Welcome Ruth Jackson Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Ruth Jackson, Eberswalde, early 1930s: One thing stands out in my mind. I went shopping with my mother & saw a man in front of me with a swastika burnt into his skull. It made a terrible impression on me & I asked my mother why had he done that, it seemed a bit stupid. She said he had been in a sort of prison, that he didn’t very much like the Nazis & he’d spoken against them & he was taken into a prison & they put it in there so that he would always remember that. That made a big impression on me. In early 1933, Hitler came to Eberswalde as he toured Germany. All our windows faced the square so we saw all these people gathering, thousands of people, marching, singing, swastika flags flying, & a podium was set up for Hitler. There was a knock at the door, my father was in Berlin. My mother opened the door & I heard her arguing with a man. In the end she let him in. We were forced to put a swastika flag out of our windows, which of course my mother didn’t want to do. She hung the banner right below, as low as she could get below our window sill. I thought she would fall out. I was hanging onto her skirts. We were told that if we didn’t it would be so noticeable: Hitler would be facing our windows. We put the wooden blinds down but you could still hear him shrieking & shouting. But we couldn’t see him—or I could through the slits of the blinds. When they all went we were able to breathe again, but my parents decided it was best to move back to Berlin. Because you are not so noticeable in a crowd as you are in a small town. In Berlin we lived near the Reichskanzlerplatz, which was duly changed to Adolf Hitler Platz. I was 7. I made friends, the teacher seemed to like me, I got on quite well, until one day my mother was asked to come to the school. I was given a note for her. I was afraid, wondered what I had done wrong, nobody said anything, I was just asked to give her this letter. Well, the letter was for her to come to the school, which she did. She told me I wasn’t going to go back to that school because the other parents objected to their children being in a class with a Jewish child. So that was the end of that school. The second time I had to move. Luckily enough for me, a new school was being built, a Jewish school called Theodor-Herzl-Schule, at the top of the avenue that we lived in. I had to go by tram but that was all part of the fun of it; I made lots of friends. Suddenly I didn’t have to worry about being Jewish because we were all Jewish. We couldn’t go to cinemas, swimming pools, but somehow as a child you to take it all in your stride, it didn’t seem to worry me terribly because I’d got my friends. Then we had to move again. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. You’d find a flat & people would say ‘Are you Jewish?’ We’d say, yes, & they’d say, ‘We don’t want you’. Finally we did find a flat a bit nearer school. There were other children nearby & I was able to befriend them. You didn’t go out to play, you played in each other’s homes. Somehow we just accepted that. We weren’t welcomed in restaurants. No ice-cream parlours any more. I don’t think I looked particularly Jewish & certainly my mother wasn’t Jewish. But we weren’t going to take the risk. Shops would say ‘Jews not welcome’. But the worst thing that happened was this: my mother wasn't Jewish, all her family weren’t Jewish. We used to visit them quite happily, they had children, my mother’s cousins had children who were nearer my age than my own brother & sister. So I used to enjoy going there. One day, we went to this one aunt called Ella. She always made us very welcome but on this occasion she furtively looked round the door to see that nobody had seen us come. Almost pulled us into the flat, I was shooed into the other room to play with my cousin. My mother & my aunt went into the kitchen & chatted, & they were out very quickly, normally they’d stay in there for ages & talk & we’d play. The first thing I noticed in the sitting room was that there was a big picture of Hitler on the wall where the mirror used to be. My cousin said to me ‘why are you looking at that, haven’t you got a picture of Hitler?’ I said, no, no, & what happened to the mirror? Oh, we took that down, this is much more important. I was nearly going to say something when my mother said ‘we’ve got to go. I forgot.' I thought it was a bit strange but I went. And my mother said, I’m afraid we can’t go there any more. They’re going to be in trouble if Jews come into the flat, or meet us anywhere, my uncle would be out of a job, the children at school had been told to spy on their parents. It just wasn’t safe for them. So that was that. So we didn’t see any of my mother’s relations any more. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Ruth Jackson's interview with Helen Lloyd for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2004 • Learn More → Ruth Jackson Asked To Leave School Betrayed Encounter With Hitler Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

