Holocaust Remembrance
Rabbi Paysach Krohn told Regina, Mendle and Ilsa Horowitz’s story on pages 194-203 in his Book "Echoes of the Maggid".
“The province of Limburg in Belgium is a sad footnote in the history of European Jews. From 1933 until 194, German Jews, frightened by the cruel and savage Nazi regime, fled westward to Belgium and, for the most part, settled in Antwerp. By 1940, there were 55,000 Jews in the city. When the Nazis occupied Antwerp in 1941 and wished ot make it Judenrein (clean of Jews), they forcibly transplanted 30,000 of the city’s Jews who were not Belgian citizens (German, Polish and Romanian Jews) 40 miles east to Limburg.
Shortly thereafter, these Jews were sent to a detention camp in Brussels and then brought to Auschwitz where they were put to death. After the war, there were no Jews in Limburg, and the survivors returned to the traditional Jewish neighborhoods in Antwerp and Brussels.
Trying to start their lives anew, many Belgian Jews found it difficult to make a living, so Rabbi Moshe Zev Reitzer and his family moved from Antwerp to the small town of Herk-de-Stad in Limburg. Because there were no Jews living in the vicinity, the Reitzer children stayed in Antwerp throughout the week where they attended yeshivos, and then went home for Shabbos.
Remarkably, the Reitzers, who still ive in Herk-de-Stad, raised exceptional children. One of them is Rabbi Yoel, a noted talmid chacham, who studied in Jerusalem under the great Tshebiner Rav. Rabbi Dov Berish Weidenfeld (1879-1965_, and for a while was his attendant.
The people of Herk-de-Stac recognized that the Reitzers were “different,” but the family was very well respected as Moshe Reitzer became a successful and very charitable businessman.
When the Reitzer children were already adults, one of them, R’Yossel, was making small talk with the postman, who had just delivered the mail. The postman mentioned matter-of-factly that there was a Jewish gravestone in the town’s cemetery. R’Yossel couldn’t believe it. What Jew would be buried in a non-Jewish cemetery? He expressed his doubts about it.
“Come with me and I’ll show it to you,” the postman said.
That afternoon, R’ Yossel and his brother R’ Yoel went to the cemetery and, to their amazement, they saw that among the non Jewish gravestones was a small monument engraved in Flemish topped with a Magen David. It was dated June 19, 1941 and it bore the name Ilsa Horowitz, who died when she was only 14 years old.
The Reitzer brothers were speechless! Who was this girl and how did she happen to be buried there? The postman remembered that when he was a teen-ager, Ilsa had downed while swimming. He said that the tragedy frightened and unnerved the little town, and the Catholic nuns offered the church’s horse and wagon to the family so that Ilsa’s coffin would be carried with dignity to her final resting place. He remembered that, strangely enough, she had been buried just outside the cemetery, which since that time had expanded and now surrounded the lone Jewish grave.
Standing in the cemetery, the Reitzer brothers realized immediately that the family had intentionally buried their child outside the cemetery for they hoped to move her to a Jewish cemetery after the war. Decades later, however, she was still there, now in the middle of a gentile cemetery. Undoubtedly her family had been killed by the Nazis.
When R’ Yossel and R’ Yoel came home they contacted Rabbi Boruch’l Kahane of Antwerp, who advised that they try to remove the remains and transfer them to a Jewish cemetery. Immediately, they called Rabbi Pinchos Kornfeld, who is the Vice President of the Consistoire, the officially recognized organization that represents the Belgian Jewish community.
R’ Pinchos, a Gerrer chassid, is a human whirlwind of activity. An energetic askan (activist), involved in every project and endeavor for the needs of Belgian Jewry, he is one of Europe’s most respected and admired Jews.
“Do you think that it is possible to move Ilsa’s remains to a Jewish cemetery?” the Reitzers asked R’ Pinchos.
“Most definitely,” he replied in his usual enthusiastic voice. Politically astute, attentive to details, and mindful of the unexpected, R’ Pinchos cautioned, “We must first sort out the historical background, get local governmental permission, have the proper documents signed, alert the Chevra Kadisha (Jewish Burial Society) in Anthwerp, purchase a plot, and then plan a funeral.”
Within days, R’ Pinchos with the help of a Mrs. Barrett in the Brussells Ministry of Health, had assembled the chronology of events that led to the girl’s burial in Herk-de-Stad.
Before the war, Ilsa’s parents, Mendel and Regina Horowitz, had come from Vienna to the Jewish neighborhood in Antwerp, and lived on Lange Kievitsstraat. In 1941, they were among the tens of thousands rounded up by the Gestapo and transferred to Limburg. Mr. and Mrs. Horowitz were there when their only daughter drowned. Within a year, the Howowitzes were killed in Auschwitz.
R’ Pinchos knew that he needed governmental permission to disinter a body. Howecer, if he did so without authorization of a family member he could face legal consequences in the future. He scrutinized Horowitz family records and was told unequivocally that both parents and their only child were dead and there were no immediate survivors.
