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

                                                       ----------------------------------------------

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”.

1 9 4 3

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.

1 9 4 4

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.

_________________

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

Betzy Rosenberg Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

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

THE HISTORY OF A JEWISH GIRL 
WHO SURVIVED WWII 
IN NORWAY


PART I

I am Jewish. 

Both my parents were Jewish. 

My parents came to Norway in 1902
and got married in 1917.

The conversations between Betzy Haug Rønning (1919 – 2004) and her physician Artis started in 1999 after several years of hesitation. She had a strong reluctance to making her story known. She wanted to keep the story between her and her deceased husband private, saying that “the sorrow is ours.”  With time however, she started writing down stories that she in time decided to share.

Betzy has a rare combination of a temperament of someone local (Trøndelag) in language and thought, yet at the same time having an approach of an outsider. Her story is indeed a different story.

Betzy is one of the last remaining voices who can bear witness of ethnic and religious persecution in Norway.  Her story is also unique in that it deals with the relationship between a Jew and a Christian. 

      "Praise be to G-d, who has not rejected my prayer 

or withheld his love from me!"

Trondheim, September 1999

Dr. Artis

                                                 ----------------------------------------------------

“I don’t know how to start writing my story, but I will try. My name is Betzy Haug-Rønning. My maiden name is Rosenberg. I was born July 1, 1919 in EC Dahls hospital in Trondheim Norway. (E.C. Dahls clinic, opened in 1908, was one of the most modern maternity clinics in Europe).

Betzy Rosenberg Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

I am Jewish. Both my parents were Jewish. My parents came to Norway in 1902 and got married in 1917. My dear brother and only sibling Charles, was born May 12, 1924. My father Bernard Rosenberg was born in Minsk in Russia on March 16 1895, son of Ephraim and Rachel. He was a businessman.  

My mother Jenny was born December 20, 1895 in Grajevo in Poland. Her maiden name was Philipsohn. Her parents’ names were Abraham Samuel and Rebecca. 

Abraham Samuel Philipsohn, my grandfather, was born December 1864 in Stoojin in Poland. He came to Norway in 1899 with his wife, my grandmother Rebecca who was 4 years younger. Abraham was a businessman and started men’s clothing store on Prinsens street 28 in Trondheim, 1910.  The Philipsohn was a happy family with close ties to the synagogue and kept their Jewish traditions.

E.C.Dahls Stiftelse Billedsamling NTNU

My mother’s two younger sisters, Rosa (born 1903) and Maja (born 1912), traveled in the late 1920s to Kirkenes (Finnmark) where Abraham had set up a retail store as he had in Trondheim.  Aunt Elisabeth managed the family business in Trondheim. She lived with us.

Aunt Elisabeth) was a very charming and a beautiful woman. She became ill and died in 1931. Her death would for strange reasons indirectly result in my rescue during the War. Her death was of great sorrow to all in the family. Elisabeth was buried in the Jewish cemetery Lademone in Trondheim. Following her death the other aunts returned from Kirkenes in order to continue operating the business in Prinsens street 28.

1920

 The first 7 years of my life I lived at Pappenheim (bluecolor neighborhood, citadel called “Brekkan” built ca. 1920) in Trondheim with my grandparents, the Philipsohns. I went to Singsaker school. My teacher was Miss Tennebø.

Singsaker school

I developed Scarlet fever as a child. This was considered a dangerous illness. A big note was posted on my door that said Scarlet fever! People were naturally scared and avoided coming close. I lived a solitary life for 3 months before full recovery.

                                                                   

1931

I was 12 years of age when I moved to (Treslottet) Hans Nissens gate in Ila, close to Ila school where I attended primary school. My teacher was Miss Valso.  We lived with our grandparents the Philipsohns.

I had a friend I called ”sister”. She was later to become Gustav Lorentzen’s mother, Rosemary («Siss») Fewkes Lorentzen.

Our home on Treeslottet on Hans Nissen street was near St. Elisabeth hospital. During this time Aunt Elisabeth became ill,some nuns at the hospital cared for her at home..  She became good friends with them.  We experienced their religion as strict but they were nice people. Several nuns had come from Poland as did my mother’s family. They made a good impression on me and had my respect.  My  first encounter with Christianity was a picture I saw hanging on a wall at our seamstress’ studio (Bakklandet) portraying Jesus. The seamstress I recall charged 5 krones for making a dress. She was an artist and made the pattern herself. As an artist her reputation was that of being somewhat liberal.

 

St. Elisabeth's Hospital Trondheim Mun. Archives of Trondheim

My aunt Maja was kind, so very kind. She would send me gifts from Kirkenes (Finnmark) during the years she managed the store there. I was between 10-12 years old at the time. After Elisabeth’s death she would buy me a bun every so often, at 5 ore a piece, or she would give me money for a movie, which was 25 øre (cent) at that time. Aunt Maja had a beautiful voice and her chestnut colored hair was known among the city’s hairdressers. I remember once when we lived in Strykejernet i Ilevollen, I entered the kitchen where my beloved Aunt Maja was singing while preparing fishcakes. She had a white apron and looked like an angel. Aunt Maja was a true human angel. I believe in supernatural angels.

