Oh, the years that I never understood what was happening. Now I spent a lot of time reflecting on my childhood, understanding or trying to comprehend.
I am an only child of a Holocaust survivor. My father is still alive. My mother has long deceased. She was not a Jew. he said there weren't enough Jewish women to choose from. My mother's family clearly never understood what my father brought into the family. After all, it took me a few decades myself and was confronted with it on a daily basis.
...And so it begins.
Hmmmmmm, what an interesting time. Our initial date for departure from the Netherlands was to be in 1957. My dad had promised my dad had promised my mother we would not leave while her mother was still alive. She died in 1956 and off we were to go, he thought. Immigration regulations were still rather strict at that time. I was forced to walk the line because my foot turned in somewhat in and that was not a good quality for a potential immigree. My mom and I passed, my dad was another story. They found scar tissue on his x-rays and suspected that he had TB, which was a no go. Instructions were for him to get clarification and off he went to the University of Sorbonne by train for further extensive testing.
ReplyDeleteMy father finally got cleared to take the trip to the United States The only problem was that the quota for immigration from the Netherlands had exceeded in 1958, thus we waited, yet another year.
ReplyDeleteAt that time we had to have a sponsor to guarantee that the family would not be a ward of the welfare system. Our sponsor happened to be a Jewish soccer club in San Francisco. Many supporters were German Jews who had strong connections with Levis, as in jeans.
Although the pay wasn't much, it was adequate for immigration to accept us as new residents of the USA.
But that financial support was all we had at that time.
Instead we lived in the garage of other Dutch immigrants, who had encouraged us to come here.
Mind you, my father had no family ties, and it looked like no future.
That didn't last very long. Two weeks to be exact. I just remember a lot of fights and sleeping with my parents.
I just wonder what has made my dad such an egotist. Would it be like this if the Holoaust had not happened?
ReplyDeleteEverything in life is a problem/confrontation. He is right and no one else knows, including his doctors. I just listen and don't give advice. I'm beyond that. advice only turns into another conflict. He likes that, I don't.
I can on conclude that everything has to be a fight as part of his survival instinct. He is always trying to think himself out of a problem. Litigation is always on his mind. He does not believe in being objective or kind in solving his problems. It is always them against him.
I wonder what really happened to my grandparents and aunt. I never knew their names until I was a teeneager-through the Red Cross-. They had come up empty in their search. Two simple cards were on the dining table in our house. I asked my mom who these people were and what was this all about. She told me that the cards were responding to requests from my dad about their location at the end of the war. She told me the new names to my family tree which had been so barren like a tree in the shade.
ReplyDeleteSolomon, Sophia and Kitty. They were people after all. I did not dare ask my father any questions, nor was he willing to share.
Another year has gone by and an incredible deed it is considering.
ReplyDeleteI often think of the day we left for the United States and the inconveniences we had to endure.
My dad sold just about all our belongings. What I got to keep was part of my parents keepsakes, which fit in a crate. Gone was everything to remind me of the past, except the accomplishments I was able to achieve in my first years of school. It seemed I was leaving my identity behind, as well.
I remember standing at Schiphol with all of my mom's family-five brothers and two sisters (not to mention the spouses and cousins) with many crying as we said our last good-byes. It was 11:30 at night. I was preoccupied with the fanfare and the attention that was given to us. I never came to the realization that we were leaving for good. For me, it was a wonderful adventure.
So off I went with a confident father and a weeping mother, who was scared beyond believe since she had the most to lose. But my exuberance for what was to come ahead seemed to provide a cushion for my mothers melancholy.
We arrived at NY International.It wasn't called at JFK for obbvious reasons. We did not endure the glamour or romanticized venture of going throughEllis Island. I guess there isn't really much glamour about that, but it seems ironically a right of passage.
ReplyDeleteWhen we arrived we were instantly whisked to a booth like potential foreign agents who might be bringing in the rarest of diseases.
The booth was small and I questioned why we were singled out. My dad admonished me for asking too many questions and that I was only to answer those questions asked by "them" if asked.
It seemed like an eternity that we sat in that booth. One could only imagine that our papers were being checked that they were in order.
My dad was extremely concerned that we would not be able to make our connection to California. The flight was long and arduous. Remember, we were flying a prop.
Well, if you could believe it the good people of KLM told us we were going to have a change of plans. We were immediately transported to La Guardia by bus. My father barely had $40 in his pocket and that was to be used for our new flight arangements.
The van Coevordens would be flying on the first transcontinental flight by jet. TWA to be exact, just like Hughes had said.
I was extactic since I had an early love for airplanes. I remember my dad explaining to me about the jet. I asked him if it was like air force used, since we had never seen one before.
And so began our adventure to California on April 29, 1959.
