Cherchez la Femme

My name is Lilith Meijer - Lily, to my friends and family. I was born July 8, 1910. I am a Jew.

My family lived near Arnhem on a little farm until May 30th, 1940 – that dark day that the Germans invaded. We had heard rumors and whispers of what was happening to Jews in Germany; we thought we would be safe in the Netherlands. We were wrong.

The night, my husband Judah arrived home, the blood drained from his face. He told me to burn our photos, collect our valuables, and ready the children to go to the Jansens’ farm, our nearest neighbors and friends.

I was careful to grab my books - those beautiful, leather-bound herbal medicine and recipe books that had been passed down between the women of my family for generations, just as I would one day pass them to my daughter, Evi. That precious knowledge had saved many a life in my bloodline, though the secrets held within their pages could kill just as easily.

No sooner had we rushed into the forest than a truck approached the house behind us. A small cry of “Papa!” from Evi silenced us, crouched down in the tall grass. Soldiers filed out, and moments later, a crack like lightning split the night - the beautiful front door upon which Judah had carved our names now in splinters, and my heart shattered. The noise broke our trance-like state, and off we ran into the woods.

We arrived at the Jansens’ home, and I wished it were for any other reason. My mind drifted back to the days where our children and their grandchildren played together in the afternoon sunshine. Kyland Jansen welcomed us in, pulling Judah aside to speak quietly. I hurried over to his wife Helga, helping her hide her own photos.

“Thank you for doing this, Helga,” I whispered. “I don’t know what we would do without you. The SS arrived moments after we left.”

“If you want to thank me,” she leaned in, “Survive. Survive for you, survive for your children.”

I felt the tears sting my eyes; she really was like a second mother to me.

Behind us, Kyland set the table for dessert. We hid the last of the photos, and Judah helped us to our feet, saying “They are coming up the road. Remain calm and stick to the plan. Take your seats, Kyland is instructing the children now.” I could hear the fear in his voice, but he smiled at me the way that he does, reassuring me.

“We’re going to make it through this. We’re going to be okay,” he whispered in my ear.

I took my seat. It felt strange, somewhat familiar - almost as if we were sitting down with my own parents. A sudden bang on the front door nearly startled me out of my chair. I thought of our door, broken down and in pieces; I did not want that for the Jansens. Two more deafening bangs, and a soldier pushed his way inside.

What an unbelievably rude man, I thought to myself.

“I am Captain Heinrich Richter,” he announced. “My men and I are searching the area for a group of runaway Jews, by the name Meijer. Do you know the whereabouts of these fugitives?”

Before Kyland could answer, the soldier strode straight toward my children, and my heart began to pound like a deep drum. Remain calm and stick to the plan, I heard Judah’s voice in my head.

“What is your name?” sneered the captain.

“Beatrix!” squeaked Evi.

I am so proud of her.

“And Beatrix is your -" He started, looking at Kyland.

“Granddaughter!”

“Of course...and you are -” he stepped toward Levi.

“Michael!” he stammered.

Under the table, my fingernails dug into the wood of my chair. He is so scared, my poor boy. Leave them alone, you son of a bitch - they’re just children!

“Michael! You’ll be a great soldier one day. Would you like to serve the führer?”

My stomach lurched.

“Yes!” Levi blurted.

Finally, the captain faced Judah and I. “Which would make you?”

“Barend and Arabella. My son and his wife. Visiting from Arnhem,” Kyland interrupted.

“Of course,” the captain smirked. “Barend – that means bear, doesn’t it?”

Kyland nodded.

“A fitting name for such a strong son,” the captain declared, clapping his hands onto Judah’s shoulders. His eyes were still scanning the room for the slightest hint of deception.

My fingernails were now well buried in the wood of my chair. You’re goddamn right my husband is a bear; he could tear your ass to shreds.

He continued to drone on, vainly enjoying the sound of his own voice, but the combination of rage, fear, and adrenaline kept me from truly hearing most of his obnoxious ramblings.

Wait, did he just call Jews “plague rats”?

Kyland shook his head. “We don’t really socialize with them.”

The words stung, but I understood why he said them.

“Smart man,” nodded the soldier. “You shouldn’t socialize with such...people. We will be conducting periodic sweeps through the area. For your own safety, please keep your papers on you. You wouldn’t want to be mistaken for Jews now, would you?”

We all shook our heads.

“I bid you all a good evening. I hope this isn’t the last we see of each other.”

Thank God, he’s leaving. We did it.

Unable to leave like a civilized person, he grabbed a fistful of Helga’s divine lemon cake right off the tray, smacked a couple bites, and splatted the rest back onto the tray. “Delicious!” he grinned. “Gute nacht, Jansens!” He wiped his hand on Mr. Jansen’s shirt and swept out the door, which he didn’t even bother to close behind him. As Helga disposed of that tainted cake, I looked across the table at the petrified faces of my children. I’ll never forget the sound of urine dripping from my son’s trousers. I turned to Judah; the moment our eyes met, the tears fell - though I don’t even know when I started crying.