   1934 

I moved to Grensen 8 which was more modern with indoor bathroom. I attended school The teachers name was Tennebo. My grandmother Rebecca lived with us for some time.  She had heart problems. The medical advice at the time was to do the least strenuous of activities. She and her husband moved to Strykejernet that same year, a 2 story house by Oslo and Ilevollen streets. I used to visit them and slept on a leather sofa in the kitchen.

1937

We moved to Innherredsveien 51 in 1937, the year I turned 18.

The Jewish holidays were simply put difficult to keep, especially for a child like myself. During  Yom Kippur one was to fast from 5pm to the following day 5pm. I recall a peculiar incident when I was about 10 years old. It was common to use gas stove with manual lighting using matches. From Friday evening at sunset to Saturday night it was not allowed to light the stove  during the Sabbath. To read paper or light a match was also not permitted. But we needed heat. As good Jews we were not allowed to disturb the Sabbath peace, so we asked a kid from the neighborhood to help us and we offered 5 ore for the service of lighting the stove. Consequently, people in the neighborhood would gossip. During that time it was forbidden for Jews to buy meat from animal who were not slaughtered according to Jewish law. The meat we ate had to be imported, mostly from Denmark. This of course was a very expensive enterprise. 

Betzy Rosenberg Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

In the Philipsohn’s household, the dietary rules were kept strictly. For this reason the sense of high holidays always brought a particular joyous atmosphere.  One needed three separate dishes and cutlery, one for fish, meat and milk. If we had eaten meat, we had to wait two hours before dairy could be eaten. During the Jewish Passover we used separate cups and ate matza. This was also bought abroad. We drank tea and used special butter that was bought via the synagogue in Trondheim. We had to wash hands in the morning and later on before all meals. 

Grandmother Rebecca was the most consistent religious Jewish person I ever knew. She prayed at the table with two lit candles at Sabbath meal. She spoke and wrote Hebrew as did Grandfather Abraham Samuel. I did not learn much Hebrew, but learned Yiddish that would come handy later in life. In my youth during the 1930s, it was considered a great error for a Jew to marry a Norwegian. Good relationships existed, but it never concluded in marriage. The rules were strict and our culture was protected. My life, as it turns out, would be in opposition to this rule.  But what happened did not come without resistance.

Before the war, there were about eight Jewish families in Trondheim. The Abrahamsen, Buchmann, Isaksen, Kelin, Philipsohn, Savosnick (a watchmaker), Koritzinsky and Dworsky (both physicians).

1940  

The morning of April 9th 1940 I left my home in Innherreds street 51 to go to the clothing store at Prinsens street 28 where I encountered for the first time German soldiers (in Ravnkloa) marching into the city. Aunst Maja and Rosa were as little aware as any of us were of what was going on. They had asked me to attend a wholesale event the evening before, on April 8th in Britannia hotel. We  were to select merchandise for the store. The seller from the Britannia hotel came to our store the following day to deliver the goods we purchased. He seemed nervous. We did not completely understand the urgency.

The outbreak of the war was in its second week. We refused to assist any German soldiers who would come in our store (on Prinsens gt 28). We knew about the Krystal nacht. The Nazis were already a threat. We made them aware that we knew. 

1941 

There were early on incidents of persecution of Jews in Norway. We experienced for instance that mother was kicked by a stranger near Bakke’s church. She fell to the ground.My mother Jenny was a very strong woman. That was at that time that the police ordered Jewish families to be photographed and issues passports and other identification papers with the stamp “J” for Jewish. Ethnic cleansing had started!

I was offered extra work at the florist Mr. Forbregd. I recall one of my customers was a bank director named Gunnar Birch. He was later taken hostage and shot on October 6, 1942. 

Aunt Maja was ordered to do cleaning work at the local hospital. She got to know a nurse that she confided in. It was this same nurse that brought me a note in 1941 urging me to escape – included certain details: I was to flee on a certain boat. I had to cut my hair and dress as a sailor.  However  the escape never happened. Later  the same nurse mentioned to Maja,  the possibility of a hideout for me at Byneset where she knew someone named Arne. Unfortunately we lost contact with the nurse. 

Later that year we were offered another escape plan: A thoughtful fellow came in to our store in Prinsens gt 28. and introduced himself as Mr. Johansen. He offered to arrange an escape for us to Sweden. We hesitated, but he insisted. Aunt Rosa was working in the store. As he was about the put on his winter coat part of the lining became visible and it had a NS insignia. We had most likely been prevented from falling into a trap.

