I remember

Today I am remembering my Grandfather Taeke van Popta who died of dysentery on January 21, 1945, in Sachsenhausen concentration camp. He had been imprisoned by the Nazis for championing the rights of all citizens, including Jews, to work in their chosen profession, regardless of their ethnicity or faith.

Below is a copy of the last letter he wrote to his wife and children, in the Netherlands. He wrote it in German so that it would the more likely be approved by the censors. Here is the English translation:

My dearest Regina and all of you,

Trying to reach you by this letter; should it arrive, please write me. Still in good health and cheerful. The one who trusts will never be dismayed. Work is not heavy; sufficient clothing. But less food. Until now God has helped me. Pray that I may be permitted to return my love to you. You’ll be suffering hunger and cold. Hope and pray that you’ll get through it all. Winter has started, but it’s not too cold. Still sleeping well. Prayer and consolation: Ps 25 - “Forgive my transgressions for thy goodness sake.” Ps 73 - “Though in grievous suffering my heart and flesh may fail.” As in Romans, in all these we are more than conquerors. Longing for you and news. That is a strengthening bond. Greetings to family, friends, and dear grandchildren. I can see Jaapje [oldest grandson] before me. Am always praying for you. Our prayers join one another. May God protect you. I am in His school. All earthly things pass away. Life and love are everlasting.

Greetings to all.

Your loving T.

Someone (presumably family upon receipt of the letter) wrote in the right bottom corner that the letter had been postmarked in Keulen (Cologne), Feb. 17, 1945. Thus it left German some 2-3 weeks after Taeke's death. Unfortunately, it seems that he did not note on the letter the date he wrote it.

Here is a link to the entire story of my Grandfather's arrest and death.

Remembering

On this Remembrance Day I am thinking of my paternal grandfather, Taeke van Popta, who died of dysentery in Concentration Camp Sachsenhausen, near Berlin, three months before the end of the war. He had been active in the Dutch resistance against the Nazis. You can read his whole story here.

Kamp Vught

Earlier this month (May, 2019) I was in the Netherlands and I had occasion to visit Kamp Vught, a Nazi concentration camp where my paternal grandfather, Taeke van Popta, was held for four months because of his involvement with the resistance movement against the Nazis. Here are my photos <click here>.

Here is the entire story of his arrest, deportation, and death <click here>.

Sachsenhausen

Since I published this piece I learned some more about the Nazi concentration camp Sachsenhausen, where my grandfather, Taeke van Popta, died of dysentry. I learned it from this web page, which is actually about my paternal grandmother, Sara Regina van Popta (nee Bruinsma), the wife of Taeke van Popta. What follows is my translation of a paragraph about the camp.

Sachsenhausen was a notorious concentration camp where between 30- and 50,000 people died of exhaustion, illness and ill-treatment. In mid-January 1945 [at the time my grandfather died there--gvp], 35,000 prisoners were crammed together in the bunk houses. A survivor later wrote that "hitting, berating and kicking" by guards was a daily occurrence. The prisoners suffered constant hunger. Harsh penalties were meted out for the slightest reason. Twenty-five or fifty strokes as punishment was not unusual. Or a time of sports would be declared, which meant that hundreds of men had to trot, jump, roll, or skip in the rain, snow, and mud for hours on the inspection field after a tiring day of work, in the wind and without food. Sometimes prisoners would be made to stand on the inspection field, for a few hours, or until midnight, even through the night and, on occasion, for two or three days. [I don't have the stomach to translate beyond this. Man's capacity for cruelty is fathomless--gvp]

Death certificate

My spine is tingling: someone emailed me a copy of the death certificate prepared by some German official after my Grandfather Van Popta died of dysentery in a WWII concentration camp near Berlin. What I find stunning is how meticulous the Nazis were in their record-keeping. On the one hand they savagely imprisoned all sorts of people like my grandfather for their "political crimes" who, when they died, went up the chimneys; on the other hand they issued death certificates that included date and place of birth of the deceased, the names of the deceased's parents, and such "normal stuff." Chilling to see this disconnect.