The Heart Has Reasons (11 page)

After the war, Ellis’ mother would say, “When I had completely lost hope, you’d always say something to make me feel better.” I’m convinced that that power didn’t come from me—it came from God. It was He that made me say, “Think about it: there’s still water!”

I had other moments when I felt God put words in my mouth. Once I was hanging the wash out in the backyard, and my neighbor came over
to talk to me. She was a very nosy person, and it was lucky that we had not become overly familiar before the war because if she had gotten into the habit of coming over here unannounced, it would have made life impossible. I usually did the laundry in dribs and drabs, but I must not have been thinking clearly that day, for I had washed quite a large quantity. Well, this neighbor made a comment about it. Without hesitating for a moment, I said, “Oh, yah, well, I am doing the laundry for my sister, because she lives on a farm, and if I do the laundry for her family and the hired hands, they give us cheese and butter.” I said just the right thing, though it was a tricky situation. I had never thought of myself as a liar before. Yet, statements like that just came to me, and I am convinced that they came from above. It sounds a little odd to talk about divinely inspired lies, but I believe that’s exactly what they were.

The Germans never did discover what was going on in our house. On the corner lived an NSBer, a collaborator. We benefited quite a bit from this man because he always knew when the house searches were going to take place. Next door to him there was a family with six boys, and they were always roaming the neighborhood talking to everyone. So we would hear from them when the next house search was happening, and then we’d get busy preparing for it.

I would stuff all eight people, plus my husband, under the hallway floor. It was my husband they were especially after, because he was on their wanted list. But if they also found some Jews, that would be gravy. So I’d pack everyone under the hallway, in a space my husband and one of the onderduikers had dug out. It had sewage pipes running through it that provided a nice place to sit, though they could break with too much weight.

Once during a house search, one of the onderduikers couldn’t handle the tension. He started to have a nervous breakdown right there in the hiding place. It didn’t help that it was so dark, with everyone crammed in like sardines. My husband said, “If you won’t be quiet right now, I’ll have to choke you to death.” He would have done it, too, for it would be better to give up the life of one person and save the rest, than to have everybody get caught. Anyway, it worked—the man suddenly snapped out of it.

And so, I have to give credit to the strict discipline of my husband. He was very strict with himself, but also with the others. Without that, tragedy would have surely struck. It was like a standard of safety that everyone had to follow. Our lives were all connected, and we depended on
each other in no uncertain terms.

Heiltje Kooistra (back center) and her husband Wopke (to her right) pose in front of their house after the liberation
with the eight Jewish people they hid. Pictured also are two Allied soldiers, each of whom has one of the Kooistra
daughters on his lap; the third daughter sits behind the bouquet. The man on the left (back row) is an onderduiker
who was hidden at a different address.

It would have been very difficult if any of the onderduikers had become pregnant, but thankfully I was the only one to conceive during the war. I know just when it happened, too:
Dolle Dinsdag
—“Crazy Tuesday,” which was September 5, 1944. When the Allies landed in the south, the Germans fled eastward, and we mistakenly thought that the area below the great rivers had been liberated. Rumors circulated that the wave of liberation would soon reach us here in the north. None of it was true, but there were many babies who were born nine months later, just after V-E Day.

I sometimes think back to those last months of the war, and wonder how I was able to manage. I used to do the laundry outside in the cold of winter! That was really impossible—kneeling with my knees in the snow, scrubbing and wringing things out. But after the war ended, we were “sitting in roses,” as we say here in Holland. Everyone made it through,and our son was born healthy and strong—a crown on the work we had done. We felt that everything had been accomplished.

Why did you help the Jews? What was behind it?

We respected the Jewish people, that’s why. I feel a bond with the Jewish people because Jesus himself was Jewish. If you love Jesus, how can you not love the people out of which Jesus came forth? You can’t be a Christian if you don’t honor the Jews, for Judaism is the root of the Christian religion. Also, my father traded a lot with Jewishpeople, and they used to come around our house quite often. He was a farmer, but he also traded. My grandfather went to many Jewish weddings and funerals; he had many Jewish friends. So I was raised with a love for the Jews.

Would I have done the same for another group? One helps where there is a need. The main thing to keep in mind is that it is not a sin to have problems. People who are in trouble are often not to blame for their circumstances. They need to be treated with compassion, not wariness.

People were terribly afraid, and that’s why many of them didn’t help. After the war, they told me that they couldn’t possibly have done what we did. If the Nazis had come to search their house, they would have broken down. I never in my life have held it against anyone for not helping. In order to do it, one has to be able to do it.

