I was born in the city Antwerp which was at these times before WW2 the largest harbor of Europe .My parents held a hosiery trade and sold on markets too.
The town of Antwerp was a pretty town very cultural with a large Jewish community.
For most of my childhood I was brought by my the grannies, my fathers mother and mothers mother as well, because my parents were working hard from early morning to late afternoon. I loved very much being with my grand parents, since I was the first grand child, pampered by both two sides.
I had many friends in the neighborhood, and we had close family connections. The Jewish festive days we spent with father's parents since they were traditional Jews fulfilling the traditional Jewish ceremonies Mother's family was also close together but not really traditional and had been Dutch for many centuries.
Father's family was immigrants from Poland and yet not entirely integrated in Belgium.
I had very good friends gentils and Jewish as well. Since my mothers family was entirely integrated, for me it makes no distinction either my friends were Jewish or not.
WW2 breaks out for me on May 10 1940 when the German aircrafts attacked the airport and industry in our neighborhood.
We ran to my grand parents basement after the first raid as they were close to our home and the day later we ran away to north France trying to escape the Germans invasion, but after 10 days Belgium surrendered to the Germans and we returned to Antwerp.
My father and his brother were deported to a forced labor camp in France and after a few months we were sent to Auschwitz where they perished my grand parents were selected in 1942 and sent directly to Auschwitz and gassed at arrival.
None of them survived My mother and I fled out of the city to the countryside and I survived the war hidden by Belgian people in a religious school.
During the evasion trough the front line, the refugees, we included were attacked by the Germans fighter planes, and we experienced great panic. This is one of the most awful remembrances from my childhood.
During the war, as I was hidden by parsons in a very religious dormitory, I had to forget imperatively my real identity. A non conscious lapsus could be fatal not only to me but also to those who hides me.
Anyway, I succeeded and I survived the war.
After the defeat of the Nazis and Belgium had been liberated we returned to Antwerp and started to rebuild our life, but my grand parents and father did not returned from the concentration camps, they perished there.
I went to Israel in 1950 while the Korean War was raging. Since another world war was evident, I didn’t want to experience another war in Belgium.
I came to Israel as member of the Hashomer Hatzair youth movement sailing on the immigrants ship “Negba”, Once I landed in Haifa I went to kibbutz Mishmar Ha-emek, where part of my group already arrived. I stayed therefore about a week and joined a youth group in kibbutz Negba. after three years I finished my studies I inducted with my whole group to the “Nahal” for two and half years.
I then became engaged with my future spouse and we married in 1953. We stayed in Negba till 1957, and than we quit and took a small farm in the moshav Theashur (negev) Our elder son is born in Negba as one of the very first babies born in the brand new hospital- Kaplan- at Rehovoth.
