Starting Sunday April 7th through Tuesday April 16th, Holland’s Heroes will post a series of photos and articles related to the Holocaust and the creation of the State of Israel. There will also be specific stories and pictures directly related to the book “Jew Face: A story of love and heroism in Nazi-occupied Holland”.
Picture on the left: Flag of the State of Israel
Picture on the right: Hall of Remembrance in Yad Vashem (Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem)
As many of you reading this already know, the book Jew Face is the story of my parents journeys and survival during the Nazi occupation of Holland between 1940-1945. There are many reasons this story is important. Some are general for a large group of people, while others are more pertinent to the individuals in the story. The most significant being the impact it has on all the family members involved and the generations that have followed. My parents, Nardus and Sipora Groen, started a new world with the birth of their first son, and my oldest brother Marcel. He would be followed by Leo, Ruben, my one sister Debby, and then me. Between the children my parents would get 12 grandchildren, and as it stands now, 8 great grandchildren. It should be noted that the 8 great grandchildren come from only 3 of the grandchildren, the 3 oldest children of Marcel and his wife Bernice, so there is still plenty of opportunity for the remaining grandchildren to add to that number. It is a story of survival in the greatest sense. A world almost destroyed now stands at over 30 people and growing, and that is without counting extended family. The reason for this post today is because some events and family members represent the glory and greatness that is the survival of a family. This weekend my nephew Justin and his fiance Kim will be married. Justin, who is the youngest of Marcel and Bernice's children is one of those people who is loved and respected by those who know him, and has the great ability to show that love and respect in return on a regular basis. Nothing symbolizes it more than the relationship he had with his "Opa" and still has with his "Oma". Opa and Oma are the Dutch words for grandfather and grandmother and in this case represent my parents, Nardus and Sipora Groen. I still remember when my father had his heart attack about 15 years ago on the 7th day of Passover, and walking up and finding Justin holding him in his arms in the back of a police car right outside Beth Shalom synagogue in Elkins Park, Pa. until the ambulance arrived. Their relationship would always be close and even though my father passed away close to 6 years ago, Justin still wears the pin he gave him on the lapel of his suit in synagogue and intends to use his Opa's Talit (prayer shawl) at his upcoming wedding. His relationship with his Oma may be even more special. This is a relationship of mutual affection and respect rarely seen between 2 people separated by 58 years, be it relatives or not. They not only love and respect each other but they enjoy each other's company in a very special way, and as a son and a uncle it always warms my heart to see. As I write this piece, a few days prior to the wedding, the best news of all may be that Justin is marrying a woman with the same wonderful qualities he possesses and someone with the same values of goodness and love for family and friends we wish everyone possessed. As Kim joins the family this weekend the family grows and the significance of what was saved so many years ago becomes even more significant and beautiful. It is said that when you save one person you save an entire world. As I write this I have joy in my heart for the world of my parents that was saved, and the world that it has become with the generations to follow.
I would like to thank my friend Aron Hier for allowing me the opportunity to make a presentation of my book “Jew Face” yesterday evening, February 19th at the Museum of Tolerance, part of the Simon Wiesenthal Center. It was a great honor to speak in a location so committed to the protection of the Jewish people and the fight against bigotry of all kinds worldwide. You leave a place like this knowing that it is crucial that as people we need to keep active in fighting for what is right. Those out there who are evil, be it individuals, organizations, or nations, are relentless in their quest for power, and without the resistance of organizations such as the Simon Wiesenthal Center they would have a much easier path towards their goal of destruction and their spreading of hatred wherever they can.
When you title an article with a question so important to so many people, you run the risk of creating the expectation that you may actually have the answer to that question. To be fair, I am not sure I can answer it accurately having a somewhat questionable track record of my own, but I can say unequivocally that even if I am not successful in conveying in words what love is, I can say that I did have one great advantage. In my life I had the benefit of witnessing true love.