R’ Pinchos decided to call the burgermeister (mayor) of Herk-de-Stad. Mayor Henri Knuts, a member of the Socialist Party and the Belgian senate, told R’ Pinchos that he remembered the funeral vividly. “My friends and I were sitting on the fence alongside the cemetery watching a procession we had never seen before. There were men in big black hats reading form books, all extremely solemn. It was a very sad day. For some reason, he added the girl was buried just outside the cemetery. We could never understand why. Today, though, her grave is among many others.”
Speaking in Flemish, R’ Pinchos said “ I have checked the records in Brussels, and there are no Survivors. We of the Jewish community in Antwerp would like to transfer Ilsa’s remains to a Jewish cemetery. Can we count on your authorization?”
“Yes of course,” said Mayor Knuts. “Write me a letter on official stationary and I will grant permission.”
The letter was written and within a week permission was granted. R’ Pinchos contacted his brother R’ Moshe, a member of Antwerp’s Chevra Kadisa, and plans were made for the Chevra to come to Herk-de-Stad and being the difficult process of disinterment.
The work was scheduled to begin on a Wednesday morning at 10 o’ clock and be over by noon. Local police would stand by to assure that only the correct grave was touched.
Later that Wendesday the reburial would take place in the Jewish cemetery of Putte, which is actually in Holland, a 20 minute ride from Antwerp.
No Jewish cemetery exists in Belgium because Belgian law permits graves to be destroyed or dug up after 49 years. Belgian Jewish use the beis olam (cemetery) in Putte, Holland. The legendary tzaddik R’ Itzik’l Gewirtzman (1882-1977) of Antwerp and his son in law R’ Yankele Leiser (1906-1998) were also buried in Putte.
Posters were put up throughout Antwerp that the funeral procession for Ilsa would begin at 4 in the afternoon with the burial taking place at 4:30 in Putte. Announcements were made in every shul, and within the Belgian Jewish community the interment and memorial service began assuming immense significance. For those who had lost loved ones in the war, for those who knew children who had perished in the Holocaust, and for parents who could empathize with the late Mendel and Regina Horowitz, it was a day of redemption, prayer and unity.
On Monday morning, R’ Pinchos got a call from Mrs. Barrett from the Brussels Ministry of Health. She had opened the file on the Horowitz family once again and now noticed something she had overlooked the last time they spoke. She thought he should know about it. There was a notation in pencil along the margin that the Jewish Council of Vienna had inquired about the whereabouts of the Horowitz family.
R’ Pinchos’s heart sank. Such inquiries were usually made by a close family member. Did the Horowitz’s have a surviving relative? Would he have to put the whole process on hold? He had been so meticulous until this point. How could this happen now, a mere 48 hours before the disinterment was to start? The Horowitz family had lived in Vienna; was that why the inquiry came from there?
“Who made the inquiry?” R’ Pinchos asked anxiously. “Is there a name written?”
“It just says that the Jewish Council of Vienna made the inquiry for a woman in England.”
With heightened urgency R’Pinchos immediately called the Jewish Council in Vienna and asked if they had made an inquiry years ago regarding the Horowitz family. “We may have,” came the reply, “but we would have to check the archives.”
“But I must know right away,” R’ PInchos pleaded. “This is an urgent matter.”
“There is no one here today who can search through the archives but call back tomorrow and we will try to help you,” the secretary replied.
R’ Pinchos was exasperated, but he had no choice but to wait. On Tuesday, R’ Pinchos called, pleaded, beseeched, and implored the people at the Vienna Jewish Council, but there was no one who could check the files that day either. The disinterment and funderal were planned for the next day. Should he put everything on hold? Would there be a relative somewhere who would be opposed? Would the Jewish Consistoire someday be held liable for his actions? Instinctively, R’ Pinchose decided to let things take their natural course. For now, he was not going to issue a hold order. He would call Vienna again on Wednesday.
On Wednesday morning, the council told him that they had located the records. A Miss or Mrs. Lipson from Southport, England had made the inquiry. His mind began to race quickly? Was she an aunt of Ilsa?
Meanwhile, it was already 10 o’clock and the Antwerp’s Chevra Kadisha, under the watchful eyes of the police and curious bystanders, had begun digging in Herk-de-Stad. R’ Pinchos called the number of the Jewish Community Center in Southport, England, numerous times, but there was no answer. He then called Southport’s municipal office. “This is an urgent call from Antwerp,” R’ Pinchos said. “Can you please tell me, do you have a woman living in your area by the name of Mrs. Lipson or Miss Lipson?”
The answer was forthcoming quickly. “Yes, there is a Miss Lipson who lives at 21 Park Crescent.”
“Is it Mrs. Lipson or Miss Lipson?” R. Pinchos wanted to be sure.
“It’s Miss Lipson, that what the records here say,” came the reply. “Would you have a phone number for her?” R’ PInchas asked. “Sorry,” the clerk said, “she does not have a phone listed.”
“But I mist get in touch with her. This is an emergency and I’m calling from Belgium,” R’ Pinchos pleaded once again.
“There is nothing we can do,” the clerk replied. “Someone would have to go down to her street and find her.”