990: The Shock Marianne Summerfield BEM Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Marianne Summerfield BEM, Breslau, Nov 9, 1938: My father was asked to report to Nazi headquarters. Stupidly, although my mother told him not to, he just walked into it. My mother lost her milk immediately. She was feeding me & immediately lost her milk. The shock. He was sent to Buchenwald. My mother got very bad asthma. She's convinced it happened because of the upset with Kristallnacht & everything that was going on. My father had terrible nightmares for years & years afterwards. But when my daughter was born on the 9th of November, the nightmares stopped. Never had them again. It was as though it wiped the slate clean. My mother became very anxious after that. Always- ‘die Wände haben Ohren’ [the walls have ears]: you mustn't say anything as somebody might be listening. That carried on with her. My father had to write a letter to say that he was treated all right in concentration camp. Because Hitler didn't want the world to know what was going on. But my father signed the letter to my mother, 'Asor'. Your son, Asor, which is quite significant. Asor means not true. It’s Yiddish [אסור 'forbidden']. But my mother understood it immediately. That was a code word. Very difficult, it was very difficult. My mother wasn't very domesticated. My parents had a pet, a cat, & they had to get rid of the cat. Jews were not allowed to have pets. It had to be put down. But my mother was very brave. She dressed up & went to the Gestapo headquarters & flirted, & she was lucky. She was allowed in, because she was blonde & blue eyed, so they didn't think that she was Jewish. That saved her life, my life, my father's life. The Nazi official was very rude & shouted & said, ‘I'm not interested in you & your problems.’ My mother said, ‘Well, I'll wait until you've finished.’ And when he had finished, it took 5 hours, he changed & said, ‘I'll help you now.’ He helped find some missing papers. So, my father then came out of concentration camp. And they gave him the fare money to go home, because he had no money anymore. Probably 8 weeks after he was arrested. Didn't speak about it. His skin was always unsteady, always has skin cancer, my father. He had huge boils when he came out of concentration camp. I'm convinced that the skin was unsteady because of his treatment. He never went into the sun; we didn't understand skin cancer. But it had a very marked effect upon my father, he lost his ambition. He became happy with very little. As long as he had his little house, his wife & child, that's all he really wanted. He had to leave within five days, because his visa would expire. So he left for England to start the new life & my mother & I came soon afterwards. My mother hardly recognised him when he came out. He was so emaciated, in a terrible state. My mother heard Hitler speak once, early on. She went to a rally & heard him speak, because she looked so Aryan. And I never understood again, why they didn't get out earlier. Because that time it wasn't as difficult to get out. I've always asked people, ‘What year did you get out? Why did you leave earlier?’ But they had – my mother had the responsibility to get – you know, she didn't want to leave her mother or mother-in-law. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Marianne Summerfield BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2023 • Learn More → Marianne Summerfield BEM Buchenwald Encounter With Nazi Officials No Longer Allowed Pets November Pogrom / Kristallnacht Pre-war Camp Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

Miriam Freedman, Nitra, Slovakia, wartime: It's difficult. Children feel very protected. Everything goes well. Then all of a sudden you see terrible things, like people disappearing all the time. They caught them in the street. They just disappeared but we did not know why. Then we had to put some shutters on our little place because hooligans used to come around & throw bottles. There were rumours that things were better in Hungary, so they sent my brother & sister, hoping they'd be okay. Neighbours wouldn't play with you anymore. Quite dangerous to go in the street. There was an alleyway behind our building in Nitra near the synagogue. Sometimes people were beaten up. I was about 8, they send me out to buy bread & milk, because they didn't harm children. My father came home from synagogue & said we had to wear the yellow star. I was always a bit of a rebel, so I didn't stitch on & took it off when I left the house. Very dangerous but I didn't know. I didn't like it because it was so big. But every time I went to the grocery they'd say: 'Why do the grown-ups always send children shopping?' They didn't harm children yet, but called us names, dirty Jew. But I didn't have a yellow star, so I said, how do you know? [Laughs] I was such a cheeky girl. How do you know I’m Jewish? I could be a gypsy. One incident I cannot forget: a man came once to see my late father. There's a kiosk not far, he asked me: "Could you go & get me some cigarettes? If you do, next time I'm here I'll bring you a doll." I didn't have any toys. He gave me the money & I went to buy him cigarettes. I went to the kiosk. The man said: why doesn't he want come buy himself the cigarettes? Is he afraid he's going to be hit, bashed around? Why does he send a little girl? So they realised I’m Jewish but somehow they didn't want to harm me. So this I remember. And I came back. I gave him the cigarettes & he promised me a doll. Of course I never saw him again, & that was the end of him. We don't know what happened. Then the bank confiscated my father's money. So he had to do any labour work to keep the family alive. Then he was taken away. At some point my parents put me alone with a man while they were looking for a place to hide. I was so afraid of this man, screaming for my parents. I found some