JEG OG LIVET

 B E R T H O L D  G R Ü N F E L D

Berthold Grünfeld 1932 - 2007
Foto:Linda Næsfeldt/Dagbladet.

GÅ  I N N  I  D I N   T I D

"Han har ved sin hederlighet og sitt tvisyn bidratt med mange og interessante synspunkter. Hans interessefelt var vidt, og emnene har derfor vært mange."

Svar dei døyr

Svar veks fram

Men spursmåla

Dei brenn

i alle dagar

Arne Garborg

 

Berthold Grünfeld ble født i Bratislava i Slovakia i 1932 - (død 2007 Oslo). 

 Foreldre: Journalist Peter Grünfeld (død 1942) og hustru Friderika Grünfeld
«Bedriska Grünfeldova» (1908–42).

Berthold Grünfeld's foreldre ble ofre for jødeforfølgelsene i den tysk-allierte marionettstaten Slovakia og deportert til Rajowiec Lubelski i Polen og sannsylingvis transportert til utryddelsesleiren Sobibor, hvor de ble drept sommeren 1942.

Fra Berthold Grünfeld var nyfødt, bodde han hos katolske fosterforeldre. Moren, som var prostituert, måtte overlate ham til fosterforeldre. Moren ble utvist til Ungarn etter en krangel med kvinnen som leide ut rommet hennes. 

Berthold møtte sin mor Friderika én gang som han selv kunne huske, i 1939, da han var syv år, og hun uventet dukket opp i Bratislava. 

Samme år ble han sendt med Nansenpass til Norge via Berlin med tog sammen med 34 andre jødiske barn, og ledsaget av representanter for Nansenhjelpen og Kvinneligaen for fred og frihet.

Grünfeld fikk bo hos en jødisk familie i Trondheim, men etter at tyskerne i 1940 okkuperte Norge ble han overført til det jødiske barnehjemmet i Oslo. Der ble han boende inntil oktober 1942, da det ble satt i gang arrestasjoner av jødene. Det lyktes å få Berthold og de andre barna på barnehjemmet over til Sverige hvor de ble boende fram til frigjøringen i 1945. 

Deretter kom han igjen til det jødiske barnehjemmet i Oslo. Denne hendelsen var utgangspunktet for den norske filmen  I slik en natt fra 1958.  «14 jødiske barn som flyktet hit fra Wien og Praha, ble reddet over til Sverige under aksjonen mot jødene i oktober og november 1942», står det på en plakett så høyt på veggen at du vanskelig får øye på den når du går forbi.

Det var hit Berthold ble sendt som barn. I dette strøket lekte han med de andre gutta. Bak et vindu nede i veien fant han sin første kjæreste, og her pleide han å hilse på Einar Gerhardsen.

Det jødiske samfunnet bestemte seg for å påta seg kostnadene med hans utdanning.  Berthold Grünfelds livsskjebne var preget av at han gang på gang ble reddet. Hadde moren hans fått beholde ham, ville han havnet i gasskamrene sammen med henne. Det er en underlig livshistorie, sier Jahn Otto Johansen.

Berthold ca. 12 år.

Filmen "Grunfeld, ukjent opphav" handler om datteren hans, Nina og hans detektivarbeide i forbindelse med å finne ut hva som skjedde med hans mor, Friderika, etter at hun forlot Berthold i Bratislava i 1939. Som tittelen antyder har Berthold Grünfeld visst lite om sin mor:

Far og datter lette gjennom arkiver og gamle rettsdokumenter i Bratislava hvor det fortelles at Bertholds mor hadde havnet i en krangel med kvinnen hun leide rom hos. Trolig var det et problem at så mange menn var innom, men konflikten dreide seg om en ødelagt seng. Friderika Grünfeld nektet for at hun hadde ødelagt den, og etter en verbal feide ble politiet tilkalt. Hun kjeftet og bannet, skrek at den eneste mannen hun respekterte var hennes far, og ba representantene fra myndighetene om å kysse henne bak. Rasende løftet hun skjørtet og blottet seg. Berthold ler når han tenker på historien. Han kjenner seg igjen i denne uredde og temperamentsfulle kvinnen. 

-  Jeg ble stolt av at hun tok den kampen, at det ble rettssak og måten hun håndterte det på. Hun hadde et flott temperament. 

Hele livet hadde psykiateren insistert på at moren hans ikke har noen betydning for ham, at hun bare er en abstraksjon, et symbol. "Jeg har sett hennes underskrift. ." Han snakket ofte om hvor vakker den var. Men det var den ikke. Den var helt ordinær.

Kanskje er underskriften et slags livstegn, et ansiktstrekk, konturene av et menneske? Friderika Grünfeld skrives «Bedriska Grünfeldova» på tsjekkisk. Streken som slynger seg på det gamle papiret, ble noe nært og levende. 72 år gammel møtte Berthold Grünfeld for første gang deler av det som var hans mor. 

