As a child growing up I knew different things about the families of both my mother and father. Over the next 4 weeks as I write these brief posts in the series “5 Passages to Bram”, my intention is to keep it more personal than specific. When it comes to my mother’s parents, Marcel and Deborah Rodrigues-Lopes, most of what I have to offer is personal.
My mother would always speak warmly and affectionately about the mother she lost when she was a child of only 13. She spoke of her mother Deborah as being a soft and gentle woman, loving and kind. That softness was passed on to both her children, but in many ways even more so to her son Bram, and the gentle kindness was passed on more to her daughter, my mother Sipora. Although there is an undisputed sadness in her life being cut so short due to an illness very treatable in today’s world, some might say she was fortunate not to have to witness what would take place in Holland only 5 years after her death. Her husband Marcel was very much in love with her, and my mother would often say that after her passing he was a different man. A fact that would be easy to understand given the fact that she was taken from them at the young age of 35. Her passing left a 13 year old Sipora with greater responsibilities than most see at that age, including a significant impact on the everyday life of her little brother Bram, a young boy of only 10.
Marcel Rodrigues was one of those men with a lot going for him. He was youthful, athletic, handsome and accomplished in business. I never once heard my mother challenge whether or not he loved his children, but it was clear that he was never the same after his wife Deborah passed away. Even with that he was a man that by his very nature wanted to make the most of life, a quality I believe he passed on to his daughter Sipora. An avid soccer player and traveller, he loved his children dearly, looking for ways to protect them when things were at their worst. Willing to face the bitter reality, he wanted to do whatever necessary to get them to safety after the Nazi onslaught. Sipora chose to stay in Amsterdam at the hospital where she worked and had the help and support of her relatively new friend and later to be husband and my father Nardus, while Bram would go with his father in an attempt to escape Holland through Belgium, only to picked up at the border and taken to their death in Auschwitz.
My mother honored her parents throughout her life. May their memory be blessed.
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A correction has been made to the previous post in which I referred to my paternal grandmother as Marjan. Frankly, I know I did not make up the spelling of Marjan, subsequently knowing I did get it from somewhere and or someone connected to her history, but in looking up the Yad Vashem archives she is referred to as Marianne. I have made the correction in the post and thank my cousin Bettie for bringing it to my attention.