We were also offered help from skilled "jøssing" couriers (Jewish allies) to be brought across the border to Sweden. But we never felt safe and rejected all offers. The most important reason was that we had to consider Grandmother Rebecca’s well being. She had heart problem and we couldn’t stand the idea of leaving her as she was not strong enough to cross the border to Sweden.

                                               

1942 

The Jewish males from the Trondheim area were captured during the summer of 1942. Grandfather Abraham Samuel Philipsohn, uncle Philip, mother’s 2 years younger brother, my father Bernhard and my little brother Charles 18 were sent to Falstad prisoner camp near Trondheim. We lost contact with them at that point. We later learned that they were sent to Bredtveit on February 24th 1943 and then to Germany. By March all had died. Grandfather’s store in Prinsen street 28 and the home in Ila were methodically robbed by NS people and by Germans as was our home in Inherreds road 51 when my parents were captured. During the time my mother was awaiting deportation, she sent me a note that said: “Be strong Betzy!” That note has helped me many times. My dear brother Charles received a notice by mail to meet with the police. He was later sent to Falstad. When my brother was captured, I made up my mind that I would personally never have children of my own.

Charles Rosenberg - courtesy JMO

We did not have much information regarding the destiny of Charles, my father, uncle and grandfather and their experiences at Falstad until after the war when legal action was taken against the Gestapo Gerhard Flesch. Newspaper editor Adresseavisa Sverre J Herstad testified about the Jewish refugees who lived at Falstad most of their time “on their stomach then on their feet.”  He had himself witnessed that Jews had to clean the inner courtyard with their mouth and hands. Herstad also said - most likely referring to Charles - ; “Rosenberg, one of the young Jews had his head and body scolded with boiling water. Afterwards he was scrubbed with a sharp brush followed by ice water thrown over his body. He had huge sores on his head afterwards. The idea was for prisoners not to utter any sound.”

Ester Rosa Philipsohn courtesy JMO

After my father had been captured, Rosa got the idea one day that she would visit him at the prison camp in Falstad. She knew he was ill. She went, but was unable to  see him or deliver any gift to him. At this point we got scared. We started to see the outlines of a scary scenario. 

Jenny Rosenberg - Courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum

My rescuer, Arne, was born July 6 1897 a second child of a family of 4 at a farm in Byneset near Trondheim He was born Haug-ronning but later took the name Haug-Rønning I knew him from the time I used to work in the store. When I met him he had already worked several years in Sweden as a painter. He had been a good support. Following Rosa’s unsuccessful trip to Falstad, Arne too became concerned – and was afraid to visit us. The Nazi regime was moving in – and cold air moved upon us. 

All pictures and original documents
courtesy Trondheim Jewish Museum



Efraim Wolff Koritzinsky 
FOTO: Erik Koritzinsky

 

E F R A I M  W O L F F 

K O R I T Z I N S K Y

Ephraim Wolff Koritzinsky var født den 20 juni 1883 i Karlstad i Varmland i 1883 av foreldrene Abraham Josef Koritzinsky (1858-1928) og Pauline Abrahamson (1858-1908). Han gikk på skole i Hamburg fra 1894 til 1898 og tok norsk artium i 1901. Han avla medisinsk embetseksamen i 1909. Fra 1912 kombinerte han egen privatpraksis med et årsvikariat ved Kristiansund sykehus. Under første verdenskrigen arbeidet han først ved Nordland Amtssykehus i Bodø og deretter i Munchen og Bonn. I 1917 -1919 arbeidet han ved Ulleval kirurgiske avdeling.

Dr. Koritzinsky flyttet til Trondheim der han fikk stilling som kirurgisk overlege og sykehusdirektør ved Trondheim Sykehus. Han giftet seg med enka Elisabeth Heide, f. Muller (1901-1982) fra Kristiansund og de fikk fem barn.

Ephraim Wolff Koritzinsky var arrestert av de nazistiske myndighetene den 1. desember 1941 og sendt til Falstad fangeleir. Under oppholdet der ble han syk av kreft. I steden for å bli deportert, ble han overført til Levanger sykehus, der han døde den 15 mai 1942.

H V O R D A N  D E T  V A R 

Å  V Æ R E  B A R N 

U N D E R  K R I G E N

1 9 4 0 - 4 5

         

av Erik Wolff Koritzinsky

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Den 1. desember 1941 ble min far  Efraim Wolff Koritzinsky (1883-1942) arrestert av sivilkledd norsk nazipoliti i Trondheim.

Jeg husker lyden fra hæljernene til de 2 politifolkene som hentet ham. Min mor, Elisabeth Heide, f. Müller (1901–1982) som var kristen, sa at far kom nok snart hjem igjen fordi han hadde ikke gjort noe galt. Det var et språk som vi barn forsto.

Min far kom aldri hjem igjen og døde den 15. mai året etter på Levanger Sykehus.