"Jeg er glad for at vi gjorde dette. Og jeg er glad for at min mor på mange måter bevarte sin verdighet, at hun ikke lot seg rokke", sier Berthold Grünfeld.

På gymnaset i Oslo, 17 år.  Helt fra gymnastiden deltok Berthold Grünfeld 
med stor glede og villighet og ofte med stort engasjement i den offentlige debatt.

Grünfeld tok examen artium i Oslo 1951 og studerte deretter filologi i to år ved Universitetet i Oslo, før han skiftet til medisinstudiet 1954 og ble cand.med. 1960. Han tok den medisinske doktorgrad 1973 på avhandlingen Legal abort i Norge.

Etter turnustjeneste ved Rogaland sjukehus i Stavanger og Gloppen legedistrikt i Nordfjord begynte han å videreutdanne seg i psykiatri, først ved Gaustad sykehus 1962–64 og deretter til sammen 2 1/2 år som assistentlege ved Ullevål sykehus' psykiatriske avdelinger. Han ble godkjent spesialist i psykiatri 1968.

Grünfeld, psykiater og sosialmedisiner, var glad i å tenke stort, på kryss og tvers av fag og grenser. Han var utstyrt med et makroskop som åpenbarte sammenhenger og helhetsbilder. Han ønsket å fortolke og formidle faget midt i det mangfoldige livet, midt i den frodige jungel kalt samfunnet. Berthold Grünfeld har vært en sosialmedisinsk polyhistor, bredt belest, vidtenkt, nysgjerrig.

"Å være forsker og aktør i det offentlige rom innebærer konflikt. Sosialmedisineren må pendle mellom motsatte intellektuelle egenskaper:  forenkling – forbehold, omtrentlighet – perfeksjon, sikkerhet – tvil."

Grünfeld hadde et omfattende vitenskapelig forfatterskap og hadde egne spalter i flere aviser. Han markerte seg som en engasjert og interessert samfunnsdebattant og huskes kanskje først og fremst for sine innlegg om seksualitet, familieplanlegging, abort og moderne reproduksjonsteknologi. 

Han engasjerte seg i debatten om fremmedfrykt, og vakte oppsikt da han fremla en genetisk hypotese om fremmedfrykt. Han drøftet antisemittismen i samtiden og anførte  europeeres dårlige samvittighet for holocaust som paradoksalt bidragende til antisemittisme.

Da det sveitsiske orkesteret Kol Simcha, et av verdens beste utøvere av jødisk Klezmer-musikk, planla konsert i Oslo i 2002, ble den brått avlyst. Årsaken var at ansatte ved Cosmopolite fryktet terror eller politiske markeringer. Berthold Grünfeld mente at avlysningen av den jødiske konserten på Cosmopolite gav uheldige signaler: Frykten avler frykt, begynner man å bli redd så fortsetter det. Det har en selvforsterkende virkning.

"Jeg tror ikke på Gud, men jeg ber til Ham når jeg er redd" sa Berthold som følte seg sterkt knyttet til det jødiske. Han var en tydelig formidler av synspunkter med utspring i jødisk kultur.

 

Grünfelds sterke interessere i rettspsykiatri resulterte i at hans ekspertise som en av de norske psykiatere ble innhentet og fungerte som rettspsykiatrisk sakkyndig ved judisiell observasjon tte ble Grünfelds . Grünfeld var gjennom flere år medlem av Utvalget for lisessaker og utenlandsmedisinere.

Berthold Grünfeld var medlem av det regjeringsoppnevnte Mannsrolleutvalget 1986–90, formann i Norsk forening for familieplanlegging 1975–78 og formann i RFSU Norge 1973–98. Han utgav ca. 60 vitenskapelige publikasjoner foruten en rekke artikler og flere populærvitenskapelige bøker innen sosialmedisin og psykiatri.

Grünfeld la stor vekt på folkeopplysning omkring de psykiatriske lidelser for derved å bryte ned de sterke tabuforestillinger som fortsatt gjør seg gjeldende ved disse lidelser.

Berthold Grünfeld var gift med konsulent, cand.jur. Gunhild Solveig Skarpaas (1939–), datter av lærer Knut Skarpaas (1898–1961) og lærer Ingebjørg Stokke (1902–96). 

Kilder
Fugelli P. Tidsskr Nor Lægeforening 1995
Dagbladet/Aftenposten/Wikipedia

 

Oslo Jewish Museum

Oh, the sun was so bright

and the trees sticky and wet

in the evening stars quivered 

it was spring

Oh, the sky was blue

Flowers blazed

. your lips smelled sweet

it was summer, autumn, leaves withered

and in winter I sat at the window . .