Those of you who have read the book “Jew Face” are well aware that my characterization of the good people in the book only deals with positive aspects of their personality. I do this purposely in order to make a clear distinction between good and evil during a time when good and evil was so pronounced and easily identifiable. Subsequently, in discussing the relationships between people I only show the positive, possibly creating an illusion of perfection. I have always hoped that people reading the book realize my intent and know that although I never discuss it, nothing in life is perfect. This is important when writing this piece, because although I have no intention of documenting specifics, I want to make clear that the relationship between my mother and father was like everything else in life. Not perfect.
However, now that I got that out of the way, let me explain why I am convinced that in my life I did indeed have the opportunity to witness true love. Love means different things to different people. To many it is based in romance and intimacy. Sometimes we know when these things exist between two people but often those are aspects people keep entirely private. Even when we do think we know, we only know what the people allow us to see. There are other things that are far more open and many would say more important, that truly define love. These things are sacrifice, commitment, loyalty and companionship. Many will say that these are the factors that truly matter, because when the excitement fades, the body ages and the looks dwindle, without something deeper, what masqueraded as love reveals itself as nothing more than infatuation and desire.
Spend 64 years with someone and inevitably you will at one time or another disagree, argue, yell, and hurt each other. In fact, there are many who would say that without those things happening you won’t make it to 64 years. My mother and father did. In the wedding vows it says, “for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health”. The greatness in these vows all comes together with the famous words, “until death do us part”. Life is a lot easier when things are better, people are richer, and everyone is healthy. But when presented with life’s difficulties, those who truly stay together until death parts them, being true companions who build something and are committed to their life together, they know a love far more profound and real than what most Hollywood romances portray. In my life, in my parents, I saw this love.
I’ve always enjoyed summing it up this way. During the horrors of the Nazi occupation my father saved my mother’s life. My mother saved my father’s life every day since. And although it was not perfect, it took the death of my father in June of 2007 to part them. Make no mistake, the book “Jew Face” is very much a love story, focusing on the budding romance between my mother and father and building the foundation for a long life together that was filled with the better, the worse, richer, poorer, sickness and health. So on this Valentine’s Day when buying flowers or a fancy gift, or when buying an expensive meal or gift for the one you love, remember the lesson of my parents and strive for a love that lasts, not just one that feels good today, because that is where the ultimate rewards truly can be found. What is love? It’s not easy. But when you see it in action you end up feeling it is worth the effort and something worth believing in.
As we remember the 6 million Jews murdered by Hitler’s Nazi Germany, we are presented with many important questions. What is the best way to actually remember? What can we do to make sure this never happens again? What is our obligation as fellow Jews and human beings?
In some ways all these questions and more are answered by addressing the last question. I start with an additional question that will likely cause extreme emotion in many reading this, but in my opinion it is a legitimate and fair one. The question is this: How much do we truly care? Do we care on the high-profile days when the world and our friends are watching, or do we care whenever presented with an issue or event that draws comparison or alarm? Do we do anything that goes beyond the things that make us look like we care? Do we cower in fear when presented with opposition? I am putting these questions out into thin air, not directing them at any specific people or group. Only we know the true answer in our hearts.
Do we care when anti-Semitism rears its ugly head or do we shrug it off and say, “There is nothing I can really do about the crazies out there anyway.” Do we make excuses for those who hate us or just hope others solve the problems for us? Do we trust our leaders to do the right thing? Do we support our leaders enough not to stand in their way of protecting us? Maybe most importantly, do we stand united against those who want to make hate a way of life or do we fight amongst ourselves feeding into their very plan? These important questions are only some of the questions I have for the good people out there.
For those who don’t take issue with the murder of 6 million Jews I ask you one basic question. How do you look at yourself in the mirror? How do you justify your very existence on a planet of human beings all born with the same right to live? Do you do it so-called in the name of religion? Do you have the gall to declare that God somehow justifies your viewpoint? Or are you so wrapped up in your own world that you don’t see how any other world even matters, even to the point where their existence holds no meaning?