Arrest ordren oppga som grunn «hamstring». Vi hadde visstnok litt for mye hermetikk i kjelleren. Det var sikkert gaver fra pasienter. Han var direktør og overlege ved Trondhjem Sykehus fra 1933. Den egentlige årsaken til arrestasjonen var nok at han hadde vunnet flere rettsaker (injuriesaker) mot nazistiske redaktører som sjikanerte jøder.

Redaktør Sylten i Nasjonalt Tidsskrift ble både bøtelagt og fengslet. Sylten hadde drevet et personlig korstog mot jøder med mobbing og sjikanering. Naziregimet i Norge ønsket nok å kneble fars mulighet til å opponere mot jødehatet. Far hadde autoritet, var respektert og hadde en av de høyeste embeter noen jøde hadde i Norge i 1940. Han trodde at de ikke ville arrestere han fordi:

1. Han hadde arbeidet som kirurg under første verdenskrig på universitetsklikken i Bonn og fikk tildelt Jernkorset av keiser Wilhelm II.

2. Han var den eneste kirurgen nord for Dovre som utførte de store lungeoperasjonene. (Det var mange turberkuløse i Norge den gang.)

3. Han var gift med en ikke-jødinne og var ikke medlem av Det Mosaiske Trossamfunn – ikke troende jøde som fulgte religiøse ritualer.

Elisabeth Koritzinsky 

FOTO: Erik Koritzinsky

Det at han hadde reddet livet til mange tyske soldater som ble skutt i filler ved den grusomme skyttergrav krigen som første verdenskrig var, skulle en tro var en tungtveiende årsak til at han skulle gå fri. Men nei ! Etter arrestasjonen ble han satt inn på Kristiansten Festning i Tronheim, påført lus og kom tilbake snauklippet til Trondheim Sykehus for avlusing. 10. februar ble han overført til Falstad Konsentrasjonsleir der han ble fysisk plaget som alle andre selv om han ble bedt om å fungere som lege i Ekne-bygda. 

Maten på Falstad var elendig og mor fikk høre at han ga den bort til de yngre som trengte den mer enn ham. Etter hvert ble han meget syk. Diagnosen var leverkreft og han ble overført til Levanger Sykehus og døde den 15.mai. 

Så var det oss barna og krigen slik jeg husker den: Invasjonen den 9. april 1940 står klart for meg med mange fly over Trondheim. Senere kom tyske soldater som marsjerte rundt i gatene for å vise at de hadde erobret byen vår. Sykehuset der vi bodde fikk stadig inn sårede soldater og flygere som var skutt ned. De døde ble lagt i lik kjelleren. Vi kunne titte ned i underetasjen ved å gå ned i lysgrava. Jeg var 6 ½ år da krigen begynte og 8 ½ år da far døde. Livet var både veldig spennende, men svært trist da far ble borte.

Etter invasjonen 9.april 1940 fikk vi barna beskjed om ikke å ta i mot noe av tyske soldater eller nazister med uniform og hakekors på armen. Vi forsto at vi måtte være varsomme, kunne ikke være som før. At jeg var særlig utsatt fordi far var jøde forsto jeg nok først litt etter litt. 

Det jødiske var aldri noe tema i barndommen. Jeg husker en vakker lampe med mange farger som ble tent en gang om høsten for at vi skulle minnes de døde. Det gjorde inntrykk! Mors formaninger gikk på følgende: 

Holde oss langt unna de som hadde hakekors og ofte brun uniform.

Unngå nordmenn som gikk sammen med tyskere 

Unngå de som var «stripete», både barn av nazister og voksne mistenkelige, som kanskje var angivere som kanskje sladret til tyskerne.

NS-medlemmer og Hird i uniform kunne være farlige 

Om brus: Den beste brusen for meg den gang het «Gullregn» og den måtte jeg ikke drikke eller kjøpe fordi det var «Nazibrus». Dessuten kunne vi heller ikke gå på kino for den var nazistyrt.

Etter fars død ble alt mye alvorligere for meg som den eldste selv om mor på en enestående måte skjermet oss barna. Jeg forsto at det kunne være farlig å være jøde selv om jeg personlig aldri følte frykt i meg som jeg forsto. Jeg fikk klar beskjed fra mor at jeg måtte hjelpe henne ved å være et godt eksempel for mine 4 yngre søsken. Min bror Theo var bare 7 måneder da far døde. Fars siste brev til meg, som ble smuglet ut fra Falstad, understreket at jeg måtte hjelpe mor og være lydig ! Det ble mindre lek og mere alvor straks etter fars død. 