. . it snowed

1938 Vienna 

R U T H   M A I E R

A  J E W I S H   R E F U G E E

 I N   N O R W A Y

1 9 3 9

The publication of “Ruth Maier’s Diary” with the subtitle “A Jewish Refugee in Norway” (Gyldendal, 2007) represents a shift in the historical perception of the account of the Norwegian Jewish narrative.

Ruth Maier was 22 years old when she boarded the “Donau” leaving Oslo on November 26th, 1943. She would never return.

The Norwegian poet Gunvor Hofmo (1921 – 1995) kept the diaries of Ruth Maier for fifty years, a collection of eight diary notebooks and 500 letters written from 1933 to 1942. The fact that we have access to them today is partly due to Gunvor Hofmo.

The Norwegian lyricist and poet Jan Erik Vold, the son of anti-Nazi fighter Ragnar Vold, has translated this extensive collection of altogether 1400 handwritten pages. Through them we get a picture of what was left out of our basic understanding of the Jewish destiny in Norway and it stands as a somber reminder of all the things we lost. Ruth’s writings give a captivating portrait of her as a very knowledgeable and insightful young woman. Thus Maier will also be the one we know most about among the 758 Jews from Norway who were killed during WWII.

The philosopher, public intellectual and author Espen Søbye, also of Norway, asks why it took several decades before we could read about Ruth Maier’s destiny and her diaries. Furthermore, why did it take a poet to provide us this chapter of Norway’s’ history? Why did not the academicians, the historians, focus their research on topics like these decades ago? Research on the WWII has spawned careers for many, but why did it take several decades to produce even a single dissertation on Jewish persecution during the war in Norway. Why?

“The answer is unfortunately easy: It was not considered relevant. Jewish persecution was perceived as a matter between the German occupation, the Quisling regime and the Jewish people in Norway. In this perspective the very topic of the Holocaust fell outside Norwegian history as such. The German historian Dan Diner has said that Holocaust has no narrative, but only statistics. With the publication of Ruth Maier’s diary, Vold has secured that Ruth did not become part of the statistics but made her insights available to us as evidence of a life lived.

Ruth Maier‘s diaries reflect the rich central European cultural tradition with German as the dominant language, a tradition that also has meant so much in Norway’ discourse within the humanities and the arts. Jakob Lothe is a professor of English Literature at the University of Oslo and writes in his article: "It pained Ruth Maier deeply that the Nazis vulgarized the language of her literary heroes Goethe, Schiller, Heinrich Heine, Thomas Mann, whose literary impact are continually present in her diaries."

Ruth grew up as the eldest daughter in a secularized and assimilated Jewish middle class family in Vienna. As it happened, their lives were turned upside down when Austria was annexed into the Greater German Reich. Quite rapidly their daily life saw elements of anti-Semitism, persecution, plundering and violence. The Austrian Jews were forced into a pariah situation and Ruth and her family ended up in having to live in a Jewish ghetto area in the city.

Ruth’s father, Ludwig Maier, had a high position in the postal and telegraphs service. He was the general secretary of an international postal workers' union and had a PhD. in philosophy and mastered nine languages. He died in 1933 only 51 years of age and thus was spared the humiliation of a pariah existence. However, his wife and two daughters - Ruth and her sister Judith (who is still alive, residing in Manchester, England) – were to experience all of it—to the bitter end of persecution!

From being a diary of a reflective young girl whose thoughts were occupied with school fights, conflicts with parents, infatuations, literature, her diary also deals with persecution, escape, harassment, torture, suicide, murder and concentration camps. The diary can be read as a vivid description of what Jewish existence in Vienna was like during the 1930s. Ruth’s experiences and observations as a Jew in Vienna stand in sharp contrast to the Austrian postwar myths about the country as Nazi’s first victims—to say the least.

Some excerpts from Ruth’s diary: “It is early in the morning, not a person in the street. A Jewish boy, youthful and well dressed turns the corner. Two SS men show up, one strikes and then another strikes the Jew on his ear, he covers his head and moves on. I, Ruth Maier, 18 years old, ask as a person, ask the world as a human being, if such things should happen. I ask why such is allowed, how a Germander, a German, is allowed to strike a Jew on his ear for the simple reason that one is German, the other a Jew! I am not speaking about pogroms, about harassment of Jews, about breaking the windows, plundering the residents. . It is not in the bottomless cruelties are expressed, but precisely in the strike on the ear. If there is a G-d. .I do not believe there is and I hardly call him by name. . but now I will, him. . if there is a G-d. This strike on the ear has to be paid for with blood.”