Sadly, today, on International Holocaust Remembrance Day, these questions and many more need to be asked. The world we live in today shows signs of being no better than it was 68 years ago when Hitler’s Nazi Germany was defeated. Only the names and places have changed. People still kill others just because of what they are, leaders threaten to wipe out millions, and anti-Semitism is alive and well. So today I hope that we ask ourselves all the questions that need to be asked, but maybe even more importantly ask others these questions, for although the true answers may be disturbing, hiding our heads in the sand will only increase the chances that history repeats itself.
HOW TO BUY THE BOOK JEW FACE: A story of Love and Heroism in Nazi-Occupied Holland
Since my first post in Holland’s Heroes, my writings have included articles about the Holocaust, information about Dutch Jewry leading up to and during the time of Nazi occupation, essays of current events, videos, and tributes to special people, either living or passed on. Till now my most important, meaningful, and emotional tribute was remembering my father on the anniversary of his passing in June. What I write today holds a special meaning unlike any I have written till now, for it is about someone incredibly special, inspirational to so many, and thankfully still strong enough and healthy enough to be able to hopefully appreciate and enjoy what I am writing in her honor. The tribute is to my mother, Sipora Groen, on her 91st birthday, today January 1, 2013.
To begin, making it to 91 with a strong and healthy body coupled with a mind sharper than many half the age, is in itself a remarkable accomplishment. I learned many years ago that although it takes God’s blessing to live a long life, it is still to be seen as an accomplishment in and of itself. The responsibilities of life, the heartbreak, the illness, and life’s various struggles, all take a toll on an individual as they reach this more advanced age.
Now let’s look at this particular individual, my mother, Sipora Groen. Born on January 1, 1922, she lost her mother when she was a young child of 13. She took care of her younger brother and held responsibilities around the house most women are not given till they are at least 5 years older. When the war broke out she was engaged to be married and studying to be a nurse. Little did she know her life would be turned upside down and go a different direction than she had ever dreamed. The Nazi destruction of the Dutch Jewish community would claim the life of her father, her brother, her fiancé, and numerous friends and family. It would also thrust her together with my father, Nardus Groen, who fell in love with her and took it on himself to do whatever possible to see her safely through these horrible times. His bravery and resourcefulness would be part of what would save her life, but equally if not more important, her inherent strength and incredible courage over the 5 years of occupation, allowed her to live on and build a life together with the man who had fallen deeply in love with her, and she had learned to love and appreciate in the hardest of times.
I have often said that my father saved my mother’s life during the war, and that my mother saved my father’s life every day after the war. Strength is impossible to measure, but it is possible to recognize different types of strength. What makes my mother’s strength so remarkable is that it is natural. So many of us access our most inner soul at the hardest of times and utilize whatever strength we are fortunate enough to find. We need to be strong and we try to be strong, sometimes with greater success than others. My mother is strong every day of her life. It is what allowed her to not only survive the war, but to do so with her sanity. It is what allowed her to be the matriarch and cornerstone of a new family now almost 30 strong, and it is what makes it possible for her to read this post, or as is my hope, have it read to her on her birthday.
If it is even the slightest bit of a mystery to someone reading this how much I love and respect my mother, you have not read the book “Jew Face”. My feelings for both my parents are extremely obvious in my writing, and for this I make no apology. Instead I say today, on my mother’s 91st birthday, thank you Mom for being an inspiration, a pleasure to have around, a friend, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, but most of all for me, a wonderful mother. I write this knowing that what I say is a sentiment I gladly share with everyone else who calls her Mom, and hope to be able to say this till she reaches the age of 120.
And for those on Facebook and any other social media reading this, I ask you to give my mother a special birthday gift by posting this article on your timeline so that the people you call friends are aware of this remarkable woman and have the opportunity, if they so wish, to learn about her remarkable life as I portrayed it in “Jew Face”.
Happy Birthday Mom. I love you.
The purpose of Holland’s Heroes is primarily to promote the book “Jew Face”. As many of you already know, I often use this forum to discuss matters of the day and personal views or philosophies. In this particular post however, I will be doing none of the above. Instead this is me keeping a promise and sharing the events of what was a fun day filled with a series of minor incidents and mishaps, none of which would spoil the festivities.
