My Father's Voice
Hitler mustaches are no political joke: Dive hole lessons from occupationsurvivors
Even today, the author's mom gets nervous when planes fly over the house.
The author's mom (not pictured) had to go on "hunger safaris" on her bike duringthe German occupation.
On May 10, 1940 — 70 years ago today — the German Army launched an all-out assault and invaded the Netherlands. My parents were teenagers living in Holland at the time the invasion occurred and while not Jewish, they were still witnesses to many of the atrocities of World War II.
My father was forced into hiding during the war. He would go in a “dive hole” to avoid being taken to work in a German work camp. The hiding place was made by digging a hole in the garden, then placing a roof with soil and plants over it. The hole had four chairs and a bathroom that consisted of an old can. Whenever German soldiers came down the street, my father and uncle dove into the hole until it was safe for them to come out.
My mother once rode a bike with solid rubber tires for two and a half days on a “hunger safari." That was what they called it when young girls were sent to get food to bring back to her family.
My mom ended up bringing back nearly 200 pounds of beans, wheat and other staples to eat and trade for other items all using her bike. To this day, my mom gets nervous when she hears a plane flying low over the house.
My parent’s stories, like everyone who faced occupation during the war, are full of scary moments, small triumphs, tremendous hunger, and the fear of not knowing who your friends were and who was a Nazi sympathizer.
You might wonder why I’m sharing this story 70 years later. I was running some errands the other day which included stopping by the Post Office to drop off some bills. As I drove through the line, I noticed some supporters of Lyndon LaRouche displaying photos of President Obama with a Hitler mustache.
My father passed away several years ago. At his funeral, my brother told the story of my dad driving him to baseball practice. While at a red light, some bikers wearing Nazi helmets pulled up alongside the car. My dad rolled down his window and yelled at them, asking if they knew what those helmets symbolized. My brother sank low into his seat in the car, but dad kept it up.
I don’t have a problem with anyone criticizing Obama (Lord knows I don’t agree with everything he does), but when you compare him to Hitler, you show your ignorance. You also do a tremendous disservice to the thousands of brave service men and women that died in that war so that my parents and millions of others could be free.
Really, do you want to go there?
Go ahead and voice your concerns, criticisms, bitches, etc. Scream if you want to. I’m just as worried as you are about the bulging deficits; terrorism and finding ways to put people back to work. But, when you draw comparisons that are not only insulting, but hurtful, you lose me.
Driving through the line at the Post Office reminded me of my brother’s story about my Dad and how I wish I had my Father’s courage to stand up and remind people what real evil looks like.