Around her 18th birthday Ruth writes: “They have beaten us. Yesterday was the most horrible of days I have ever experienced. Now I know what pogroms are, know what people are capable of doing. Human beings, images of God. We did not dare go to the streets, we told jokes, we were anxious. Dita (one of many nicknames of her sister Judith) and I took a cab home, it is hundred steps. We ran up the street, it was like in a war. . People stared, the air was chilly, many people in the street and in front were a truck full of Jews, and they stood on the deck of a truck like animals waiting for slaughter.

I must never forget this image. Jews as animals on a truck heading for slaughter. People staring. They beat a 75-year-old woman and she screamed, they rampaged her apartment with a hammer, etc. Today I walked through the narrow streets. It is like a graveyard. Everything is broken. Everything. The Jewish stores covered with panel and board. With a note: Inventory in this store is Aryan. Do not destroy!” 

“I am aware of my Jewish identity,” she writes in October 1938. “I can’t help it.” 

This fall her sister Judith moves to England with a kinder transport. Ruth is 17 months older, too old for the kinder transport. On the day before her sister’s departure, she writes: “The sisters will never meet again.” Ruth finally gets permission to travel to Norway. 

Thanks to her late father’s international contacts, the Norwegian telegraph employee, Arne Strøm, is willing to act as Ruth’s host and guarantor. She arrives to central railway station Østbanen in Oslo on January 30th, 1939. In the first letter to her sister she expressed her great joy and relief in having escaped the Nazi regime in Austria. While she is well received in Norway, Ruth wants to continue traveling to England in order to be reunited with her family.

One week after her arrival, the war between Germany and the Western Allies is a fact. Ruth is at that point accepted as a student at Frogner high school in Oslo. She chooses to postpone the travel to England and remains in Norway to take the exam. Of course, she understands full well that the war now makes the possibility of reunification with her family even less likely. Even so, she continues to dream. Ruth walks alongside the harbor in Oslo and imagines sneaking on board a boat heading for England. The relationship with her host family in Lillestrøm is getting strained and her condition as a refugee ever more lonely. “It is unsettling not to know anyone here. The family Strøm is gone. Furthermore, the German invasion of Norway on April 9th, 1940, makes any reunion impossible. An airport in Lillestrøm (near Oslo) is bombed and Ruth has to seek refuge in the basement.

Ruth had unique artistic and intellectual gifts. Two months after her arrival in Norway, she already reads Knut Hamsun’s celebrated novel Hunger in Norwegian, which she did not find particularly difficult to read. She took the Norwegian undergraduate college exam in one year and spoke perfectly Norwegian.

In the fall of 1940, Ruth signs up for voluntarily women’s work. Lack of food is a threat and farmers are lacking labor force. Through hard work on various farms on the west coast she meets likeminded people like Liv Width and her friends Karen and Gunvor Hofmo. Liv who introduces Ruth to Gunvor by saying: “She is one that will give you much joy!” remembers Ruth as a somewhat reserved, quiet and intelligent person. A close friendship develops among the four young women, especially between Gunvor and Ruth. Ruth writes about Gunvor: “I love her reserved ways of talking about things…[she] is a priceless human being.”

January 1940:

Ruth is having a difficult time. At school one of her classmates writes on her desk, "Jews not wanted here!" Her host in Lillestrom says, "You just don't fit in with the way people think around here.' She starts questioning her mental health and considers finding a doctor. "I'm living here as if I were a shadow! Grey in grey. I can't stand it any more."

She gives German lessons in order to earn money. After school she goes to the university library. She longs for somebody, longs for a man, longs for her sister, her mother, her grandmother in England. "Dittl, what will this year bring us? I think 1940 sounds so .. horrible."





Ludwig Maier, Ruth's father

(Wikipedia)

Irma Maier, Ruth's mother
(Wikipedia)

Vold describes with great insight and with utmost respect their close friendship. This relationship however, does not prevent Ruth from experiencing her situation as more and more hopeless. She does not see future possibilities, does not know how she would get a job or an education. To live as a refugee in a country occupied by Nazis is exactly what she had escaped from. It wears on her. Finally, she asks for professional help and is hospitalized in a psychiatric ward at Ullevål hospital: “What kind of life is this! Not enough that I have no prospect whatsoever to get work earn money, become independent and now I will also add to that my illness that awaits me outside the institution and that frequently overwhelms me. Escape attempt.” On February 4, 1941 Ruth, still on the psychiatric war, writes: “I am sharing room with a woman. She is 38 years old. Tells me her story. Everyone has a story. There are few happy people.” Around the same time she notes, that her relationship with Gunvor Hofmo, her intelligence, human warmth, and love of literature, serves to counter-balance the raw brutality of the Nazis. And plaintively asks:

“Why do people like Gunvor who is not a warrior end up in a place of resignation? “

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

After Ruth is released, she travels with her friends to another work assignment, this time to Ryfylke where things turn dramatic. “The idea of the trip was to find a boat that would take us across to England,” tells Liv Width. This did not happen. However, Gunvor Hofmo is arrested. It seems she has in a letter to a friend suggested something about their plans to escape and the Nazi authorities picked up this letter. She is released 10 days later. Ruth and Gunvor continue their existences in the occupied Norway. Early in the fall of 1941 they are both employed, working in a flower shop in Trondheim called Iris, all the while longing for family tears her heart. They head south. Gunvor heads for Oslo and Ruth to Lillestrøm.