As I do not use this forum to discuss my personal life in any detail, and since I believe in honoring and respecting the privacy of others, I will be somewhat vague in regard to the people involved when telling my story of December 25, 2012.
The plan was for me to be at the home of a special friend (the use of the world special here is all any of you nosey ones will get) in Queens by 4:30 so that we could travel from there shortly after 5 to her mother’s friend who had invited all of us to enjoy the Christmas festivities. The woman we were visiting, a very friendly woman I had met just a few days earlier, was kind enough to invite me to her home and enjoy excellent company, food, and drinks. I must say, as someone who is a lightweight, it feels like I’ve already had more alcohol between Thanksgiving and today, as I write this the date is December 27, than I had the previous almost 11 months of the year. And that is before I even celebrate New Years and my birthday which will fall this year the day after New Years. If you are scratching your head you passed the “is the reader paying attention?” test since New Years is on January 1 every year and my birthday falls the day after New Years every year on January 2. Anyway, I arrived near my friend’s home, got off the bus, ran across the street, tripped over the island, stumbled, regained my balance and made it to the other side just ahead of the oncoming traffic. Incredibly lucky to be alive (the drama is just for effect, it wasn’t THAT close), I made it to my friend’s house and waited with the 2 lovely ladies for the car service that was to take us to the party.
When the car arrived we put 3 large bags in the trunk of the car. Being the man in the group, I decided it would be appropriate and mildly macho to carry 2 of the 3 bags, so when we arrived at our destination I went to take out the same 2 bags. As I pulled away from the trunk I saw something in the trunk that might have fallen from one of the bags. I moved forward to double check the trunk exactly at the same time that my friend, someone who I thought actually cared about me, pulled the hood of the trunk closed on top of my head. The assassination attempt was not successful however and I still live to tell the story, even though I had to wait 2 days till my memory returned and the headaches subsided (more nonsense since 5 minutes after it happened I felt perfectly fine).
The house was filled with Christmas decorations. And when I say filled, I mean it did not matter which way you turned your head. Lights, ornaments, statues were everywhere. The only problem is that since most houses are not equipped to use as much lighting as the Empire State Building, within 10 minutes of being there different fuses took turns turning off. Of course the upstairs fuse went off just as we were walking up the stairs to drop off the coats, but despite my wobbly condition I made it up and down safely. I did manage to knock down some decorations on the staircase, with the help of my friend’s mother, but it was dark so I honestly have no idea what it was we knocked down anyway, which means it is almost like it never happened. Shhhh. Honorable mention goes out to my flashlight app on my smart phone.
The food was delicious, the wine was good and getting better by the glass, and little by little more people made it to the party. I had Chocolate Wine, which, I am proud and happy to say came from Holland since it was quite good. If it sucked I never would have written about it and certainly not shown a picture of it.
The food was heated on sternums, so when it was time to clean up there was one large aluminum pan that I helped the hostess carry to the kitchen. Only half of the water in the pan made it to the sink, the other half ending up on my arms and on the legs of the hostess. At least this wasn’t life threatening, even though I was fearful of drowning at one point (more nonsense).
I discussed fantasy football with the hostess’s son, much to the dismay of my friend, and then proceeded to watch his young daughter open approximately 250 presents (another exaggeration), but she was a cute little girl so everyone enjoyed watching her having such a nice time. Plus I got a scarf from the hostess so I was happy too.
The cab came to pick us up, I was not attacked this time, and we all made it home safely albeit it a little ill from the constant stop and go of the car. The only explanation I can come up with is that the driver was practicing for when he does drive in traffic, because there was none on this night and he still managed to drive like he was on the Van Wyck Expressway North at 5PM on a weekday. On a personal note, I had a great time and thank all those responsible for making it a fun time for everyone.
The most intriguing thing for me as I sit and write this is the question continuously going through my mind. Although I write this for everyone, is this piece more important for those close to me who are Jewish, or those close to me who are not? Maybe I’ll have my answer by the time I finish it, but for now let me first begin by wishing all those who celebrate the holiday a very Merry Christmas.