Direktørboligen med 5 stuer i sykehushagen måtte fraflyttes, møbler lagres, tepper, sølvtøy og malerisamlingen gjemmes bort på landstedet til morfar og mormor utenfor Kristiansund. Morfar Brostrup Müller hadde fått oppført en falsk vegg i kårstua. Etter fars arrestasjon fikk mor leiet en lastebil og kjørte om natten til Kristiansund med 180 malerier som var tatt ut av rammene, tepper og sølvtøy. Vi klarte å lure det verdifulle innboet unna tyskerne. Konfiskasjon av jødisk eiendom hadde jo allerede begynt. Sommeren 1942 flyttet vi til hytta på Selbustrand med utedo og brønnvann.

Far var humanist, trodde på det beste i menneskene. Han ble på bussen fra Trondheim til Selbustrand kjent med en viss hr. Jørgensen som virket jødevennlig og tilbød seg å kjøpe hytta og Buicken fingert for kr. 5.000. Det ble laget kontrakt som ble underskrevet på fars kontor med 2 av reservelegene som vitner. Ingen pengeoverføring eller kvittering – det var jo et fingert salg for å unngå eventuell konfiskering fra nazistenes side.

Etter fars død meldte hr. Jørgensen sitt krav som eier av bilen og hytta. Mor hevdet at det var en fingert avtale, men tapte saken i Byretten i Trondheim. Hun appellerte til lagmannsretten og vant heldigvis saken. Jørgensen kunne ikke dokumentere betaling av kr. 5.000 og begge legene som var tilstede da avtalen ble underskrevet vitnet at dette var en fingert avtale. Deretter kunne mor ta hytta i bruk igjen. Sakens dokumenter har jeg overlatt til Holocaustmuseet på Bygdøy. 

Rinnan-banden v/lensmannen i Selbu beslagla hytta på Selbustrand like før julen 1944 som var siste krigsvinteren. Det var ikke fred å få noe sted for en enke med 5 barn mellom 4 og 11 år. Vi ble kastet ut på kort varsel men naboer i Selbu var enestående og Sommerstuggu på Fuglem Gård ble ryddet og varmet opp for oss. 

Rinnan-banden hadde våpenlager i et av soverommene på hytta og lakkseglene kan sees den dag i dag. Hytta ble aldri brukt av nazistene, de hadde vel annet å gjøre siste krigsvinteren enn å gjemme seg opp i skogkanten på Bellebakken. I etterkant tror jeg vi kan si at denne konfiskeringen var en del av trakasseringen av oss. 

Dette viste seg i høyeste grad da mor like etter nyttår fikk vite av naziordfører Lossius i Kristiansund at hennes 5 barn skulle deporteres med båt til Tyskland fra Kristiansund. Han kunne stolt fortelle mor at han hadde sagt til Gestapo: «Dokker kainn da ikkje seinn ongan te ho Lisabet te Tyskland.» Mor og denne Nazi-ordføreren var kjente fra barndommen i Kristiansund der mor vokste opp. I hvert fall skjedde det ingen deportasjon av oss fordi store deler av den tyske flåten var torpedert og lå på bunnen i Nordsjøen. 

Da jeg var 9 år ble jeg sendt på Ballangrud Pensjonatskole på Hadeland mens mor og yngre søsken bodde vekselvis på hytta i Selbu eller hos morfar og mormor på Flatsetsund utenfor Kristiansund. Jeg bodde hjemmefra i 4 år og gikk der ut folkeskolen. Min søster Eva gikk også på Ballangrud de 2 siste årene.

Mor sa at Ballangrud var en bedre skole enn bygdeskolene i Selbu og på Flatsetsund. Den egentlige årsaken var nok at hun var redd for deportasjon av oss barna også. Iså fall ville nazistene startet med meg som den eldste. Nå var det slik at mors søster Inga hadde en leilighet i Suhms gate i Oslo. Den hadde dekknavnet «Frimerket». Hun tok i mot folk fra Hjemmefronten før de skulle over til Sverige. 

Skulle noe slikt skjedd med meg var det kort vei fra Hadeland til Oslo og så over til Sverige. Nazistene visste neppe at jeg var plassert på Hadeland og var kun hjemme hos mor i sommerferien og i julen. En av mine yngre søsken lurte på hvem denne fremtoningen var som dukket opp et par ganger i året og skulle hjelpe mor med opp-dragelsen-«søsken bor jo fast sammen hele året» ment Bette!

Etter at far døde ble mor min helt og jeg forsto at jeg måtte være hennes støtte. Ble nok bråvoksen og svært så fornuftig… Skoleåret mitt i tredje klasse var det første året etter at far døde. Da bodde vi på Flatsetsund, landstedet til morfar og mormor. Var mye sammen med morfar Brostrup Müller som viste meg hva god kristendom er! Det har vært god ballast senere i livet og var nok noe av bakteppet for at jeg valgte å døpe meg som 15 åring. Mors løfte etter at far døde var 3 ting:

1. Rettferdighet skulle skje

2. Nazi-Tyskland skulle tape krigen 

3. og etterpå skulle vi bo i Oslo «som om far hadde levet». 

