My name is David Groen. Please allow me to tell you a little bit about myself. I am the son of Holocaust survivors from Holland. As I am sure you know, Canada and Holland were strong allies in World War II. In fact, my father, who was an active member of the Dutch resistance, rode into the town where my mother was hiding when the Canadian military liberated it from Nazi occupation. The most important thing I want you to know about me is that I never knew my grandparents, one uncle, one aunt, and countless cousins, since the Nazis decimated the Dutch Jewish community, murdering 75% of the Jews living in Holland between 1940 and 1945.
So yes, I take what recently happened in your country’s parliament very personally. As an author and public speaker passionate about making the world aware of the atrocities that took place and keeping alive the memory of what happened under Hitler’s barbaric reign, my reasons for reaching out to you, as important as they may be, are not politically motivated. In fact, I am reaching out to you specifically to avoid being political, as the more political move would be to reach out to the leader of the opposition. However, my motivation is not to impact Canadian politics, it is to address and help fight a growing global crisis. I do not know you, so I am unable to comment on whether you are a good man or a bad man. I do know that certain Canadian officials, up to the very top, have pleaded ignorance regarding the history of Yaroslav Hunka, the Nazi living in your midst. I choose to believe that plea as being an honest one. Nevertheless, that does not make it an acceptable one. The only thing that will truly make it acceptable is a response in your parliament, preferably from someone who will tell a story of exactly why it is so important that this high level of ignorance be combatted. The speaker should not be a mere talking head, but someone whose family was impacted by the evils committed by the Nazis.
My public speaking revolves around the story of my uncle, Bram Rodrigues-Lopes. The younger and only sibling of my late mother, Bram was a violin player and band member when the Nazis invaded Holland. Through my book and website, Bram’s violin made it back to me and my family a little over 4 years ago. What makes Bram’s story so powerful and so relevant is the fact that he was murdered by the Nazis just 3 weeks shy of his 19th birthday. He never had a chance to build a life and leave behind a legacy. His story speaks to the reality and to the heart of what the Nazis did to those they wanted to exterminate, the Jewish people being priority number one. The story also speaks of the decency and bravery of the friend that safeguarded his violin, as well as his son who made the effort to find me.
Should you choose to bring me to Canada to address your parliament I will provide a powerful message emphasizing the dangers of forgetting the atrocities of the past together with the hope provided by the decency of others. What took place in your parliament this past week only magnifies the importance of keeping the story alive. My presentation will not be political as not only have I made a conscious decision to leave politics to those more qualified, but I also feel I have a different mission on this earth besides moving any country’s political needle. Since I see this as being an apolitical topic, and one of critical importance, I will leave everyone in the room with a message they will carry in their hearts and minds for years to come.
Many of us in the Jewish community use the line, “Never Again”. To work towards that, it is critical for it never to be forgotten. I believe certain people in Canada need a reminder, and I offer myself as the person to provide that reminder to your parliament.
While I knew I had to write something about 9/11 in honor of what took place 22 years ago, it wasn’t until I saw 60 minutes that I had a more clear idea of the message I wished to convey. I urge you all to watch the 60 minutes episode dedicated to the heroics of the firemen on that day. It made me realize that on that day New York consisted of 3 categories of individuals. Witnesses, heroes, and victims. It also made me realize that the most important message coming from the memory of that day comes down to one word. Responsibility.
There are different levels of suffering or sadness caused by devastation and tragedy. When we look at the Holocaust, those who had to hide in fear and run for their lives suffered differently than those that went to the camps. Those who survived the camps suffered differently than those who were murdered in the gas chambers. And while human nature causes us to judge things on levels, since the impact each incident has is also determined by the mental and physical makeup of whomever is experiencing these events, to compare them is not only impossible, it is unfair. These are all victims on some level. As someone who was in NY on September 11, 2001, I see this in a similar light, but with one important difference. I realize today how 9/11 helped me form my own personal sense of responsibility and understanding of what I am. I am not a victim. I am a witness. As a witness it will forever be my responsibility to share what I witnessed and how I felt on that day.
There are moments in our lives that are forever embedded in our memory. Then there are days when those moments are magnified on a level unlike all other days. Here are the moments I will never forget from that fateful day.
On September 11th I was living in Forest Hills, a beautiful and active neighborhood in the borough of Queens in New York City. My apt, 10L had a view, albeit distant, of Manhattan. Of course the taller the building, the easier it was to see, making the Twin Towers visible on most days. Visibility however was not an issue on this day, because one of the common memories shared by most people in NY on that day was that the weather could not have been more perfect. It was a comfortable temperature and not a cloud in the sky, and I can tell you with complete honesty and sincerity that there is no other day I have been alive that I remember the weather more clearly. For on this day the contrast between beauty and horror is one of my most indelible memories.