Ruth was also preoccupied with what it meant to be a Jew – she entered a synagogue for the first time in June 1942, just months before she was captured. “I didn’t feel as if I belonged there. I was a stranger. The Jews had black hair and they were short and dark. I saw them as Jews and myself... as... a non-Jew.” She had proudly declared herself Jewish in a ‘Questionnaire for Jews in Norway’ which was Ruth’s undoing. She was later captured in a round up and clearly understood her fate.

Dreams and the meaning of dreams, short prose and poetry increasingly dominate Ruth’s diaries. She finally gets her own place in Dalsbergstien 3 in Oslo, a hospice for young women called “Home of Angels”. She starts modeling for the sculptor Gustav Vigeland a sculpture that would later be called “Surprised”. Ruth writes about the artist: “His hands are still young. But it is my impression that he is not a wise man.” “Surprised” was kept as a figure in plaster in the Vigeland museum till 2002 when it was cast in bronze and installed in the park.



Gustav Vigeland "Surprised"

Gustav Vigeland used the model and artist, Inga Syvertsen in 1904 for this motif. 

The model for the same motif 30 years later was a young Jewish refugee from Vienna, Ruth Maier. Maier studied art and was a writer. Half a year after modeling, she was sent to Auschwitz. The title of the sculpture is called "Surprised".

“I live in this little room with view of the backyard, a yellow railing seen through the window, no view at all. It is very quiet here. A small bookshelf stands by the bed. It is dark and the ceiling lamp is a white hospice lamp that gives no illumination. Gunvor shows up every so often wearing her gray coat. I read. I read a lot now." According to the diary, she also reads Swedish. Vold seems to imply that she was considering an escape to Sweden. Gunvor Hofmo had contacts that would have made this possible. It is a fact that over 900 Norwegian Jews made it across the borders. Why they never crossed the border, no one knows. A possible explanation is that Ruth did not want to leave without Gunvor. Gunvor also did not want to leave her family who was financially dependent on her, according to Vold.

“Jews arrested 26 October 1942. All Norwegian Jews arrested: It does not surprise me. I am nauseous. People are oppressed for their opinion. One kills each other to defend your country. But no one is being punished; no one hits people because of what they are, because they have Jewish grandparents. This is madness, something idiotic about the concept. It would drive anyone mad. It is against common sense. Perhaps they will come and pick me up too. Once it will all come to an end and then all will be well. Everything I have started has failed. It is as if it was too late for me. As if my life has lost out of something essential. The only comfort is to put my hand over my forehead. Seek peace in one’s own pain.”

One of the women, who lived in the hospice during the same period, recalls that she kept much to herself. “I remember only a sad face and her big brown eyes.” Most of the women shared rooms, but Ruth did not. She had a tiny room. When the air- raid alarm sounded, she did not run to the basement with the others, but went hiding in a closet in her room.

The last paragraph in the diary is from November 1942 and reads: “To mother: it happens that I wait for you. My fatigue, and my empty desire for something completely different than this, is my life. And you appear. You always did. A curtain has touched the wind, a scent of rain has reminded me of my childhood. Soft voices from the street have reached me. A girl’s laughter; a child’s frail cry. And then, you left and I remained bewildered. My forehead is so cold.

At dawn on November 26th1942 the doorbell rings at the “Home of Angels.” Several of the 60 women who live in the dormitory awaken. Two Norwegian policemen stride up the stairwell. A firm fist bangs on Ruth’s door. When the frail Jewish girl leaves the dormitory accompanied by two brawny policemen, the hallway is packed with terrified women. They follow Ruth and the police down the stairs. One of them notices the gold watch on Ruth’s narrow wrist: “Take off the watch. We will take care of it till you return!” “I will never return,” Ruth replies.

One of the girl’s recounts: When they were outside the door, we ran to the window. In the early dawn, a huge, black car is parked in the street. In the back seat were two frightened girls. Ruth was pushed inside and they drove off.

Gunvor Hofmo is among the few Norwegians who were at Vippetangen (Oslo’s harbor) when 532 Norwegian Jews were being taken on board the Donau on November 26th. Ruth managed to smuggle a note to Gunvor from the skip:



"Englehjemmet", Dalsbergstien 3 -

hospice for young girls

place of Ruth Maier's arrest,

“I think it is just as well that it comes to this. Why should we not suffer when there is so much suffering? Don’t worry about me. I would perhaps not wish to replace my destiny with yours:.