Mor og far hadde et ønske om å bo der fordi mulighetene for utdannelse var bedre i Hovedstaden enn i Trondheim. Far mente at overlegestillingen på Bærum Sykehus var en passende retrettstilling etter krigen.

For min egen del stolte jeg 100 % på mors løfte – det holdt meg oppe mange ganger! Folk som kjente vår skjebne under krigen var enestående til å forstå, hjelpe og trøste. Det gjaldt særlig mors familie. Fars familie hadde jo rømt til Sverige og England alle sammen. 

Jeg for min del oppfattet etter hvert at det på være jøde var noe forfinet og edelt ut fra arv og tradisjon – noe opphøyet og derved forpliktet til å være skikkelig. For meg en positiv referanse som jeg ikke måtte forkludre. Men, var jeg jøde eller kristen? Var jeg begge deler eller ingenting? I dag er jeg glad for å tilhøre begge kulturer!

Jeg hørte etterhvert at far var en meget dyktig lege og humanist, menneskevenn, ga penger til barn som snek på sirkus i Kristiansund, og at han ikke krevet penger av pasienter som ikke kunne betale til hans privatpraksis mv. Han var en verdig representant for jødisk kultur.

Selv om jeg var lydig og veslevoksen hjemme hos mor, var jeg mye friere på pensjonatskolen. Der var det en viss orden og disiplin, men ellers de beste muligheter for utfoldelse. Lærerne var til dels svært gode reserveforeldre og jeg ble nok tatt særlig godt vare på fordi far var død.

Klasseforstanderen skrev i minneboken min siste året jeg gikk på Ballangrud:

Kori fra Selbu jeg alltid vil minnes

en riktig forunderlig fyr. 

At slik en på Hadeland sku’ finnes 

er som et eventyr.

Fra tidlig morgen han var på farten. 

Da hørte jeg hamring og dunder

som tydeligvis bare var starten 

der nede fra værelset under. 

Siden fikk jeg litt solosang: 

serenader til Martha Svingen, 

med Peter Hauges akkompagnement 

lik hyl i fra grisebingen.

Jeg åpnet mitt vindu og slapp inn litt luft 

og betraktet de skjønne trær. 

Da kjentes med et en liflig duft

fra Koris uvaskede tær.

Aldri så jeg vel Kori i ro

for latskap han ikke kan klandres 

og er det da rart at hans gummisko

duftet litt mer enn andres.

Mellom Kjelsås og Grefsen 

21/6.1947 

Hilsen Lauritz Leikvang

Overgangen til å bo i Oslo var ikke bare bare. Mange hull i kunnskapene ut fra 3 forskjellige folkeskoler, selv om karakterboken fra Ballangrud er den beste jeg har fått noen gang. I hvert fall flyttet vi til Oslo etter krigen slik mor hadde lovet. 

Jeg var blitt 13 år og skulle bo sammen med mor og 4 yngre søsken. Jeg var blitt tenårig og fjortis da jeg reiste til Selbu desember 1947 for å følge yngre søsken til det nye hjemmet i Oslo.

Om rasehat og antisemittisme 

Jeg mener at vi alle har et naturlig kritisk instinkt overfor det som er annerledes i forhold til det vi er vant til og trygge på. Dette er antakelig en beskyttende nødvendighet for overlevelse i dypeste forstand erfaringsbasert gjennom titusener av år. Men, la oss være klar over at det er meget store forskjeller på individnivå. Enkelte personer kan være utrolig naive og legger seg flate for alt fremmed uten å bruke sin grunnleggende kritiske sans. Andre er fordømmende overfor alt som er fremmed. Begge deler må være like galt.

Faren er at vi generaliserer ut fra enkelte negative eksempler. Og, vær sikker på at den slår inn hos oss hvis vi har en negativ grunnholdning overfor visse hudfarger, religioner, språk, livsstiler, moralkodexer, kulturer, land og verdensdeler etc. Det er utrolig lett å gå i denne fella – og vi gjør det hver dag. Heldigvis går det an å jobbe med seg selv og modnes! Læringspotensialet finnes hos både deg og meg. Egen utvikling starter med erkjennelse.

Hvis vi ikke er klar over dette i oss selv vil vi ikke kunne utvikle empati overfor andre som vi skal funger sammen med. Med empati mener jeg følelsesmessig innlevelse i andres situasjon når noe er trist og vanskelig for dem.

Dette betyr ikke at det uakseptable skal tolereres fordi det er en del av kulturen eller tradisjonen i den folkegruppen som eksempelvis ønsker på bo i Norge. Vi må ha rammer, prinsipper og regler som ivaretar det beste i norsk tradisjon, kultur, lover og regler. Jeg tenker her spesielt på det som er kvinne- diskriminerende i en del innvandrerkulturer og som det har tatt oss århundrer å bli kvitt i vår demokratiseringsprosess.

