The Journey of Survivors Doris and Bert Gosschalk

My father, Bert Gosschalk, was born in 1920 in a small town, Wijhe, Holland. The Germans invaded the country in May 1940 and occupied it within five days. Persecution of the Jews started slowly. First they were required to have identity cards and were not allowed in certain public places. They then had a curfew. They were prohibited from owning cars, horses or bikes and could not have bank accounts. They could only buy groceries during certain hours. Eventually they were required to wear yellow stars on their clothing and to live in ghettos.

My mother, Theodora Eliza van Blankenstein, known as Doris, was born in Groningen, Holland on April 21, 1922. She was also caught up in the war. She met my dad and eventually they married in July, 1942.

All unmarried men had to report to labor camps. There was a mass wedding ceremony performed by the mayor in the city square. My father and mother, who had been dating, were among those married. Since they did not have their own home, my mother went to her family’s home and my father went to his family’s home.

Three months later, all Jewish men, single and married, were ordered to report to the labor camps. Ultimately, my mom joined my father and they went into hiding. They lived in a family’s attic and paid a handsome sum. Soon the family demanded more money, so they found another family who did not charge as much.

A few months later, the man of the family was called away and the wife told my parents to leave. Having no place to go, they went into the woods and found an abandoned cabin with no electricity, plumbing or heat. An outdoor well was their only source of water. A cousin and friends brought them food. At times, when the Germans searched the woods, they abandoned the cabin and slept in the woods.

My father joined the Dutch underground and tried to sabotage the Germans. Once they attempted to blow up a railroad bridge, but the charge did not go off and the Germans discovered what happened.

They searched the area, including the woods where my parents were. My parents were captured. My father and another man were taken to the local jail and placed in a small cell with 25-30 other prisoners. He was taken to Gestapo headquarters and severely beaten in an effort to make them talk about the Dutch underground activities. When they returned to the local jail they learned that all of the other men had been lined up in front of the jail and machine-gunned.

My mother was taken to Westerbork Labor Camp. She had just become pregnant with me. A little later, my father was also sent there. Men and women were kept separately and they were not allowed to communicate with each other. My mother was put to work sewing. My father worked in the fields, growing food for the Germans.

The Germans knew they were losing the war and the allies were closing in. One night when the guns were close and the Germans thought the camp might be overrun, they gave my father permission to visit my mother.

On the morning of April 25, 1945, my father woke up and the camp was quiet. The guards were nowhere in sight. At great risk, he was the first one to cross the line the Germans had drawn inside the camp. He went into the houses where the Germans lived and they were empty. He found a bicycle and started riding it toward the sound of the guns. He found the Canadian Army and rode back into the camp on a Canadian tank.

At the time, my father weighed less than a hundred pounds. The Canadian troops ate lunch and threw three pieces of bread on the ground. My father picked them up, went to my mother, and shared them with her. He said this was better than any piece of cake he has ever eaten.

The prisoners had no place to go so they remained at the camp. My father rejoined the Dutch underground and assisted the allied soldiers in searching for German soldiers who were hiding. Westerbork was used as a holding and labor camp for the Dutch collaborators. My father was put in charge.

I was born two months after my parents were liberated. My sister was born in 1948. In 1951, we moved to the United States, first to Texas and then to Charleston, SC. Once in Charleston, my mother became very active in KKBE Sisterhood. She was a kind and warm hearted, person, always putting others before herself. As she did in Westerbork Labor Camp, she was talented with her hands. She passed away on March 4, 2001. My father passed away on December 18, 1991. ■