September 11, 1942: Frieda's Great Escape from Amsterdam

The pressure on the Jews was getting worse, and by now my dad was really worried about Mieka and me being all alone in that big house. One night he asked me what I would do if the S.S. came for us. I didn't want him to worry, so I answered rathered flippantly that if they came, I would lock Mieka in the linen closet, and I would hide under the dumbwaiter (a small but heavy steel elevator used in big homes to send food up from the kitchen and the empty platters back down again, which kept the maid from running up and down the stairs). I said, "I'll take the key with me and then free her after they leave." I also told him this would not happen for quite a while, as thousands of people were to go before us.

There were 80,000 Jews in Amsterdam, and Mieka and I presumed it would be a long time yet before we were required to leave, according to what the Jewish Council had told us. But the very next day, my dad came to Mieka's house to see if, in case of an emergency, what I had been so flippant about could actually be done.

About a week went by, and on the night of September 11, 1942, a car screeched to a halt in front of our house. Within seconds, a tremendous searchlight pierced through even our blackout windowshades. I began to crawl along the floor towards the dumbwaiter, insisting that Mieka come with me. Meanwhile, making a tremendous racket, the Nazis tried to force open the front door.

Terrified and badly shaken, Mieka and I decided that no matter what, we would never surrender. This, then, would become our only chance to escape, or if we failed, our death. We immediately crawled under the dumbwaiter, but this time, there was no one to let it down gently on us. Where only one week ago I thought I would suffocate all alone by myself, now the two of us were crushed under its weight. Made of solid steel, the dumbwaiter was unbearably heavy, and the space to hold two people was only about one cubic yard.

It seemed as if we were under the dumbwaiter for hours. The noise downstairs increased by the minute. The Nazis were trying to break in through the front door using axes, but were unsuccessful. Suddenly the noise abated and an eerie silence followed. Apparently, they went to our next-door neighbors, very lovely people with whom we were rather friendly. We heard them speaking very loudly, demanding that our neighbors tell them if they knew Frieda van Hessen. Now we knew they had come for me!

By this time, people were gathering on their back porches to see what all the commotion was all about so late at night. The Fascist Dutch Storm Police, who were assisting the Nazis, called out, asking if anyone had seen people in our house lately. Most of them didn't answer, and those who did denied having seen anyone, except for one man--the milk man! (In those days, milk was delivered to the house.) He was known to be a Fascist. He yelled back that he had heard me singing that very night, and that he was sure we were there. That was all the Nazis needed to hear.

It was if the gates of Hell had opened. Armed with rifles and the tools for breaking in, the S.S. took our neighbor's ladder and climbed to the roof of the garage which provided an entrance into the house through two giant glass doors. The tremendous noise made by the large glass panels shattering made us realize that they had smashed the doors entirely and were able to get inside.

Details about Frieda's Great Escape, and seven others during her four-and-a-half years of hiding, are provided in her book Life in the Shadow of the Swastika, published by Harvest Day Books.

Click Here for more information and to obtain her book.