Foredrag 

Borgen videregående skole, Asker 

Erik Wolff Koritzinsky

Publisert med tillatelse fra forfatter

Published by Scandinavian Jewish Forum

                                                          

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KJELL STAAL EGGEN

Trym Staal Eggen, tells the story of his father’s heroic efforts to rescue Jews during the Holocaust. Trym’s story is based on his father’s manuscript (Skammen) which he found in 2007, almost ten years after his father’s death. 

The manuscript was published as a book in Norway in 2008, and recently, Israel’s Holocaust center Yad Vashem has decided to publish the book.

As I said, I have known very few Jews. However, there is one Jewish man I have known all my life. Being a small child, I used to call him ”uncle”, like so many other friends of my parents – they were all ”uncles” and ”aunts”. My Jewish”uncle” has a Norwegian given name and a typical German family name. He was born in the Norwegian capital, Oslo, in 1924. His parents were Scandinavian-born Jews, his father born in Norway and his mother in Sweden. He does not practice Judaism, or any other religion.

One day, when I was maybe five years old, in the 1960s, I was together with my father in ”uncle” Sigurd’s shop in Skien. Skien is the main town of Telemark county, some 150 kilometers (100 miles) from Oslo on the southeast coast of Norway. On the wall inside his office there was a portrait painting of a male person. When my father and I were alone for a moment, I asked who the man on the picture was. “That is Sigurd’s father,” was the answer. “And where is he?” I wanted to know. Then I was told that Sigurd’s father was dead. “What happened to him then?” “The Germans killed him.” “Why?” I asked. “Because he was a Jew,” was the answer that left me speechless and literally ended the conversation. That answer was incomprehensible to me at that time, and it still is. That short conversation still rings in my ears, more than 40 years later.

As time went on and I grew up, I was to gradually learn the full story about Sigurd, his little brother, his little sister, his parents, his uncle and other relatives, and how they were victims of one of the greatest crimes in human history – the Holocaust, Adolf Hitler’s “The final solution” of the Jewish question. And, how much I hate to say it, their story also includes elements that are nothing short of a national shame. Sigurd’s father, who founded the shop Sigurd would take over after the war was, with his younger brother was murdered in Auschwitz. His wife and three children were miraculously rescued. 

This family of six people were the only known representatives of the “Jewish problem” in the county of Telemark. As I would find out, my father had a central part in the survival of the four lucky members of the family – something we are immensely proud of. And the story is ugly to the grotesque, although it has a happy ending for four of the family members – Sigurd, his little brother and little sister are all still alive today. The story is ugly not only because Sigurd’s father and uncle both perished in Holocaust but also because supposedly “good” Norwegians gave the Nazis a helping hand in the horrors.

In Norway, we have mostly been taught the story of Jews being harassed and persecuted by the German occupants, somewhat aided by Norwegian Nazis, while everybody else did their best to help. That is what we are mostly told, in writing and in museums, even in school. Wouldn't it be nice had that been the entire truth?

Yes, that would definitely be nice. But unfortunately, the picture is not quite that black and white. Although there are many examples of good deeds and heroic efforts, there are also stories I wish were not true. For example, in May 1940, while the outdated, long-time neglected, under-equipped and under-maintained Norwegian military forces were still at war against the overwhelmingly superior power of the invaders, the Germans asked the police in Oslo for lists of radio receivers in Jewish homes. 

Without any attempt of sabotaging the request, it took just hours for the chief of police in Oslo to produce and hand over meticulously compiled lists. Shortly after and with no legal right to do so, Norwegian police knocked on the doors of the same homes and confiscated all respective radios. The radios were then handed over to the German occupants.

Later on, in the autumn of 1942, the situation would become much more serious. When all Jews were to be arrested and deported to Auschwitz, it was Norwegian police that carried out the brunt of the arrests. The 1958 Norwegian movie “I slik en natt” (“In such a night”) things were presented differently. The film shows uniformed German military personnel doing all the dirty work.

It should be mentioned that there were many good people in the police who tried their best to warn the victims about what was going to happen. My “uncle” was given a warning by such a police officer. The policeman could not stop what was coming, but he did what he should do despite great personal risk. Also, my mother, who is from Oslo, remembers people from the Norwegian resistance rushing into her classroom, picking up a Jewish girl in the class and running away with her. This girl, Erna, came to Sweden along with her mother and other family members. After the war she was reunited with her class. Erna’s father however, was murdered in the death camps.

When it comes to “uncle” Sigurd and his family, their sad story is extremely controversial and has aspects we would like not to tell,  aspects we would not even like to imagine. But, for history to be told truthfully, it has to be told. In the autumn of 1942, as the persecution of Jews escalated and culminated, Sigurd was saved by the mentioned policeman who warned him about his imminent arrest, and told him to get into immediate hiding. Sigurd’s mother then handed her son into the custody of a couple of resistance fighters in the town of Skien. These two resistance fighters were Kjell Batzer (1906-1966) and Kjell Staal Eggen (1919-1999), the latter being my father. 