Now that I may have lost the Ultra-Orthodox Jewish and Atheists among the readers let me continue.
Let me begin by stating the obvious. Jesus, as we all know, was Jewish. So being Jewish on Christmas is a complicated concept to begin with. This past week I had a mini debate with someone who insisted that Jesus converted to Christianity. I insisted that was not true. This person insisted they were told that in school, while I assured them they were never told any such thing. Now of course I can’t be sure what the teachers actually said, but to the best of my understanding Jesus lived as a Jew and died as a Jew. Christianity was the religion formed from those who followed him and believed him to be the Messiah as understood by Jewish teachings. To the best of my understanding Jesus never turned away from Judaism, he just created a following of those who felt he was the Messiah, or Savior which subsequently caused him to be seen as a problem by many in the Jewish hierarchy, an issue that causes some to accuse the Jews of killing Jesus, even though in reality it was the Romans.
Now that I may have lost the ignorant and anti-Semitic among the readers let me continue further.
I was very fortunate to grow up in a household that was, in many ways open-minded. Christmas decorations, movies, and music were all appreciated for their beauty and not seen as a threat to our religious makeup. The result of this is me being an adult Jewish male capable of enjoying the atmosphere in households with Christmas trees, decorations and Christmas music and lights. It’s all very nice and uncomplicated and allows me to enjoy whatever situation I am thrown into, or dare I say even pursue this time of year. What all this does not do is answer the one question. What does it mean to be Jewish on Christmas?
Well the first answer is very simply, it depends on the person. I know that to some Jewish people it means nothing. Although some do find it diametrically opposed to all they believe in, for many of those that fall into this category it is not something negative, merely something insignificant. I understand this point of view because to those who focus entirely on the religious aspect, Christmas is something to be celebrated only by those who believe in Jesus being more than a man. I remember a trip I took to London that included me being there on December 25th. The majority of my friends, people who I went to an Orthodox Jewish day school with, were getting together with their families for “Christmas dinner”. In fact I was told that in the days leading up to Christmas the Kosher butchers sold turkeys by the dozens and ended up selling out of them completely. To these friends of mine this was clearly not a religious pursuit, rather it was an opportunity to get together with their family and have good food and some fun. Not unlike Thanksgiving Day in the United States.
I dare say that to some Jews there may even exist a phenomenon that could be called Christmas envy. It is why sometimes we say Merry Christmas first, just to get a “same to you” response. After all, who wants to be excluded from “good will to all men”? I sure as hell know I don’t.
Now that I may have lost those who feel the use of the word “hell” is inappropriate and not Godly let me conclude.
I like Christmas. It is a nice holiday, filled with good food, pretty sights and the best of intentions. If you believe as I do, that the major difference between Jews and Catholics is really only whether or not the next coming is the first one or the second, you have no trouble with any of the religious significance. When no religiously motivated hatred exists on either side, all that really matters is the fact that people are getting together with those they care about, or at the very least like enough to be at a party with. For many Catholics who indeed celebrate Christmas, the religious significance is not what is even important to them about the holiday. Instead it’s the decorations, food, and family, making it not at all complicated for me to justify my enjoying it as well.
So to all of you who celebrate, or to those of you like me who have a good time any time I am invited to be part of the celebration, Merry Christmas.
And should there be any out there who I lost at this point because they felt that as a Jew I should not be so comfortable in speaking of the beauty that can surround Christmas, I urge you to read the following excerpt from the book “Jew Face”. It is indeed one of my personal favorite excerpts and speaks of my parents and their experience on Christmas Eve 1944 in what was then Nazi-occupied Holland.
Excerpt from “Jew Face”:
Christmas Eve
It had been close to a year now since Sipora had arrived in Lemerlerveld, and although she hoped and prayed that she would not have to live out her days in the conditions in which she currently found herself, the te Kieftes had been extraordinary in their treatment of her and Nardus, and the people of the village had made her feel as much at home as they were able to under the circumstances.