Five days later, on December 1, 1942 Ruth Maier is murdered in the gas changer in Auschwitz with 345 other women, children and men with disabilities from Norway. The bodies are being burnt in an open field.

Ruth turned 22 years old.




Ruth's sister Judith, talks about her memories of the Second World War.

Published by Scandinavian Jewish Forum

Betzy Rosenberg - 
Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

A  R O O M 
W I T H O U T
 A   V I E W

PART II

In the late fall of 1942 Jewish women

were interned at a house near the Museum Place in Trondheim. My mother, Jenny Rosenberg,was among them.

One day I passed by the house near the Museum Place on my way to the milk store on Vilhelm Storm's street and saw my mother sitting by the window. She called me and said that she had a couple of boots for me. I did not dare enter the house. Mother looked severe and unhappy there by the window sill. I continued waling towards my destination. 

In the meantime someone had delivered those shoes to my home. Rosa did not know who had done it. In it was a pair of socks and a note from mother: “Yes Betzy, I am here. Don’t be afraid. I am not alone, but with the company of several others. Stay calm. Crying does not help. Be wise. Eat well! Jenny” I still have that note. Mother showed concern for her only daughter until the time of death. 

Mother shared room with Mrs. Laneklinsky who was a Swedish Jew, which was the reason she was able to travel to Sweden before the inevitable happened with the other internees. From there, mother was sent to Falstad, thereafter to Bredtveit. She was later sent to Germany with the ship "Donau" on February 24, 1943.

Trønderheimen Prinsens street
Courtesy Trondheim Municipal Archives

The Philipsohn//Rosenberg lived near a milk store on Vilhelm Storm street, near the synagogue on Architect Christie’s street. Maja was there too. She insisted that I go to Byneset to find out if Arne had a hiding place for me. I went. The bus ride was ca. 20 km. Arne’s house in Strandly was empty, the door open as was common (Byneset). There was a note from Arne “Gone fishing.” I waited till Arne returned. I stayed there 2 days –fearful. There were clear reasons to be fearful. The neighbor kept company with the Rinnan gang members and he himself was involved with NS. Rinnan was a notorious Gestapo agent in the area around Trondheim during WWII and had fifty known gang members. 

Betzy Rosenberg
Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

I myself traveled unguarded at this point. Maja sent a note with a messenger (there was no phone in Strandly at that time): “Come back to the city immediately!” There were increasingly rumors about deportation of Jews. I brought a big stack of clothing, just in case I would need them. On the way back two German police officers entered the bus (by Rye). They asked to see passport and identification papers. I carried my papers indicating a “J” They looked at me. There were some scuffle and the atmosphere was tense. Then they left. Arne was on board the bus. He had now been observed with a Jewish girl! Would this make hiding at Byneset impossible? We made it to the city, but I was thinking that perhaps I was on my way to a death camp? We walked slowly towards the milk store on Vilhelm Storm’s street. Arne waited outside in order to be on the lookout. I entered. The tension was tangible. No one was there.

Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

Later on that evening two policemen came to the milk store. A big black car stood parked outside. The police read out names from a big book of those who were supposedly there: Grandmother Rebecca, Aunt Rosa, Aunt Maja, Aunt Frida - mother’s 7 years old sister. I sat on a bench and wanted to be invisible. They looked at me: “Elisabeth Philipsohn?” “No, my name is Betzy Rosenberg”. They did not know that Elizabeth had died 10 years earlier, in 1931. My name was not in the book. They looked at me several times. I prayed to G-d: “They are not here. My name is not on the list.” I was 23 years of age and had just experienced both a miracle and answer to prayer. Grandmother Rebecca, age 74 and Aunt Rosa were allowed to remain. Rosa could after all take good care of her. 

Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

When Aunt Frida and Maja were taken out through the door, they wept. Rosa said: “We will never see them again!” She was right. They disappeared. This was November 26, 1942. Maja and Frida were sent to Bredtveit prison for women in Oslo. They were later sent from Oslo, Norway February 24, 1943 and died in the gas chambers in Germany the same day as mother, on March 3, 1943. Why was Aunt Rose spared . . . was it too burdensome to undertake a 74 yrs. old at that point? Rosa was captured 3 weeks later, in the street with bread in her arm. She was also sent to Bredtveit and then with "Donau" to Germany on February 24, 1943 where she was gassed. The Nazis were as efficient as they were pragmatic in approach.

Grandmother Rebekka was kept hidden among other places at Nidarvoll health center, Trondheim and died immediately after the war. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery Lademoen, a few yards from Elisabeth’s place of burial. 