But when these two resistance fighters approached the regional leadership of the main national resistance organisation Milorg, they received the most shocking reply: “Kick him out in the street and let the Germans take over! This case has no interest to a military organisation!” My father would later sourly comment: “I would later find out that the so-called “military organisation” at that time still had not acquired as much as a toy pistol to liberate the country.” Later on, after the regional leadership of Milorg had been replaced with people my father respected in the summer of 1943, my father reluctantly accepted to be engaged as leader in the resistance. He was responsible for sabotage  and airdrops in southern Telemark, thus being instrumental in supplies of arms and equipment to Milorg.

The rescuers improvised an impressive and amazing apparatus. Sigurd was placed on an extra bed in the bedroom of one of the two rescuers – my father – in the apartment of my grandparents. As the apartment was right in the center of town and also housed the medical office of my grandfather, the boy was instructed never to leave the room and stay far away from the window. The rescuers made big efforts to find help to evacuate the young refugee.

My father was “editor” of one of the larger illegal newspapers in the region. The “edition” used to be contacted by various representatives of organizations who wanted paroles and messages printed. Now the same representatives were contacted with pleas for help. One of them was a well-known politician who self-importantly presented himself as the regional representative for the exiled government in London. Nobody could help. They either showed a total lack of interest, or they appeared to be embarrassed to admit that they were unable to help. Even the “regional representative of the legal government” had no ace up his sleeve.

Travelling was difficult, as the occupants had imposed strict restrictions. Still, long trips were made to various towns and places, in hope of getting in touch with any organization that could help. Among all the travelling activities, my father made two trips to Oslo, staying several days each time, trawling  through addresses on a memorized list. It was all in vain – nobody showed any interest or ability to do anything about this local “Jewish problem”. There was one single exception: on the last Oslo trip my father met one man who showed a ray of hope – a book dealer who was connected with the organizers of an escape route that was momentarily suspended, but that might get active again.

After the rescuers had struggled for about one month to evacuate just one teenager, the police then decided to arrest Sigurd’s mother and little siblings. Dramatically, the rescuers succeeded in picking them all up right under the nose of Norwegian police trying to arrest them. This started a new era of the rescue operation. As if the rescuers did not have enough with one refugee, they now found themselves with four. Secret shelters had to be found – Sigurd had to be moved as there was a risk that his hiding in my father’s bedroom had been discovered.

Another month passed with fruitless efforts. Out of despair, new advances were made towards the regional Milorg leadership. Milorg remained merciless. When new approaches were made, the answer was like before: “Kick them out in the street, let the Germans take over!”

The whole matter was eventually solved under dramatic and improvised circumstances. The four family members were smuggled out of the country in the cargo of a Swedish freight vessel. The captain of the vessel can in no way be said to have acted on idealistic motives. He asked an outrageous price for the crossing, corresponding with years of average salaries at the time. The captain had to be threatened at gunpoint by my father in order to reach an “agreement”.

On top of all the grief already mentioned, it was found out around 1980 that the family’s economic possessions had been stolen – by nobody else than Milorg. The very organization that insistently had refused to help the family to escape had confiscated it all. Being fully aware that other resistance fighters were in a desperate and lonely struggle to save the family and could have made good use of the money, did not seem to bother Milorg. 

Mr David Becker, Sigurd’s father, who used to give financial aid to Milorg up till his arrest on June 2^nd 1942, had over the last few years put aside money in case of crises like what they now faced. Not until 1981, after the press had brought up the case, the Norwegian government recognized a certain responsibility and paid a symbolic but not adequate compensation to the family.

This grotesque story is laid out in detail in my father’s posthumous publication “Skammen” (“The Shame”) published in 2008. The book is based on a complete script written in the early 1990s, which I stumbled over while browsing through a box containing some of the papers my father left behind. The script was totally unknown to all of us. There is also correspondence showing that my father made approaches to a couple of well-known publishers in order to have the story published. The same correspondence says that the manuscript, “although very interesting, is probably a bit too special to be published in Norway today.

” It is also well known that “the establishment” made significant efforts going out of their way to silence my father as he started speaking out about his experiences about 30 years ago. “Uncle” Sigurd has contributed an epilogue to the book. Sigurd and his siblings are all alive today. Still, more than a dozen years after my father’s passing, Sigurd knocks on my mother’s door at Christmas time every year and puts a gift on the table. I still call him “uncle”.


Yad Vashem has awarded the title of "Righteous Among the Nations" post mortem to Kjell Staal Eggen and his parents Staal Olaf and Anna Christiane Eggen for saving the lives of The Becker family during the Holocaust.