I was born in Amsterdam
in April 1938, the 15th of Nisan on the Hebrew calendar,
the first day of Passover. They told me I was born
during the Mussaf (prayer). My father was a <i>Shaliach Tzibur</i>
(congregation leader) at the synagogue. I was told that right after the prayer he said he had to run
to the Jewish hospital to see what was happening, and then I was born. My father's name was
Avrum (Abraham) Packter, and his grandfather
was from Telsze, Lithuania, and moved to Amsterdam in 1880 (5641), and to earn some money he commissioned the writing
of a Torah scroll. When it was completed he established
his own minyan (prayer community) and called it the Packter Minyan. My mother was Rosa Feige, she was born in Oswiecim, a city with many Jews - one third
of the population was Jewish. My grandfather was a Bobov Hasid and then my grandfather moved to Breslau, Germany,
with his daughter. The street where my father
rented an apartment after the wedding - and where they lived until the end - was in an area in which
quite a few Jews lived. It was a very Jewish home,
with lessons, and the book business
operated out of the house. They had a big shed in the yard,
we lived on the ground floor, so there was a yard
and a shed full of books. There were also books
in every corner of the house, which were mostly for selling. My brother Aron was the oldest, then I came,
and we had a younger sister Leah who was born in 1940 (5700) - so just a few days after the Germans
entered the Netherlands, she was born. We Jews quite quickly become subject
to anti-Jewish decrees, things we were forbidden from doing, until gradually things became
more difficult. All the Jews had
to hand over all their money to a bank which the Germans robbed. We also had to hand over
all kinds of silverware. The Germans stole our books. They brought in trucks that took
all the books, whatever they found. They took between 20 and 30 thousand books, including many of great value. Grandfather, my father's father, left the Packter minyan for some reason and went to the Russian synagogue,
as it was called, which still exists today, its official name is <i>Nidchei Yisrael Yekanes</i>
("Gathers the Exiles of Israel"), where he was a <i>Gabbai </i>(beadle)
and a <i>Shaliach Tzibur</i>. After he passed away, my father took over his job. My parents realized
the situation was very dangerous and one day decided,
with their three children - my older brother Aron;
myself, who was in the middle; and my sister Leah,
who was only two years old - to cross the border, managing to do this
with the aid of smugglers, of course. I had to have forged documents - the underground in the Netherlands dealt
with that and they helped with that. We arrived in Antwerp and since my paternal grandmother
was from there, we had many relatives there and they helped them prepare
the rest of the escape, because the plan was
to try to reach Switzerland. We left by train, they said it was a certain train
that ran on Sundays and that going to Paris
was the safest route. Why? Because all the German soldiers
who were on leave would head to Paris,
so they didn't really check [passengers]. We children kept asking if we were on the way to <i>Eretz Israel </i>(then Mandatory Palestine). And that was very dangerous,
because we were supposed to be non-Jews. So they had to shush us,
and keep us quiet. That's what people who were
on the train [have] told me. When we arrived at the border
between Belgium and France, we crossed the border, the train stopped
and German soldiers boarded it. During their inspections
they caught my mother, who looked Jewish. She was wearing a wig. They caught her
and took her off the train and took her to prison,
together with us. They didn't discover that my father was
Jewish, so he stayed with the others. He decided:
“I'm not leaving my wife alone,” so he entered the prison with us. They took us, the three children, and transferred us to Amsterdam. They had the address
of where we were supposed to go, which was Levi Packter,
my father's cousin, and our relatives decided
what to do with us. My older brother went to one uncle, and my sister and I
were taken to another uncle, Moshe Cahn, and we were there for a time. We spent a few months with my uncle,
I don't know the exact dates. He later told me
that I had been a good boy, that I did a good job reciting the blessings
and the morning blessings. Some of the people thought that the best thing to do was
to go into hiding with non-Jews. Relations between non-Jews and Jews
were usually very good. Of course, it was hard to find people
who would dare to risk their lives to save Jews. I greatly appreciate those who did. My aunt and uncle decided
the best thing for them to do would be to find a place to hide. My uncle was very well connected
with the underground, and with one man in particular, and he was able to find many addresses
for my sister, for me, and later for his own children,
they themselves, and for his parents. Instead of being Naphtalie Packter I became Leo Jansen,
that was my name, for which I had documents. Obviously, they took off
my tassles and yarmulkah and so on, and I wore someone else's cap, I remember. They found a Catholic nun who agreed to take me
from Amsterdam to the south, to Venlo, which was quite far away. The nun took me to Venlo by train. It took two days to get there. She took me to an address she had. It was the address of this non-Jew, Josef Koenders. He had been a widower
for a few years apparently, I think he was about 50 years old. He had a married daughter who had a boy around my age, and she occasionally came to visit
on Sundays, and when she brought her son we'd play together,
that's what I remember. He was a hunter as a profession. He had a hunting license and a rifle. I even remember helping him, sometimes I had to fill bullets
with gunpowder, so I helped him with that. He mainly caught rabbits, which he sold.
That's how he made a living. He spent very little time at home. He'd take his rifle in the morning
and go hunting. There was a woman
who came a few hours a day. She cooked and cleaned the house. He told his friends and neighbors
that he had a cousin in Amsterdam, or Rotterdam, I don't know, whose house had been bombed
and everyone had been killed, but I had been outside, so I survived. So I was his cousin's son. And he took me in.
The parents were gone. As a result, he had a good story. Of course, as a child
I didn't understand that he was risking his life
to save me. I only understood that years later. I received a very religious
Catholic education. I went to church every morning
at seven. Just as we [Jews] say
a blessing before eating, I had to say a short prayer
that one says before eating. I was already used to the fact
that you don't just eat... you pray.
You give thanks to G-d for the food. My routine was normal, like any child, I apparently had to go
to kindergarten, and then to school. What I remember is that I was apparently
a very diligent student at school I had very good grades. It was very close to the German border. There were places
where houses were bombed. One time I was playing outside
with a friend when suddenly the sirens went off. We were playing near a church that had already been bombed and there was a kind of stone closet
that remained, where I guess they had put
all of the church's important things, so I told my friend,
"Oh! That's a good place, it's protected. "We can go there instead
of running home, it's safe." We went in, and debris fell around the area,
but nothing happened. And then I went home and when I arrived I saw that... the neighbors' houses
stood on both sides, and the house I was supposed
to have been in had taken a direct hit.
There was nothing left of it. No stone remained standing. So if I had gone home, then... G-d forbid, I wouldn't have survived. I only realized that later... So we had to move somewhere else,
of course. I was just a young boy. When I left my hiding place
I was only seven and a half. I spent three years there. When they found out that
the Netherlands had been liberated, eight months after I had been liberated, there was correspondence
with my grandfather on my mother's side, Ya'akov Goldstein. The non-Jew who was with me said he loved me very much. I was a good boy, so he loved me.
That's what he said. He refused to hand me over. "No, I will not hand over the boy." So my grandfather, aunt and uncle discussed what to do, and then my grandfather had an idea. The Jewish Brigade was in the Netherlands, and by chance they were not very far from my hiding place, in Eindhoven. My grandfather discovered that
he had a distant relative there, a second or third cousin. He went to see him and said, "You have to help me. "I have to get a boy,
my grandson, from a non-Jew, "and you have to help me." My grandfather was able to convince him that sometimes you do things
even if they're forbidden or if it [appears like it] can't be done. So, one Sunday he went with... I don't know,
a halftrack and a big cannon, my uncle and my grandfather set out with some soldiers. They drove to that village, Venlo, and I remember them sending me outside so that I wouldn't be present, and I heard loud shouting. So he agreed.
He agreed to release me. The non-Jew told me, "You will go with
these people tomorrow morning." And I accepted it.
I didn't have... much of a relationship with the... even after three years.
It's strange, but that's how it was. I didn't have any questions
about why or how. They told me to go, so I went. I remember that later an uncle
from my mother's side came, and he didn't say much. I remember it was quite close to Christmas,
1945 (5705), and they put up the tree quite early, and there was a barn all around,
and so on. I showed him very proudly,
"Look what they built here, it's so nice." With candles and so on. So he told me,
"We also have a celebration with candles." Referring to Hanukkah, of course. He didn't explain any further,
and I didn't understand anything. I remember him saying that.
That I do remember, but I didn't understand
what he was talking about. Who was "we"?
What was he talking about? I didn't understand a thing. I remember that they collected my things
and they came to get me. First we went to where my uncle lived, it's called Enschede, in eastern the Netherlands. My uncle and aunt,
Eli and Betty Packter, told us that our mother and father had been sent from prison in France
to Belgium, and from there to Auschwitz,
where they were murdered. Later, they also told me
that after we returned to... we had been returned to that uncle,
Levi Packter, a postcard arrived from Auschwitz
or from the way to Auschwitz, they didn't exactly know
how it had arrived. In any event, there was a postcard
addressed to Levi Packter, apparently they'd received a report
while still in prison, that the children
had safely arrived in Amsterdam. From there, they wrote the family, "Give the children a good Jewish education, "so that we know
what our suffering is for." My wife was also a Holocaust survivor and when we got married we said, If, G-d willing, we have children, "we won't be able to provide them
with a Jewish education in the Netherlands." We decided that wasn't for us and that we needed to find
a good Jewish place, and of course, the best place
was in the Land of Israel, so... we had already made that decision
at our wedding. We had four children
when we immigrated to Israel, and another four were born here. And thank G-d, we have
more than 90 great-grandchildren. Thank G-d, they're all following
our path, the parents' path, what my parents wanted -
a good Jewish education. And we maintained that
for the generations that follow. We have to remember
that everyone my age was either in hiding
or survived some camp, or were able to go abroad,
outside of the Netherlands, and survived. I thank G-d every day that I survived,
that He saved me through many miracles. My practice was to look at the bright side, that it was decreed, and it is not for us to ask
why one [person was spared] but not another. After all, many great, righteous
wise men were murdered and [as for] the few who survived, there was a decision from above
that they should stay alive. That's how you have to look at it.