In my case, I think it made it easier that I came from a brave family, especially on my mother’s side. When they needed to fight, they could fight. I grew up hearing about how strong my mother was. She died when I was less than two years old, so I didn’t actually get to know her. My aunt moved in after my mother died, and she played a large part in raising us. My father never remarried.

I remember my grandfather doing a lot for people, since he didn’t have a farm to work, and he lived during more prosperous times. He would help people when they had to go to the hospital, or when a woman was having a baby. Later he took in children from Hungary who were malnourished and needed to be strengthened; I don’t recall how many, but it was after his own eleven children had already grown up. My father also tried to do things, but he had less money and less time, so it was more difficult for him.

After the Second World War, we ourselves participated in feeding hungry children from countries that had suffered. It was part of a program at our church. We helped children from Holland, and once we ourselves took in a child from Hungary. Because Hungry had fought against the
Allies, some people asked us, “Do you think that this child’s family might have been Nazi collaborators?” But we didn’t think like that. Even if they had been, would that be a reason to not feed him? Children of Nazis are children, not Nazis. Árpád was his name, and he stayed with us for a year. Some other members of our congregation were good at sewing and knitting, and they made him clothes. When it was time for him to return to Hungary, we sent him back with a big chest full of clothes and goodies, and fancy food like a big fruitcake. His mother knew Dutch, so afterwards we kept up a very nice correspondence with her. She would always end her letters, “Kisses from Árpád.”

Heiltje Kooistra as an elder.

My religious beliefs are the result of my having been raised in the family that I was, and also of my having been brought up in the Calvinist Church. However, your beliefs aren’t only formed from what you hear at church. I have some very strong convictions that sometimes put me at odds with the church. Still, my faith has continued to grow over the years. During the war, I had the feeling that God was guiding me, and that was enormously important in the development of my faith.

We took turns going to church in those days, but our minister nev-er really said anything to encourage people to help the Jews. My husband used to get very angry about that. There were churches that were not doing what they should have, and ours was one of them. Some churches, such as the ones in Friesland, did quite a lot, but ours didn’t get involved. It depended on the minister.

My ties with the church have definitely lessened over time—organized religion is something I can do without now. Anyway, your faith doesn’t depend on church attendance: you have to act by your own lights. After the war I said to my husband, “Why don’t you write them
a letter to say you are leaving, because I will follow.” So he wrote the letter, and we said goodbye to the church.

There are those who think that the church shouldn’t take a stand on political issues, but during the Nazi years we saw where that leads. The church is one of the few institutions that can act as a counterweight if the government behaves immorally. I don’t see how the church can steer clear of politics if it is truly pursuing justice.

Then again, you don’t want the government meddling in religion, and if a politician starts talking about God, you must ask yourself, what are his motives? Did you know that Hitler believed that his conduct was in accordance with the will of the Almighty Creator? So be wary when a politician uses religious rhetoric, and remember that the first one to quote scripture in the gospels was Satan.

Do you have any other advice for religious people trying to effect social and political
change?

There’s a saying that I keep on my refrigerator: “I’m only one—but I
am
one. I cannot do everything—but I
can
do something. What I can do, I should do, and what I should do, by the grace of God, I will do.” It’s far better to do something than to do nothing, even if it only involves taking a small step. I speak from experience: one thing leads to another.

Did you take in any children after that Hungarian boy?

No, we just couldn’t anymore. My own children required a lot more time, and they would protest if they didn’t like something. I welcomed that, because it was a sign they were thinking for themselves. When they were little, they would go along with anything, but that didn’t last forever.

Do you still keep in touch with the Jewish people whose lives you saved?

We’ve been terribly spoiled by all of the people that we put up during the war. The family of four moved to Scheveningen, a beach resort town, and we were very welcome to come and vacation with them whenever we wished. The parents have died now, but I still have a strong connection with the children, Ellis and Bob. Ellis emigrated to Israel, but she sometimes comes to Holland to celebrate New Year’s Eve with me, and I have been to Jerusalem several times to visit her. With the other family of three, the bonds were also strong, but their lives ended quite early, even the daughter.

How do you feel now about what you did during the war?

I’m glad we were able to help, and grateful to have been given the opportunity to put our beliefs to the test. Still, I wouldn’t want to expose my family to something like that again. It was very hard on us in many ways. But that’s the price you pay—there’s never any good without some evil. Helping those people during the war was one of the good things, but for my own children it was not so good, and my husband suffered terribly afterwards because of the strain he had been under. I don’t want to complain, but it did have its cost. But once you make a choice, you have to accept the consequences.