I will never eat lemon cake again.

* * *

The most sleepless night of my life was followed by the most heartbreaking morning. Judah told the children we were to all go into hiding until he could arrange for us to escape the country. The Jansens had graciously offered to hide Evi on their farm; Levi, Judah and I were to make our way to Eindhoven, where a few friends had volunteered to hide us all. Judah had even found jobs for us there; he was going to work as a butcher, Levi, for a delivery service, and I was to work in a café.

We spent the morning changing our appearances as much as possible, cutting our hair and bleaching it blonde. It had been years since I had seen my husband’s face clean shaven, and I was surprised to find that I missed the beard. When it came time to leave, we hid in a truck filled with hay bales. As we were driven away, I peered through the back to get one last look at Evi. There she was, standing in the bright yellow flowers in the Jansen’s front yard, and my heart broke. I cried the entire way to Eindhoven.

Judah sold everything we owned for new papers with new names - non-Jewish names. The plan was to work for a couple months, until we had enough money to buy passage to England...but when the time came, the Germans had locked everything down. We were trapped.

I busied myself with work as much as I could. The Café Chocolate - where I was known as Maria - was always busy, filled with fat German soldiers stuffing their faces. At first, I was petrified they would discover me, but when the German soldiers began to grab me, proposition me, I realized they just saw me as just another Dutch comfort. I hated it, but didn’t dare fight back; I knew I would be putting our entire family in danger by doing so.

The few nights I had off, I walked with Judah in the woods; we even found a secluded spot where I was able to recreate a bit of my garden from home, with some guidance from my books. It was small, but it helped the homesickness.

* * *

Four years on, and Eindhoven had become a darker place. One mundane afternoon, a teenage boy wearing an orange armband was chased down the street and killed - right in front of my café. The German officer who shot the boy holstered his pistol and sat down on the front patio. He removed his hat, and I recognized him immediately. Captain Heinrich Richter.

“Mint tea with a drop of honey,” he demanded, like he hadn’t just murdered a boy in the streets.

I made the tea in a stunned haze; my hands shook as I poured it for him. He smiled at me with those violent, bloodthirsty blue eyes.

He doesn’t remember me.

“Chocolate cake with black cherry sauce if you have it,” he ordered.

I turned to walk back into the café, and felt a hand slap my rear. Hard.

“Quick-ly fräulein... I’m timing you,” tapping his watch.. I ignored him.

After he finished his cake, he followed me into the café and cornered me behind the bar. He told me to come to the Crown Hotel that night, Room 613, with 10 Reichsmarks between my breasts.

Go to hell! I thought, utterly disgusted.

It went on for weeks. The other girls in the café told me I should indulge him. “The Germans have the best of everything” they swooned. They didn’t know what the Germans were really like.

Whores, traitors, sympathizers.

After yet another advance by the captain, I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided then and there that I would be the one to kill him, and I knew exactly the recipe from my books to help me do it. I stole away to my forest garden; I had been growing a few things there that even Judah didn’t know about.

That night, I made a chocolate cake with an extra special black cherry sauce. Let’s see him grab my ass with belladonna coursing through his veins, I smirked.

The next day, the captain took his regular table, with a few other soldiers. He was in the middle of a story when I approached the table.

“...shot that Jew-loving Jansen on the spot!”

Frozen in horror, I overfilled his tea.

“Fräulein!” He shot backwards as it spilled. I composed myself immediately.

“Beg your pardon, let me get a towel…the cake is on the house today!” I said apologetically, and brought my special cake from its hiding place.

“Extra black cherry sauce?” I offered sweetly. I began to cut but he grabbed a fistful before continuing his story.

“We didn’t find the girl. That filthy little Jew-rat will show up soon.”

She’s alive! My heart leapt.

“How about a round of beers as well?” I grinned.

“Finally! A Dutch girl who appreciates real men,” the captain slapped my ass and the soldiers cheered.

They drank every beer I offered, and ate every last bite of cake. One by one, the soldiers passed out on the table, then died.

“You drink like women!” the captain slurred, oblivious.

It was well past closing time. He stumbled into the café to give me his usual tip, but tonight was different. He cornered me, unzipping his trousers.

“If you won’t fuck me at my hotel, then I will fuck you here!” he yelled.

I slapped him with all my might. He grabbed my wrist, but I could see the belladonna taking its toll.

“What did you…” he choked.

“You’ll never find my daughter,” I spat. Pointing to myself “Jüdisch!”

“Meijer!” He knew. His eyes widened, as he fell to the floor, dead.

I will eat chocolate cake every day for the rest of my life.