Out of Chaos: Hidden Children Remember the Holocaust

An Imagined Conversation, or Perhaps

240 An Imagined Conversation, or Perhaps Leonie Taffel Bergman and Marguerite Lederman Mishkin Some years ago we two, Marguerite and Leonie, attended a hidden children’s gathering . As we began to know each other, we realized that we shared a kinship originating in a terrible happening. Leonie’s parents and Marguerite’s mother had been taken from the Belgian deportation camp Malines on the last transport to leave from there for Auschwitz on July 31, 1944. All our parents perished at Auschwitz. Together we two decided to create, or possibly re-create, a scenario: Suppose our mothers had met on the transport train that dreadful day of deportation and during the three days of enduring that deportation ride were able to have a conversation . What might they have said to each other at that time? Here is what we imagine they might have told each other. number 407: Thank you for giving me some room to stand. It’s so crowded in this railcar. number 184: We have to do what we can for each other. My name is Adele Taffel, and this is my husband, Pincus. number 183: Yes, it is important to remember that we still have names. We are human beings, not just numbers. number 407: I agree. My name is Rayzla Lederman. a. taffel: It’s so good to be able to speak—to talk to someone like me. If I could get my hand up far enough to shake yours, I would do so. It’s much too crowded for such manners. We came to Belgium for safety we thought, just six years ago, and look what has happened to us. After we left Poland and began to build a life in Germany, we had to flee. And now look at us! p. taffel: Madame Lederman, where do you come from, or were you born in Belgium? r. lederman: No, my brothers, sisters, and I came to Belgium with our parents from Poland after the First World War. If only I could introduce you to my husband, Mordechai. The Nazis took him two years ago, and I have not heard a word about what happened to him. a. taffel: I am so sorry. What thoughts you must have, day and night. Let us hope he is still alive. r. lederman: I can’t let myself believe that. If I have any hope left at all, it is for my children. I have a new identity now. I am only Transport Number 407, and my name doesn’t have any significance anymore, I suppose. p. taffel: My God, where are we going? What is happening to us? What will happen to our children? We know only where all the people before us—Transport Numbers 1 through 25; ten, or fifteen, twenty, maybe twenty-five thousand— we know where they went. The same for us! a. taffel: All these people with us. Five hundred, I’m told. What is there we can do? r. lederman: There is nothing we can do now. Everything I’ve had to do I’ve already Lost and Found 241 done. I hid my children to give them a chance to live. It was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life—harder than saying good-bye to my husband. Harder than reporting to the Malines camp. When I last saw my children, Annette was three and my little Marguerite was only two years old. That was some time ago. I know where they are in hiding. Perhaps I shouldn’t even have said that much. I won’t say any more. God keep them safe. That is all I care about. a. taffel: That is what my husband and I also did. We have two daughters. They are in hiding, with good people, but they are not together. That makes me so sad, as you can imagine. Our Loni is almost nine now, and our little Clara is just past four. We haven’t seen them for a long time, but some people have told us they are safe. Zoln zey lebn un zayn gezunt. (Let them live and be well.) r. lederman: The people my daughters are staying with are also good people and very brave people, as you know. We can just hope that they will continue to be brave and kind as times get even harder for them. I’m sorry your daughters are not with each other. My girls are together and can help each other...