We arrived in San Francisco, California with flashing light bulbs and a lot of hoopla. Obviously America was awaiting our arrival. Actually, we never had the realization that we had become part of history. We came on the first transcontinental flight by jet, ever.... This would not sink in until much,much later.
ReplyDeleteBecause of our expedient trip, we encountered further problems. Our ride to our first abode in the new country had not arrived to pick us up. What to do. Wht to do.
My dad literally had coins in his pocket, but no clue as to how to use the phone. After several attempts and quite some time, my dad was able to make the connection. We still had to wait more than an hour as they traveled from Antioch to the airport. We were all exhausted, but we knew we were near the end of our journey.
And then, i think about the title of my blog and you are probably wondering why I am talking about our journey to the US. Well, it can be best said that our immigration is a direct result of my father's experience with the holocaust. To the best of my knowledge, we had lost 144 family members. No one was around that we could call family. On the other hand, my mom had nothing but family.
ReplyDeleteAs a child I was not aware of this significant difference. My mom had a huge family and family events were quite often. I did not understand how the rest of the family reacted to my dad. My father, I later realized and was told , he felt like an outsider looking in.
I did learn that my mom's favorite sister married a former policeman. His job was to gather Jews for arrest. I did not learn that until later and just realized the implications of that.
I mentioned this to my cousin who came to visit this past summer. It, too, was her first realization. She knew from family lore, but never put the ideas and events together. To think we celebrated together with what should have been the enemy. Oh, my god.
On the other hand, my cousin's father worked in the underground. We have photos of him learning to put rifles together. Ironically he is known to all as a mild and meek individual. My cousin and I reflected on this contradiction of the person we both knew. I love him even more.
This is a really good blog!
ReplyDeleteYup, I was and am an only child. I once heard my father say that there was a reason for that. He said that large families tended to not make it through the holocaust because they could not escape. His collective fear was should it happen again, he wanted to be able to protect his family. Remeber, I was born only six years after his release. All these times I never understood his overprotectiveness. Smothering, anger, relentless anger when I came home late. He instilled a lot of fear. My friends never understood.
ReplyDeleteI became inately rebellious. If I was going to get in trouble for being late, I might as well come home real late. There was no way to compromise. A simple phone call would not do. My friends even feared the wrath of my father. I'm sure he would not see it that way today.
The family who was to meet us on that April 29th were in shock that we had arrived so soon. So were we. We sat at the terminal and taking in the noises around us...that is what it was since neither my mom and I spoke the language. I often wondered lated what was going through my mom's mind. She was merely a soldier following directions in this new battle. How scared she must have been. Me? I was totally fascinated. All the glass windows, people from everywhwere. It was nothing less than a fascinating and ultimate vacation... for that day.
ReplyDeleteThe family finally arrived in their brand new spanking 1955 yellow and white chevrolet. Remeber brand new is relative to the viewers. (got to love that used BMW ad).
Wow! came to mind. I did not know too many people in my home country who owned a car. Certainly, not one with color. We use to Ooh and aah at cars that use to park on the narrow streets in Amsterdam with great fascination. And now, i was driving in one of those.
The trip to Antioch must have seemed long to all but me. Crossing the SF Bay Bridge was like riding on you favorite ride in Disneyland.
I watched endlessly at the incredible weave of highways and foundit miraculous. I couldn't stop watching. One turn was better than the next. I was on an endless e-ticket ride at no cost. The grandeur of the Bay Bridge has not left me even today. Imagine what it must have been like for an 8 year-old who didn't need much for fascination. This was all virgin territory for me. Even today I remember most of the details. I did not need any food or drink. I never asked, "When are we going to be there?" It could have lasted forever.
SO here we were in Antioch, CA. We were wowwed by there house, the space in the front and the back and the warm sense of family they had to offer. We would have to live in the garage. Fortunately, it was April and the weather was far from being it usual heat.
ReplyDeleteWe went to the grocery store the next day and it was like being in LaLa land. My father so loved canned peaches. Sometimes Mom would buy them in Holland as a treat. it was a small can from Dole. I could see the label clearly. I never had any. Now, my dad could buy them four for a dollar. Incredible. And now, I too, would be the beneficiary of the forsaken fruit on a daily bases.
I remember their son taking me to a Foster's Freeze. It was just a mere window and I had the luxury of chosing between a 5¢ or 10¢.I remeber explicitly asking about the price. The cones were huge and...it wasn't even summer yet. Ice cream could only not be bought before June 1st. Strange how the mind remebers such innocuous little petty things. My favorite ice cream trip is still to go to Fosters, only now it is a bit more expensive. It truly doesn't matter. It brings back warm memories. As Mastercard would say, "Priceless."