ERIKA VAN HESTEREN: Until seven years ago, I never talked about any of these things. I just couldn't. Then something happened, a very trivial event, really. The police stopped me on the highway and asked to see my papers. That young policeman affected me dreadfully; it was so similar to the way I was arrested during the war. Suddenly, it all broke open again. Later on, when I was more calm, I realized that it was essential to examine these memories I had kept hidden for so long. I think it's especially important to write these things down now, or else it will soon all be lost.

I am Jewish. Miraculously, my family all came out of the war. Before the Nazi invasion our family lived in the southern part of Amsterdam. On a certain morning in 1941, the Germans moved all the Jews from the other parts of the city, and drove them into the ghetto in the center of town. But even before that happened, a German officer had decided he wanted our house. My father, always direct, said right off to him, "All right. You can have the house. But see to it that we get another." My father said that, even though there was nothing we could have done about it, because they were going to take our house anyway. But this officer actually did find us a house, a very fine house with two spacious floors, situated in the ghetto, but in the outer circle. Soon after we began living there, we could see the ghetto filling up with all the Jews who were forced to move in. Then before long, the Nazis began taking them out again, deporting entire families to "work for the Fatherland," and new Jews were moved into the vacated houses.

We had to wear the yellow star. The only discussion about it at the time was what color thread should be used to sew it on: the color of your garment, or the yellow of the star. Everyone hated wearing it, to be marked like that, but it had to be done. There was the constant fear that your neighbor might report you to the authorities if you took it off. We thought, oh well, if this is the only thing, it's not so bad. But then came the rule that Jews were not allowed out after eight o'clock in the evening. Gradually, from one day to the next, there were more and more restrictions.

There came a time when I could no longer attend my secondary school. Jewish pupils and Jewish teachers were dismissed. So a Jewish school was organized, and we enrolled. I didn't hate going there at all. Actually, it was very nice to be in a Jewish school . But in no time at all, we could see that each day more children were missing. They took the Jews from their homes, from the streets. Everyday we were asking one another, "How did you manage today?" We lived like they must live in Israel today.

I had a non-Jewish boyfriend named Gideon, who had already been working for an underground organization. Gideon and I were very young--I was about sixteen--and we were very much in love. He and his brother had tried to cross the channel to England, and were caught, but then the Gestapo let them go again. So nothing happened that time, but afterwards Gideon was always afraid the Germans were looking for him. We thought what a wonderful idea for him to hide with our Jewish family, because who would think to look for him there? Still, he knew he couldn't stay with us for very long since we were obviously in danger ourselves.

Being a young boy, with nothing much to do, he was bored to death staying on our top floor. To keep himself busy, he made us a wonderful hiding place, in a triangular space under our eaves. He fixed up a small wooden door that opened from the bottom, and then hung different things in front of it. You would never suspect an entrance there. Inside, he put cushions and medicine, and all kinds of supplies. A couple of days after he finished, when he felt a little bit safe from the Germans, he left us.

One day there was a tremendous raid, in my memory, the very biggest raid of all. Starting quite early in the morning, the Germans threw a cordon around the ghetto, then drove in their big trucks, yelling, "All Jews must come out! Bring only hand luggage!" Something like that. They were going from house to house. When we realized what was happening, all of us--my parents and the five children--hid in the place Gideon had made; there was room for seven, easily. We locked ourselves inside.

The raid went on and on, all day long. At one point we thought perhaps they had finished and moved on. We came out to take a look through the window, but then quickly went straight back to the hiding place, because there were still plenty of their cars and trucks all around. It was really dreadful; I don't want to think about it too much. Around six o'clock we saw that their cars and trucks were finally gone, and thought that it was probably finished now.

My mother and my elder sister went down, while we stayed back and watched. They crossed the street. It seemed to be all right; there were no police anymore. Then I took my younger brother and sister and went down. We crossed the street to join them. But my father and eldest brother were still in the hiding place. They looked the most Jewish of the whole family, and they didn't dare to move.

I met Gideon right there in the street. When I told him what had happened, he sent his brother and his friend to bring out my father and brother. All the doors of the house were open. They walked straight up to the top floor room we told them about, and started searching for the hidden door.

"I'm sure it must be here," one was saying to the other. My father and brother didn't know who it was in the room, so they were keeping very quiet. The two boys looked and looked but couldn't find the hiding place, even though it had been explained to them just where it was. After awhile they gave up and left. My father and brother waited another whole hour before they dared to come out.

After that traumatic event, we all went into hiding. We had it arranged already beforehand. We each had separate places, and we all came out alive.

I joined Gideon and his underground group. He talked with his leader and asked if I could come and work with them. At first he said no, but in the end he agreed.

