Nov 13, 2024
I was awake super early on this morning, our last day in Bocholt. I decided to go for a walk before breakfast.
It was 7:15 am and still dark out. I wandered around the oldest part of the city, breathing in the air that my father and his family breathed in. I stepped in the same streets, along the same (some reconstructed) buildings, past the one-time shops they may have frequented. I viewed many sets of Stolpersteine, in front of the homes of members of their Jewish community.
It was a lovely, bittersweet walk. Until I passed through a short tunnel from one street to the next.
Inside, there was graffiti. Some was crossed out with different words added above. It was antisemitic. I snapped a photo. I won’t post it nor will I write what it was. This marred my otherwise lovely and bittersweet walk.
I emailed the photo to my town of Bocholt contact. She immediately wrote back: “Oh – this is really bad.” She asked me where it was. She later told me they would find and clean it.
But we move on and live our lives, many of us with the worry somewhere in the back of our minds.
For breakfast, we headed to the new Imping Café. This place didn’t exist last time I was here. It’s more centrally located and they are doing a great business. What a special treat we had! We shared a delicious “high coffee” and “high breakfast.” I’m too embarrassed to show pictures. But if you look it up, please know that we didn’t finish all the food! And, on an even more fun note, when we walked in, one of the wait staff recognized us from the morning paper! It was the article written by the reporter with the “beschert” tattoo, with a photo of us standing in front of the school!
In the afternoon we arrived in Enschede, the Netherlands. We drove around the city, viewing the sites of the places that we know of where my father and Oma lived and where my father worked after the war. The places are all rebuilt, except for the last home, which is now a parking lot. But we did stand in the footprint of their one-time home, the last place they lived before coming to America.
Finally, we relaxed: We walked around the old part of the city, checked out some indie stores, casually sipped drinks at an outdoor bar. We prepared for a big day ahead.
I must say, I’m weary of the hate that feels a step more in-my-face than what I experience when I’m home. I am hopeful we will not have that kind of experience in Enschede. One foot in front of the other.
Featured photo: One of the addresses where my father and Oma lived in Enschede in 1945.
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