Home to Amsterdam

Amsterdam tram during the world years

Through a number of horrendous adventures, Sonja eventually made it to Brussels.  The Belgians were considerate and hospitable to the returning DPs; the Salvation Army housed and fed them. Movie theaters, and bus services were free of charge to them. They were easily recognized; many still wore their striped camp pajamas.

She continued on a barge to the city of Rotterdam. From there, she took the train to Amsterdam Central Station. Home at last. Maybe Herman got back before her?

It was one o’clock in the morning, when she arrived at Amsterdam’s Central Station, in the midst of worn-out soldiers, returning slave laborers and camp survivors. She was penniless. She was back, but she wasn’t feeling all that great. An ominous feeling had taken hold of her.

She noticed a table with cups of coffee and a large sign that read FREE COFFEE. A few in her group went over there. The station manager charged toward them. “Hands off!” he barked.

“Coffee is for soldiers returning from the front only.” He pointed them towards Red Cross personnel sitting behind a table. Indifferently, the woman behind the table registered her as “returned alive.” She rattled off a list of questions. “Name? Where have you been?”

Lastly, she asked matter-of-factly whether Sonja knew of any other survivors. She answered that she had a gut feeling her parents and her little sister had not survived Sobibor. She glanced at the clock.

When the woman had finished filling out Sonja’s forms, she explained that the Portuguese hospital was being used as a shelter.

“You can go and sleep there, here’s a voucher.”

“How do I get there? It is a long way from here.”

The woman looked demonstratively at her legs.

“You’ve got young legs. A walk won’t kill you. Do you have any luggage?”

“No, no luggage. Not a dime, not a penny.”

At half-past one, she started the long walk to the shelter.

May 1945. The war was over. Entire families were gone. The country was celebrating, not Sonja. She needed to find Herman. For the survivors, the misery was about to start all over again. Who was alive and who was dead? Who was returning, and who was not?

Early the following morning, she found her cousin Judy. They hugged it seemed for hours. “Everybody’s dead!” Sonja blurted out finally. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Nobody is coming back!”

“My parents are alive. They were in camp Bergen Belsen,”Judy answered. On the train home, Sonja had heard stories about Bergen-Belsen.

“Impossible.”

Sonja couldn’t understand how Anton and Jet had survived Bergen-Belsen. But, a few weeks later, they too were back in Amsterdam. They stayed with friends until they got a residence assigned.

Sonja knew that her mother had given the neighbors and her domestic help personal belongings and valuables for safekeeping. With the most outrageous excuses, many safekeepers claimed they’d been gifts. And a gift was a gift. When Anton went to pick up his car, his friend demanded thousands of guilders for, as he called it, a parking fee.

Her knees were shaking as she rang the doorbell. Mrs. Roderigues opened the door and turned white. They hugged. “Are father and mother alive?” “I don’t know yet.” Mrs. Roderigues pulled her inside. They drank a cup of tea in the kitchen and she asked Sonja to tell her what happened. When Sonja was finished, Mrs. Roderigues got up. She spread a newspaper on the kitchen table. Next, she got a few potted plants from the windowsill and turned the pots upside down. She was careful to empty the soil onto the newspaper.

From the soil appeared several aspirin vials containing her mom’s jewelry and dad’s pocket watch. She explained that the police had come by a few times and searched the house, but they never found a thing. She got up again and returned with Sonja’s wedding dress, silver dinner utensils, some of Judie’s clothes, Judie’s camera, and a bunch of dried carnations. Lastly, she handed her an opened package of tea, apologizing for having opened it.

“There was no tea anywhere, but,” she promised, “as soon as I get tea coupons, I’ll give you a new package.”

Gratefully, Sonja gave her the camera and the clothes for her two children. The neighbor had rescued some of her books. He returned all of them, including The Clog Maker and the Princess. She cried when she saw the book. She cried a lot these days.

When she went to pick up the bikes, the storeowner recognized her, and she knew something was wrong. “I sold them, but as soon as new ones are available, you will get two brand new bikes from me.

Meanwhile,” he suggested, “use this old bike, if you like.” She looked at the old, rickety bike. She thanked him and rode off in tears.

Sonja soon got work. Three times a day, before work, during her lunch hour and after work, she went to the station and waited for Herman. Every day, she’d leave without him. Leaving for the third time that day, she rode to the shelter. Survivors were still arriving. Perhaps she’d missed him.

What if? How was she going to cope without him? She thought of the letter that had recently arrived from America. The paperwork had been approved. A relative of his had invited them. I am going to wait for Herman. We will go to America together, she thought as she parked her bike.

For no reason at all, she looked up and saw a familiar face quickly pulling back from the open window.

“Jimmy?” she screamed.

She relived her treasured last moments with Herman in Theresienstadt. Jimmy had walked ahead to the train. “I’ll find you.” Herman had promised. They’d kissed and had promised that everything was going to be fine. She had so wanted to believe him.

“Jimmy!” she screamed, as she ran up the stairs.

“Jimmy! You’re back,” she cried.

Jimmy met her in the hallway. “Where is Herman?” she asked frantically. Jimmy hesitated, looking for words.

“Jimmy, please, I need to know. Where’s Herman?” she screamed. Jimmy grabbed a nearby chair and sat her down.

A long pause. “Sonja, Herman is dead.” “We were in the train, when Allied bombers started shooting at us. The train stopped, and while bombs struck all around us, we were ordered to get out and into the ditch. We left Herman and a few others in the train. They were too weak to move. When we got back, the train was destroyed and they were dead. We were told to leave their bodies in the ditch. I’m so sorry.”