There was no hatred toward the Jewish people in Lemerlerveld. However, being that the population of the town was mainly Protestant, Jewish practices, customs, and holidays were not part of the life here, and living there meant that Nardus and Sipora could not practice their faith. With the positive treatment they received, they were welcomed by Bertus and Geeske, as well as their family and friends, to celebrate their events and holidays.
So on December 24, 1944, as the German forces had fallen in the south, and the Allies moved closer to what they all hoped would be the end of the brutal occupation of Europe, Nardus and Sipora were invited to join the Christmas Eve dinner and celebration at the Oosterwegels household.
For one night, it felt like all the horror, sadness, and tragedy was frozen in time. The night was a special one. The atmosphere was wonderful. The home was filled with the warm glow of candles and the aroma of a special meal. The guest list was a mix of people from town, Bertus and Geeske with their two children, Bertus’s brother with his family, underground activists, Communists, and Nardus and Sipora. Maybe the specter of an impending Allied victory made the evening more special, but the warmth and joy present on this night was something neither Nardus nor Sipora would ever forget.
There are days, events, and situations when the world feels like one place, when people who come from different backgrounds and different beliefs come together under God’s watchful eye and show that even with all the force and determination of evil forces, good still survives and, on occasion, even thrives. When the manner in which you worship takes a back seat to the basic fact that you do worship. And all that has happened and will happen doesn’t matter for those moments that get frozen in time, bring joy to many, and give everyone the hope that there will be a reason to continue on with life’s efforts.
Christmas Eve 1944 in Lemerlerveld, in the Oosterwegel household, was one of those nights, and Sipora and Nardus were glad to be part of it.
The most important thing to me about the book “Jew Face” has always been the fact that it is about real people and real events. There are real friendships in the book and friendships that developed amongst the generations that followed those people spoken of in the book. Sadly, people pass on, and we only hope that the people they leave behind continue their life and legacy.
Today we mourn the loss of Ester Abram. Ester was the wife of Sam Abram, a childhood friend of my father. Following this post I will put up the excerpt from the book that speaks of the events that took place between my father, Sam, and Sam’s sister during the Nazi occupation of Holland. But first we remember Ester Abram, who together with her husband Sam would end up being a lifelong and cherished friend of both my father and mother. On behalf of my mother and our entire family we express our deepest sympathies on her loss and pray that she rests in peace.
Excerpt from Jew Face
Saving Nettie
As the Germans were to come in on various occasions and raid neighborhoods, the Jewish community in Amsterdam became smaller and more dispersed. Those either not willing to accept the evidence or whose innate courage prevented them from leaving their home would ultimately find themselves shipped off to what we now know would ultimately be their cruel treatment in concentration camps, and in most cases, death.
Throughout 1941, Seys-Innquart, Aus der Funten, and his other henchmen were in the process of determining a location to use as a deportation center for the Jews of Holland. The two most logical places were the Esnoga, the Great Spanish-Portuguese Synagogue, and the Hollandse Schouwburg, the great concert hall of Amsterdam. After reviewing it carefully, the Nazis felt that the Schouwburg was the more logical choice. Because of the large amount of Jewish patronage over the years, the proximity to the Jewish ghetto, and the purpose in which it was now going to be used, the Nazis changed its name to the Joodse Schouwburg and prepared it for use as a deportation center.
The plan had in many ways already been put into action. The concentration camps of Westerbork and Vugt were set up in the north and south, respectively, and beginning in January of 1942, after mass roundups, Jews were no longer allowed to live anywhere in the Netherlands but Amsterdam or the two camps. When arriving in Amsterdam, these people would either live in the homes of others or would reside in public institutions such as schools or hospitals.
The Schouwburg had been set up and was used for Straf Gevaals (“S Cases”) and for whatever group of random Jews the Nazis chose to keep there until deportation.
Meanwhile, the death camps of Auschwitz and Sobibor were close to operating at full capacity. The Germans were taking the process of eliminating the Jewish population of Europe to a new level. Once they reached that stage, in July of 1942, the system in which they handled the Jews of Holland was cut and dry. Homes and institutions were raided, and if not emptied out in full, they were left devastated and in shambles. Most of the people picked up in these raids were brought to Westerbork, where they would stay for a short while, days at most, before being transported to the death camps. Those not sent to Westerbork went through Vugt. The majority of the remaining was first processed in the Schouwburg and then went through the same pattern of Auschwitz or Sobibor via Westerbork.