It may be true that grandmother and I were the only one who made it alive as Jews in Norway during WWII

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Once the black car had left Vilhelms Storm’s street that evening on November 26, 1942 with Maja and Frida, my landlord demanded that I leave immediately. Arne was standing outside in the dark waiting for me. Maja had called him to ask for help at the last minute. When I came outside the store, two strangers held a light at me. It might have been spies. They followed Arne and I as we made our way to Tronderheimen cafeteria where they finally disappeared. We sat there for 3 hours and worried that we would be thrown out - or arrested if we walked out on the street. 

We continued later to Arne’s sister who owned a house in Gaubekveita near Fjord street by the harbor. We stayed there 4-5 days. Arne returned to his home in Strandly to find a way for me to hide there. Arne was a painter by profession and generally very capable. He found some wood panel and worked nonstop for a day and a half and built my future hiding place: “The room”.

T h e  R o o m   

I secured a hiding place in Strandly late November 1942 and was able to experience freedom only 2.5 years later. During that time, I left the house only once. Arne showed me the gun. “If we had visitors, Gestapo or police, I shoot you first and then myself!”. The gun was on the nightstand or in the drawer at all times. Arne insisted that we keep our clothes on day and night and sleep interchangeably, 4-5 hours each.

"The Room" had tapestries inside with black insulation paper to prevent any odor in the event anyone would send dogs on us. Two hinges made it possible to close the ‘door’ from inside. The floor surface was ca. 50 x 65 cm. Height 120 cm. There was a wooden box by the wall. It was impossible to stand erect. There was no airflow. I fainted at least twice during the war period. The room was actually part of the pantry with entrance through the bedroom where the wall was parted with painted roe-panel in the bottom. Arne managed to find a matching color not to expose the new wall. The walls in room were in other words partly external walls facing the entrance. The Strandly house itself was Arne’s property that he had built himself many years ago.

There was no water in the house. Arne had to carry. There was a wooden stove in the kitchen and the neighbors would of course notice each time we lit the fire. This meant I could not bake if Arne was gone. One time a farmer came on a surprise visit while we were preparing food. I rushed to the room when the fellow knocked on the door. He seemed to think that he had heard a voice! Arne replied that he was aging and that he infrequently talked to himself.

We lived in suspense for 2. 5 years. Arne did not have steady employment, but went fishing and bartering was the currency for exchange of goods. Sale of goods made survival possible. We had one ration card. Fish at most meals never took away the preciousness of it.

We had ealy on assumed that I would remain in hiding for 1 ½ years or so. Of course the war would have ended by then! The rumors had it that the Englishmen would soon be here. .but not so! A cuckoo was often seen on the laundry line with Arne’s clothing. It was often a reminder of how much I was that cuckoo – a Jew in “foreign land”.

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When Arne returned from outings, he would always find a yellow note in the bedroom window. It meant that all was well. All clear. Enter. He was always worried about leaving me alone, when he had to run errands, deliver fish etc. With cash in hand Arne could at times also bring snacks. I was always relieved when he came back, from the city, from neighbors or from the sea. It was a neighborly trend to have the door open. If there was a knock on the door, my heart beat strongly. I ran into my room.

The son of our closest neighbor, Kåre Martinsen, was a Nazi. He lived ca 100 m from us. The cabin was a place of gathering for Nazis. They practiced pistol shooting. The Rinnan gang gathered there often too. One dark day in the fall of 1943, during a lively party at the cottage, some drunkards came walking towards Strandly. “The guests” started circling the house. They were loud and banged on the walls. I was in the room. Arne had gone to visit his brother. As it turns out, Arne had been hiding nearby in the forest and was observing the activities. He seemed to conclude that some of them were part of the Rinnan gang. 

On another occasion our neighbor Kåre came on a surprise visit. Arne managed to talk him in to joining him on a boat trip. The trip lasted 3 long hours. Arne played the role well, however anxious. He had had very little contact with Martinsen prior to this encounter, and it made Arne scared.

Once Kåre’s father, Kristian, came unannounced and entered the door while I was in the kitchen. I managed to hide behind some bed linen that was on the floor. Had he seen me? Probably the sunlight had blinded the old man – we hoped! 

A farmer once came to visit and wanted to chat with Arne. He stayed for 2 hours. I was in the hiding place, but fainted in that dark room, with no ventilation. Arne had to pull me out after the guest had left. To call on a physician was out of the question. I was a non-person after all. Illness was treated with naphtha and camphor drops bought at the local pharmacy in Trondheim. 

Later on that fall another Nazi dropped by our house. He wanted to celebrate his birthday and ended up staying for 4 hours. I fainted. I later knocked quietly on the wall to signal to Arne that I was alive, but could not take it any longer. A sign of life helped the morale and my determination. 

Once this fellow had left the house, Arne took some liquor to quiet his nerves. We both lived with a real fear: imagine if the Germans should show up and claim Strandly for their own use? Martinsen’s approach made it fairly possible that such a thing could happen.