It was now 11:30. Most of the work in Herk-de-Stad would have been finished and they would soon be on the way to Antwerp. R’Pinchos asked the clerk for the number of the local police precinct.
Within minutes, R’ Rpinchos was talking to the Southport chief of police. He explained the urgency of the matter, making sure to stress words like funeral, Auschwitz, drowned, and reburial, that would convey the gravity of the situation.
“We’ll try to help you. I’ll send someone down to her house immediately,” the police chief said. “Call us back in 25 minutes.”
R’ Pinchos could not sound exasperated- he had to sound thankful. “I’m very grateful to you sir for your help. I’ll call in 25 minutes.”
Exactly 25 minutes later the police chief picked up the phone and said, “We sent someone down there by bike and he just returned but there was no one home. A neighbor didn’t know where she was either. Sorry, we wish we could have been of more assistance.”
Now, what? If he waited to contact her tomorrow it would be too late. Then he thought of it- the Jewish Community Center of Southport. He had called them earlier and they were not in. Perhaps now someone was there. He tried them once again and this time someone answered on the first ring.
R’ Pinchos identified himself and quickly recounted his reason for the call. “Do you know a Miss Lipson of 27 Coventry?”
“Yes,” came the reply. “She is a very nice person, a spinster who lives alone.”
“The local polie did not have a phone number for her. Do you know where o rhow I can reach her?” R’ Pinchos asked.
“She works at the Jewish library and should be there now,” came the reply.
However, when R’ Pinchos called the library they told him that Miss Lipson had just gone out to lunch and would return in an hour. An hour that seemed like three hours later, R’ Pinchos called the libarary and was put through to Miss Lipson.
R’ Pinchos took a deep breath and began slowly. It was very late already, close to 3 o’clock, but he could not rush the conversation, for every word would be significant.
“My name is Pinchos Kornfeld,” he began slowly. “I am the Vice President of the Jewish Community Organization in Belgium. Are you Miss Lipson?”
She was. Did she have relatives in Belgium? She didn’t.
“Did you by any chance know of a Mendel and Regina Horowitz who lived in Belgium before the war?” R’ Pinchos asked.
There was a pause on the other end and then Miss Lipson said, “They were my parents.”
“Your parents were named Horowitz?” R’ Pinchos asked incredulously. His heart was beating rapidly. “But your name is Lipson?”
“When I was a very little girl, we lived in Vienna. In 1939, I was sent to England on one of the Children’s transports. An uncle of mine put an advert in the Jewish Chronicle and a Mrs. Louis Lipson of Liverpool responded to the advert and brought me to her home. Mr. and Mrs. Lipson treated me like their own daughter and eventually I adopted their family name. We moved to Southport during the war when the Germans were bombing Liverpool.”
R’ PInchos’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Did you have any siblings?” he asked.
“I had one sister.”
R’ Pinchos could hardly say the words, “Her name?”
“Ilsa.” She paused and said, “Her Yiddish name was Perel.”
R’ Pinchos’s mind was racing, but he struggled to remain calm. Do you know what happened to her?” he asked softly.
“I was told that she drowned in a swimming accident, but that was long ago,” she said.
R’ Pinchos now understood why the records showed that the Horowitzes had only one daughter. Mendel Horowitz was afraid to say that he still had family in Vienna for he might be viewed as a spy. Thus once his daughter Taube (Gertrude) was on the children’s transport he did not report her existence to Belgian or German authorities.
“Was your father religious?” R’ Pinchos asked.
“Oh yes, and my mother was very Orthodox.”
“Part of the work of our organization here in Antwerp,” said R’ Pinchos, “is searching for those who perished during the war but never had the opportunity to be buried in a Jewish cemetery. What would you say about having Ilsa in a Jewish cemetery?”
“Mr. Kornfeld, that would be the ultimate grace for her soul,” she said.
“Miss Lipson,” R’ Pinchos said in a soft hushed tone, “We found her and we are about to bring her to a Jewish resting place.”
Taube Lipson gasped and began crying uncontrollably, “I can’t believe you are doing this,” she said between sobs. “I am so grateful to you.”
She cried softly as the anguish and agony of her sister’s past welled up within her. She was overwhelmed by the concerned involvement of total strangers for her sister’s benefit.
“I have been trying to reach you for the last 48 hours,” said R’ Pinchos. “But it was impossible. I wish so much that you could be here but the whole process is already in progress. The funeral is in less than half an hour and Perel will be reburied shortly afterward.”
“Please call me and tell me how everything went,” Miss Lipson said.
“I will, Miss Lipson, I surely will.”
And so that afternoon in the presence of rabbis, community leaders, and close to a thousand men, women and children of all ages, Perel (Ilsa) Horowitz was paid her final tribute, as she, the symbol of thousands of unknown children, was laid to rest among her people.
When people comfort mouners, they say “May the Omnipresent One comfort you.” Perhaps on that day in Putte, the expression could have been given its other meaning, place: may this place comfort you, for surely there was consolation that day for the souls of that child and her martyred parents – and for her living sister- as she came to rest in a special place, reunited with her family- the Jewish nation. “