Even before the mass deportations of July of 1942, the Grune Polizei (“Green Police”), the Nazi police force patrolling Amsterdam, would make regular raids and roundups in Jewish neighborhoods. Many of the Jews who had an understanding of what was taking place went into hiding before they were forced to leave their homes. For many, this was the reason they survived, although, as was the case with everyone who hid, some were more fortunate than others.
The situation in Amsterdam was worsening from week to week. Thousands of people had already been taken from their homes, and it was becoming more and more clear that this was going to get a lot worse before it got better. Most of the people being seized from their homes at this point were individuals. Families and couples appeared to be spared for a large part, but it was a tenuous situation at best, and the future had a very ominous feel to it.
One day early in 1942, Nardus was approached by one of his good friends, Sam Abram. Sam lived close to Nardus, and they had attended Yeshiva together, frequented the same gatherings, and knew and liked each other very much. Sam had a younger sister, Nettie, and he was concerned that this young, attractive, single woman would be in danger of being sent to one of the camps. And his fears were justified. Many of the women in the neighborhood had disappeared, and with the incidents of brutality leaking out, no one wanted to spend too much time imagining what this meant. They just knew that is wasn’t good. So Sam asked Nardus if he had a way to help Nettie stay out of the camps and remain in Amsterdam.
There was really only one way Nardus could help her: He had to marry her. In so doing, he would at least be able to delay her capture. So Nardus and Nettie Abram were married in an effort to save her life, and for now it appeared to be working. As a married woman, she was able to remain in Amsterdam long enough to allow her to find a family where she could hide. And once the Nazis started taking everyone away, married or not, Nettie would need that hiding place.
Nardus and Nettie remained married through the entire war. Any resolution to the situation would not be able to take place before the war would end. Nardus knew this but did not care. Marital status meant nothing right now. What mattered was saving as many lives as possible. Right now, he had the chance to save the sister of a good friend, and he would do so. What he did wasn’t much, and it gave no assurances for the future, but it gave her a chance. Nettie would be safe, at least for now.
93 years ago today in Rotterdam, Holland, my father Nardus Groen was born. His life was one filled with substance, meaning, and love. I remember him fondly and miss him often. Despite what one might take from the book “Jew Face”, I was aware of my father’s faults. Every human being is flawed and my father was no exception. However, one of the things I witnessed from the time I was a child, was that he never spoke one bad word of his parents who were murdered in Auschwitz.
My father was a great man. I say that with certainty and pride. He was principled, strong, ethical, and loving. I often wonder if he would have liked the book “Jew Face” and my portrayal of his life. I have often said that the greatest joy for me in writing the book was that in writing it I felt as though I got to know my parents as young adults. My father never was able to confirm if that feeling of mine was justified, but it is one that I keep with me and cherish.
To use more modern vernacular, when looking at my father in the most difficult of times, my father was a bad ass. He claimed in later years that he often felt fear, but his actions during the worst of times showed a behavior that showed otherwise. The hardest thing for me as his son has always been the feeling that I have never been close to being the man that he was. But then again, many never will be.
He was proud of who he was, and as a Rabbi he tried to use his understanding and extensive knowledge of Judaism to help and teach others, Jew and non-Jew alike. The debate on what makes one truly religious is an endless one, but in my eyes and the eyes of many others, my father was indeed very religious, even if somewhat unconventional in practice.
He loved my mother, his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren very much. No one has ever perfected the art of showing that love, my father being no exception, but to this day his love is never questioned. Together with my mother, who God willing turns 91 in 2 weeks, a new world sprung forth of decent and loving people who do them both proud.
So today, on what would have been my father’s 93rd birthday, I remember my father, Rabbi Nardus Groen, with love and respect, and hope that some of what I have done this past year has helped part of the world know why.
Holland's Heroes 