In the late fall we were about to give up. We did not know how long the war would last. “Betzy, we cannot continue like this!” Arne said one day. “We have to try,” I insisted. It was hardest for Arne. Patience was the biggest challenge. I promised that I would take care of him one day should he need it in the future. That promise I kept 40 years later. 

We had 4 carbide lamps and one paraffin lamp. The odor was bad. They could not be used if I were alone in the house. I would have to be satisfied with dark if daylight had passed. There was no electricity, so we had no outdoor light. That made it difficult to identify the person who would knock on the door. To be on guard in the bedroom during night hours was an exhausting enterprise. Nor did we know when this captivity would end. 

Preparing food could only be done after 10-11 pm. If smoke came from the pipe, it would be considered an invitation for visitors to show up. Arne and I did not eat together at the kitchen table. One had to be on the lookout. Conversations were always as whispers. The restrictions also meant that I was unable to use the outdoor bathroom, but use toilette in the bedroom.

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One time when Arne had left to go to the city, ca 20 German came to Strandly. They were very loud and stayed in the neighborhood. I was in the bedroom. I overheard some of the conversation. Since I knew Yiddish, some of it was comprehensible. They wanted to buy fish. Since no one was at home, they left. We had a small radio, but Arne got rid of it. We used to read Adresseavisen (local newspaper), however censured. We had no books, only a few magazines available. My first and only outing was in 1944. We went fishing. We met a German soldier who was rowing his boat. He chatted with Arne while I was hiding under a tarpaulin for half an hour. I never dared leave he house after this incident. 

Arne grew tobacco during the war. He used to smoke to calm his nerves. I tried it only once. During the berry season Arne would leave early in the morning. Once he left at 5am and crossed the fjord to Geitastrand by boat. It took him one hour to cross. He returned later that day with ca 20 kg blueberry. This was a major contribution to our economy. 

His father Anders Haugronning visited us altogether 2 or 3 times during the war. He was well liked in town. Anders knew about the hiding place. I had only a couple of conversation with Arne’s sister Jenny and Anne, face to face during my whole stay in Strandly.

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I prayed to G-d often, the G-d of Abrahams Isaacs and Jakob those years in that dark room. It was that of complete loneliness, in the heat and stuffy air. Knocks on the wall from Arne was a rare luxury. I was brought up religious. I was proud of my Jewish people! I remained a loyal member of the local synagogue without being formally a member, which happened in 1996.

On the day of liberation, May 8, 1945 we read an article about us in the local paper, but I was still more or less in hiding until the month of June. We could not fully trust what was written in the daily newspapers: “A Jewish girl is kept hidden at Byneset for 2.5 years!” It said that “Haug Rønning had been kind to her by risking his life and rescue this unfortunate person. Miss Rosenberg is in good health, both physically and mentally. . “ I seemed to notice a certain optimism in Arne’s voice. “The Room was simple and nice . . ” it said . . - a simple way to solve a problem of calamity.

We never owned a car. Arne drove a motorcycle. We took courage and started leaving our house. We took the bus infrequently. Some people we met thought I was aunt Maja Philipsohn. They wanted to know what happened to the rest of my family. Other people we met made the sign of the cross. They could not believe their own eyes - a Jewish person, alive!

I was skinny. I had no friends in the city aside from grandmother Rebekka. She died on July 16th, 1945. Jews came to her funeral who had returned from Sweden. There I met Uncle Jacob Philipsohn who had been rescued by escaping to Sweden. My own people had become strangers to me. The first Jews I was in touch with locally, were Mrs Karen and Harry Dworsky. They bought fish from us at Byneset!

2-3 years after the war, electricity came. Water came only towards the end of 1950.

Betzy Rosenberg Arne Haug Rønning  
Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

Arne and I lived during the exile in a father and daughter relationship. However, we married many years later, on New Year eve 1949. We moved to Trondheim center in the late 1970 and used Strandly as a place for vacation both summer as winter. Arne died at age 80 at the Regional hospital in Trondheim, 1985. I was at his side when he died. He had helped me survive and I took care of him till the last minute as promised. Strandly was sold in 1996, the house was leveled and thus was a war memorial no longer. 

Not a single item from my childhood was found after the liberation. The war had left deep wounds. I started stuttering already during the war. I still do when strong memories come.

Betzy Rosenberg Arne Haug Rønning
Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

I had a long life of 80 years. I feel that G-d has been with me. My life is a proof that the G-d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob heard our prayers and is a merciful G-d.

Psalm 66: 

"Praise be to G-d, who has not rejected my prayer or withheld his love from me!”

Betzy Rosenberg

Trondheim 1999

With kind permission

Trondheim Jewish Museum

Published by Scandinavian Jewish Forum