Things have been rather chaotic here at the hearth. We've been in mourning and a state of high anxiety for the welfare of friends and family struggling with threatening illnesses. We've spent a lot of time in prayer and doing practical work to help our friends and family.
I've been leaning rather heavily on my Ancestors, not so much asking them to intervene, but keeping at the forefront of my mind the trials they endured. The Dis who comes through most strongly in my work is not even a blood relative, but my husband's paternal grandmother. Her story is incredible.
"Grandma G" lived in Denmark. She and her husband had once lived in Germany, but left for the better opportunities available in Denmark. They started a family there, and sometime before the birth of their second son, "Grandpa" made noises about going back to Germany now that the family was more financially secure. Grandma G. put her foot down most firmly: she wanted to stay in Denmark, they were Danes, not Germans! In the end, Germany came for them.
My husband's family is Jewish.
Moderate, liberal, largely non-practicing Jews to be sure, but more than Jewish enough for the Nazis. They were forced to flee to Sweden. By this time, they had two children, the youngest a tiny baby. He was too young for them to risk taking him along the only escape route available to them: a leaky rowboat sold to them by a war profiteer who gouged them on the price. A baby's cries would endanger them, and Grandma G. needed both her hands free to help with the boat. They had to leave him behind, in the care of the family nanny, who risked her life to pose as the baby's non-Jewish mother. Grandma bailed out the boat as her husband rowed, using his hat. They made it to Sweden. Other family members were not so lucky--some couldn't get away and took their own lives rather than surrender to the Gestapo. The Slavic branch of the family was all but wiped out.
The nanny eventually made it to Sweden with the baby, but the family stayed in Sweden for quite a while, long enough for my father-in-law to begin his schooling there--where he didn't speak the language. (To this day, Swedes and Danes usually converse together in English, because Swedes often have great difficulty untangling the Danish accent.) He eventually became a doctor--and Grandma, fierce hearth-warrior that she was, took several officials to task, reminding them that her son had begun his education at a severe disadvantage and deserved the chance to study medicine and serve his country. (In Denmark, anyone entering the medical profession is required to serve in the military.)
Grandma's husband was mentally ill, something that put them in danger several times during the occupation of Denmark. After the family returned to Denmark (with the nanny and 'baby') she outraged a number of people after the war by asking any German she met if he'd been a member of the Party. According to family stories, most of the people she asked hemmed and hawwed and wouldn't look her in the eye, or declared they'd never done such a thing. These folk Grandma dismissed as cowards and liars ('blunt' seemed to be dear Grandma's default! :) ). One time, at a gather, a German admitted sadly that he *had* been a member of the Party, explaining that he'd had to join to keep his job ( a relatively minor position in the German postal service). Grandma then declared that she would be honored to shake the man's hand, as he was the first honest German she'd met.
Grandma G didn't believe in pulling punches.
She eventually divorced her husband, then re-married. She remained close and protective of her sons and their families, and true to her beliefs. She took her own life when her sight failed her, not wishing to live unable to pursue her passionate love for books and reading, nor wishing to be a burden on children who'd already endured so much.
My husband tells me Grandma G. would have loved me. I certainly love her, and I cherish the family stories, looking to her as an example of strength, courage, and endurance under unimaginable duress. I feel humbled that she chose to come forward to me. Jeg elsker dig, Geni. May I strive to do you even half as much honor as you did to your ancestors.
I've been leaning rather heavily on my Ancestors, not so much asking them to intervene, but keeping at the forefront of my mind the trials they endured. The Dis who comes through most strongly in my work is not even a blood relative, but my husband's paternal grandmother. Her story is incredible.
"Grandma G" lived in Denmark. She and her husband had once lived in Germany, but left for the better opportunities available in Denmark. They started a family there, and sometime before the birth of their second son, "Grandpa" made noises about going back to Germany now that the family was more financially secure. Grandma G. put her foot down most firmly: she wanted to stay in Denmark, they were Danes, not Germans! In the end, Germany came for them.
My husband's family is Jewish.
Moderate, liberal, largely non-practicing Jews to be sure, but more than Jewish enough for the Nazis. They were forced to flee to Sweden. By this time, they had two children, the youngest a tiny baby. He was too young for them to risk taking him along the only escape route available to them: a leaky rowboat sold to them by a war profiteer who gouged them on the price. A baby's cries would endanger them, and Grandma G. needed both her hands free to help with the boat. They had to leave him behind, in the care of the family nanny, who risked her life to pose as the baby's non-Jewish mother. Grandma bailed out the boat as her husband rowed, using his hat. They made it to Sweden. Other family members were not so lucky--some couldn't get away and took their own lives rather than surrender to the Gestapo. The Slavic branch of the family was all but wiped out.
The nanny eventually made it to Sweden with the baby, but the family stayed in Sweden for quite a while, long enough for my father-in-law to begin his schooling there--where he didn't speak the language. (To this day, Swedes and Danes usually converse together in English, because Swedes often have great difficulty untangling the Danish accent.) He eventually became a doctor--and Grandma, fierce hearth-warrior that she was, took several officials to task, reminding them that her son had begun his education at a severe disadvantage and deserved the chance to study medicine and serve his country. (In Denmark, anyone entering the medical profession is required to serve in the military.)
Grandma's husband was mentally ill, something that put them in danger several times during the occupation of Denmark. After the family returned to Denmark (with the nanny and 'baby') she outraged a number of people after the war by asking any German she met if he'd been a member of the Party. According to family stories, most of the people she asked hemmed and hawwed and wouldn't look her in the eye, or declared they'd never done such a thing. These folk Grandma dismissed as cowards and liars ('blunt' seemed to be dear Grandma's default! :) ). One time, at a gather, a German admitted sadly that he *had* been a member of the Party, explaining that he'd had to join to keep his job ( a relatively minor position in the German postal service). Grandma then declared that she would be honored to shake the man's hand, as he was the first honest German she'd met.
Grandma G didn't believe in pulling punches.
She eventually divorced her husband, then re-married. She remained close and protective of her sons and their families, and true to her beliefs. She took her own life when her sight failed her, not wishing to live unable to pursue her passionate love for books and reading, nor wishing to be a burden on children who'd already endured so much.
My husband tells me Grandma G. would have loved me. I certainly love her, and I cherish the family stories, looking to her as an example of strength, courage, and endurance under unimaginable duress. I feel humbled that she chose to come forward to me. Jeg elsker dig, Geni. May I strive to do you even half as much honor as you did to your ancestors.