Today I went to the Anne Frank Museum. I suspect most of you know the story, but let's just recap it here. For slightly more than two years, July 1942 to August 1944, 8 people lived in the Secret Annex. One of these people was Anne Frank, and they were all protected from the Nazi's by honorable German and Dutch people This was at great risk, and I have often wondered if I would have been so brave. I am not convinced that I would be--but I hope so.
Anne kept a diary, published in several versions after the war. At first, her father protected the memory of his wife--a woman that Anne professes to not love, and to barely understand. She was a teenager, after all! The diary was required reading during grade school. Before our trip, I reread the book...a version that now has all of the writings, and even some of her rewrites. I know that it made a much bigger impact on me during this reading than it had when I was a naive kid. I laughed much more, and felt her fear more; I marvelled at the human capacity to dream and to forgive. I knew that I would be going to the museum, since it is so close to our hotel. So, while M went to school, I went on my own quest.
I am deeply humbled. In my reading, it was difficult to understand how 8 people could live together in close quarters for so long, having to be quiet to avoid detection. But, I assumed that, with two floors and an attic, there was ample space for everyone. There was--in war. But when I looked at it today, I was struck with how very small it is. It would be easy to assume that it was big, since there is no furniture in the rooms. However, in her room, it took a mere three paces to cross the width of it, and six to cross the length. Imagine now that there were two beds and a desk there. Anne, a teen-aged girl, shared her room with a grumpy dentist. I cannot imagine being that close to him, and it is no wonder that she was less than complimentary when she discussed him.
I realize when she said that they had luxurious accommodations in hiding, so speak, that she meant when compared to others in similar circumstances. I know that at the Corrie ten Boom house, in Haarlem (it was closed yesterday but perhaps will be open tomorrow when I return) the hiding place was the size of a closet, and when they were arrested, seven people remained there. I cannot imagine not being able to sit or lie down without stepping on someone else. At the Anne Frank house, there were almost-blackout curtains on them, and it was easy to imagine the oppressiveness that must have been there. How that girl remained so hopeful....it's beyond me.
Although we know her as Anne, her full name was Anneliese Maria Sara Frank...and somehow it seems important to know that.
How do these things happen? Yes, that is the question, and there is no simple answer. But for every horror in this world, there are equivalent blessings. Thank you to Anne, who wrote her story, and to Miep Gies who saved it, and to Otto for letting it be published.
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