scissors & cut my leg. He opened the door & saw, my parents came eventually. That was a horrible experience. Then an order came one day that all the Jews must be segregated in some place. We were taken to the railway station. But we were saved by my aunt's boyfriend who was a Hlinka Guard. He said to pretend my sister had typhus. We had the doctor, & she was carried in a blanket. So we were taken off & came back to our flat. But they put a black heart outside the flat, nobody should come near this building because there is typhus. My family brought us food. That’s the first rescue. We were very lucky with rescues. But every time it got worse & worse. Eventually Miriam, her mother & sister went into hiding with other family members in a small flat. Eight of us in one bedsitter. We couldn't contact my father or my other sister, so we lost them. The caretaker of the building was a communist & he helped us there. We'd been there a few days when we saw my father in the road. My uncle didn't call him. I can never forget that ’cos he must have tried to hide as well. Of course he was caught & taken to concentration camp. I never forget looking out the window, seeing him the last time. I wanted him so much. My mother wanted to put her shoes on. But my uncle said, if you go out, I’m not sure you can come back. 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat Miriam Freedman Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Miriam Freedman Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Miriam Freedman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Miriam Freedman Attempted Humiliation Helped By Non-Jews In Hiding Yellow star Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia See Locations Full Text Miriam Freedman, Nitra, Slovakia, wartime: It's difficult. Children feel very protected. Everything goes well. Then all of a sudden you see terrible things, like people disappearing all the time. They caught them in the street. They just disappeared but we did not know why. Then we had to put some shutters on our little place because hooligans used to come around & throw bottles. There were rumours that things were better in Hungary, so they sent my brother & sister, hoping they'd be okay. Neighbours wouldn't play with you anymore. Quite dangerous to go in the street. There was an alleyway behind our building in Nitra near the synagogue. Sometimes people were beaten up. I was about 8, they send me out to buy bread & milk, because they didn't harm children. My father came home from synagogue & said we had to wear the yellow star. I was always a bit of a rebel, so I didn't stitch on & took it off when I left the house. Very dangerous but I didn't know. I didn't like it because it was so big. But every time I went to the grocery they'd say: 'Why do the grown-ups always send children shopping?' They didn't harm children yet, but called us names, dirty Jew. But I didn't have a yellow star, so I said, how do you know? [Laughs] I was such a cheeky girl. How do you know I’m Jewish? I could be a gypsy. One incident I cannot forget: a man came once to see my late father. There's a kiosk not far, he asked me: "Could you go & get me some cigarettes? If you do, next time I'm here I'll bring you a doll." I didn't have any toys. He gave me the money & I went to buy him cigarettes. I went to the kiosk. The man said: why doesn't he want come buy himself the cigarettes? Is he afraid he's going to be hit, bashed around? Why does he send a little girl? So they realised I’m Jewish but somehow they didn't want to harm me. So this I remember. And I came back. I gave him the cigarettes & he promised me a doll. Of course I never saw him again, & that was the end of him. We don't know what happened. Then the bank confiscated my father's money. So he had to do any labour work to keep the family alive. Then he was taken away. At some point my parents put me alone with a man while they were looking for a place to hide. I was so afraid of this man, screaming for my parents. I found some scissors & cut my leg. He opened the door & saw, my parents came eventually. That was a horrible experience. Then an order came one day that all the Jews must be segregated in some place. We were taken to the railway station. But we were saved by my aunt's boyfriend who was a Hlinka Guard. He said to pretend my sister had typhus. We had the doctor, & she was carried in a blanket. So we were taken off & came back to our flat. But they put a black heart outside the flat, nobody should come near this building because there is typhus. My family brought us food. That’s the first rescue. We were very lucky with rescues. But every time it got worse & worse. Eventually Miriam, her mother & sister went into hiding with other family members in a small flat. Eight of us in one bedsitter. We couldn't contact my father or my other sister, so we lost them. The caretaker of the building was a communist & he helped us there. We'd been there a few days when we saw my father in the road. My uncle didn't call him. I can never forget that ’cos he must have tried to hide as well. Of course he was caught & taken to concentration camp. I never forget looking out the window, seeing him the last time. I wanted him so much. My mother wanted to put her shoes on. But my uncle said, if you go out, I’m not sure you can come back. 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat Miriam Freedman Adapted from Miriam Freedman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts