I was born in Israel, the only daughter of parents who emigrated in 1947 to what was then Palestine, because life in Amsterdam had nothing more to offer them: parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews… they had all been murdered.
Even before the war my mother had been a member of the Zionist Youth Movement, so the decision to leave was to be expected. In 1956 we returned to the Netherlands as a family of three, first to Amsterdam and later Groningen. At primary school there, I heard classmates say they were ‘spending the weekend with granddad and grandma’. Once home, I asked my mother: ‘what does that mean, granddad and grandma ?’ I didn’t know the words…