On September 11th I was in a long distance relationship with a woman in St. Louis. We had become very close, so when there was any type of major event we wished to share it with each other. So when I saw Dick Oliver of the local Fox station report on a plane hitting one of the towers, I called her to tell her something big had happened. https://youtu.be/0_CrzPvcY3o?si=omNQimalUIfmuJm5 We both turned on Good Morning America and soon after there was a report of the incident in the first tower. I managed to take a picture of the first tower burning, not knowing that I was memorializing history in the process.
Many still believed this was an awful accident, as nothing specific had yet indicated that this was an act of terror. Being one of those people I felt it was safe to make my way to work.
On September 11th the location of my job was in Brooklyn. To get to Brooklyn I had to take the F train into Manhattan where I would switch to the D train at the 34th street station. On my ride on the F train I began to hear that there was a second plane that had hit the other tower and that now it was apparent that this was a terrorist attack. I remember seeing women crying on the train in a way that people cry when they fear the loss of a loved one. I remember the train stopping with only the front car in the station and all of us being evacuated to that front car and told to leave the station. As I walked out of the station what I saw became one of those indelible memories. Standing on the corner of 36th Street and 7th Avenue, just steps away from Macys, I saw throngs of people, all walking one direction, uptown, away from the towers. And then I walked to a store front where I saw another image embedded in my brain. It was a TV that was on ABC, where the caption read, “World Trade Center, Attacked and Destroyed”. All trains in Manhattan were suspended, so I decided to begin a walk back towards home. On my way uptown I saw the image that represented the tragedy and horror of the day over every other image I would see that day. I will share that with you shortly, but first I will share 2 more images that are forever imbedded in my memory. The two things I remember when crossing what was then known as the 59th street bridge, a bridge connecting Manhattan to Queens. One of those images was in front of me, the other to my right. The first image was that of a woman walking before me, covered in the grey soot seen on so many people on that day. The soot seen on people so close to the catastrophe, that they were physically impacted by what had happened. The second image was to my right. This image was of a trail of smoke coming from downtown, from what would be a gaping hole not only in downtown Manhattan, but in the hearts of all New Yorkers.
On September 11th I was closer to devastation and tragedy on a mass scale than I had ever been in my life. Part of what made it so awful was that in being able to see the horrific images of the 2 planes hitting the buildings and the building collapsing, those closest to the nearly 3,000 souls murdered, the boyfriends and girlfriend, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, friends, and fathers and mothers, would forever see them die before their very eyes. Which brings me to the moment I will have etched in my brain for all my days, the one that most represents the day for me. As I was walking uptown towards 59th street, to my right off of one of the corners a car was parked with its doors open. The radio was loud, and as was the case with any station broadcasting that morning, it was reporting on the attack. Standing near the car was an Asian couple probably in their 50s, the woman sobbing uncontrollably and the man walking back in forth in a panic, tears flowing down his cheeks. While I will likely never have the opportunity to confirm what I thought, I was sure as I walked past this couple, that I was looking at parents that had a child working in one of those towers. It was at this moment, with that image that will be in my head till the day I die, that the harshest reality of that day sunk in.
On September 11th normal every day working people were killed just for being at work or having the misfortune of being on one of the planes used to attack the Towers, the Pentagon, or whatever destination the plane in Pennsylvania was headed for. Firemen risked or lost their lives attempting, and in miraculous fashion saving thousands of people from the burning towers. People were physically or emotionally scarred forever by being in or near the towers on that day, many dying in the years that followed as a result. People lost loved ones and subsequently had their lives changed forever.
On September 11th I was merely a witness. I can not begin to imagine or understand the pain of those closest to the tragedy, for even as someone far removed from what they went through, I am left with a feeling of sadness and pain that will be with me forever. And yet, I am very cognizant of the fact that it is incumbent on me to make sure people do not forget the horrors people endure from the hands of others if I bear witness or hear testimony. It is something I carry with me daily as I tell the story of my ancestors and others killed in the Holocaust. It is the responsibility that is on someone far enough removed to not be incapacitated or weakened by these events, but close enough to them to feel true pain. It is the responsibility to let everyone know their one responsibility above all other responsibilities. That is to never forget, so that those who perished are never forgotten and so that even in their death, their lives always have great meaning.
Holland's Heroes 