We lived in a tiny little house which was being used by the group for making false identification cards. It's quite close to where I live now. I even went inside again just a few years ago.The kitchen was on the ground floor, and there was a little sleeping and living room on the first floor. At the top was the room where we made false identity cards, in a rather primitive fashion, I must say. There was also an attic, where we kept the organization's papers and supplies. We lived in that little house for maybe nine months, perhaps a year, until we were caught and sent to jail.

But these are all complicated stories. In short, there were altogether eighteen young men in this group. Well, some had been in the Spanish Civil War already, so in my eyes maybe they were not so young. Soon after we were caught, the Germans shot to death all eighteen of them, including Gideon and his brother. They killed them.

In Hiding With Tina and Her Mother: I was in jail for about six months before I was able to make an escape. I went first to my parents for a short time, to their hiding place in an attic. From there I came to Tina's house, because my parents and her mother knew each other.

Tina's mother, Marie, was the most extraordinary woman you could ever meet. She took everyone who needed a place into her house. She didn't have any prejudices; she just helped everyone. Marie lived there with Tina who was a medical student at the time, about twenty-four years old, and an absolutely gorgeous woman. She looked almost like an American Indian, with a wild, beautiful face. I knew Tina before the war, but not very well, because she was older than me; she was already grown up while I was still a teenage girl.

Arriving at their house, I found myself among a wonderful group of people; each one was fascinating to talk with. Marie and Tina had taken all of them in. And, every person in that house just loved Marie. She was a loveable person, so easy to get along with. She never got upset. Whatever you talked about, it was all right. You could talk with her about anything at all: any subject, no matter how strange, she wouldn't be astonished. She would take it in her stride. But I don't think I talked with her about what happened to me in my captive days in prison. I don't think we talked about that.

They did something to me in prison that injured my back, and while I was staying at Tina and Marie's house it grew steadily worse and worse. Most of the time I was lying in bed. I could get up and take a few steps, but I was in so much pain, I really couldn't walk. So there was no question of going out.

Lion's wife, Jeanne, was there, and she was great fun. She had the best sense of humor of anyone I knew, unlike Tina, who was more serious. Tina didn't always see the funny side to something right away, but Jeanne did.

Also staying there was a peculiar woman and her two admirers, a father and son. I didn't exactly understand the arrangement, but I noticed that when one came in one door, the other would leave right away by another door. I'm sure Marie knew what was going on, but she never said a word. A man named Hans was also staying there.

We observed certain unwritten rules. For instance, you stuck to your own room as much as possible, because with so many people in one house, we could get on each other's nerves. After dinnertime, we all went together to Marie, to sit on her bed and talk. It was a very lively house; there was always something going on, and a lot of laughter, even though there was nothing much to eat. Well, we always had food, but nothing very healthy.

While I was there, I never really appreciated how exceedingly difficult it was to get food for all of us. It was the "hunger winter," 1944, and there was almost nothing left to eat in Holland. It was Tina who regularly went out to the farmers on her bike, without rubber tires, taking for barter valuables she got from her grandmother and that I got from my parents. She was so very slender, yet she rode out in the bitter cold for hours and hours on her bike, coming back with all her bags loaded with food. I don't know what other things she was involved with at that time, but she definitely looked after us for food.

Tina is very talented, very bright, and has always been interested in people and involved in helping people. She's sweet and she's understanding--a wonderful person.

She was studying medicine, illegally, because she had refused to sign the Nazi loyalty oath. She told a doctor with whom she was studying, about my worsening condition, a herniated spinal disc. On his advice, Tina arranged for me to be taken to a Catholic hospital and operated on illegally under a false name. This was a tremendous risk for everyone, but the nuns couldn't have been more sweet or kind. I am sure that they knew I didn't belong there. And then too, this was a new operation in Holland. The surgeon who performed it learned the procedure only from reading articles in journals. Luckily, everything went well.

I stayed in that hospital more than six weeks, right up to the day of liberation, so by then my days of hiding at Tineke's house were over. I will always remember the people in their house as being friendly, fascinating, and lively, and not scared, except perhaps Hans, because he was the most intelligent and the most wise; he knew the dangers. I never had time to think about danger or dwell upon what could happen to us. Like the others, I just lived by the day, by the minute. One thing which I think is very important to remember now: there was no doubt in our minds that we were going to win the war. It never occurred to any of us that the Germans could win, or that we could lose. I don't know anyone who doubted it.

I was very surprised when, a few years ago in the United States, I heard myself referred to as a "survivor." It's so strange. I would never use the word. "Are you a survivor?" I was asked. "We are all survivors," was my reply, but in fact, we didn't survive, we just went on living.

Erika Van Hesteren gave the preceding interview at her home in Amsterdam, 1986

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