many of the people in their lives had died terrible deaths. They were still just learning of it—of Rifka’s four sisters and mother gassed at Auschwitz, of her two brothers who had been shot, of her father who had lain down and died in Poland. Her sister Frankel was her only relative at the wedding. After the wedding, the Rottenbergs went to Antwerp, and Frankel went alone to Palestine.
J EWS CENTERED their lives on checking Red Cross lists, sometimes more than once a day. The Red Cross list of known survivors was easy to scan because it was never very long. But it wasn’t infallible, and you never knew who you would run into on the Belgielei or Pelikaanstraat. Survivors would sight each other by chance from across a street and run up to each other and trade horror stories. Where were you? And one would tell the other, and then ask the same. Then would come the real questions: “Is your brother back? Have you seen my cousin?” Everyone had a few people for whom they were still looking.
Simple events took on tremendous significance. The birth of achild, such as the Silberman girl, or the first wedding, which was Sam Perl’s marriage to Anna Baum, who had also hidden in Namur, became a major community event. As late as 1951, people were hugging each other in the street over news that a new Rottenberg had been born—Jozef’s first child, Mordechai. Hundreds attended his circumcision. Later, Chaim and Rifka would also name their first son Mordechai.
Chaim Rottenberg performed the Perl–Baum wedding in a synagogue on Terliststraat, near the diamond district. Of the five main synagogues, it was the only one still in good enough condition to use. What was left of the Jewish community came to celebrate, along with Christians from Namur who had saved Anna and Sam.
For hundreds of thousands of Jews, Antwerp, like Paris, was just a place where they could try to find passage to Palestine or North America. But because of those who stayed to work in the diamond industry, the Antwerp Jewish community grew after the war from a few hundred to a few thousand. It became even more dependent on the diamond industry than before. Jozef Rottenberg—no bearded prophet like his brother, but an amiable, clean-shaven businessman—was one of the few who did not go into diamonds. Seeing that credit lines had opened up for new businesses, he started a small pharmaceutical manufacturing company with a few employees.
Sam Perl, whose entire family had been in diamonds ever since they had emigrated to Antwerp from Transylvania when he was a small boy, now in his early twenties became a sawer. It takes ninety minutes, more or less, depending on the stone, for a rotating diamond saw to bisect a rough diamond, a preliminary step in the gems’ manufacture. As he got more work, he hired a few sawers to work under him, until the payroll reached fifteen, which in diamonds is a factory.
Another man from a diamond family who had also jumped off the transport train to Auschwitz was Israel Kornfeld. He too had been captured and put on a second train. And he too had jumped again. The second time, he managed to get to Switzerland, where he and his wife, son, and two daughters were able to live quietly throughout the war. When they got back to Antwerp, they found a small old house to rent on the other side of the train tracks from the Pelikaanstraat. Israel had had to reinforce the banisters and doorjambs in the shaky little house to enable it to withstand three wild children, who had managed to break almost everything in their sturdier Swiss home.
Israel had learned diamond cleaving in the 1930s, after he had emigrated to Antwerp from Poland. His wife had come from Poland, too, and had worked slavish garment jobs to earn money to send back to her family. But once Israel started cleaving, he earned enough money for both of them. After the war they returned to Antwerp from Switzerland, confident that he could again bring in a comfortable income from
J EWS CENTERED their lives on checking Red Cross lists, sometimes more than once a day. The Red Cross list of known survivors was easy to scan because it was never very long. But it wasn’t infallible, and you never knew who you would run into on the Belgielei or Pelikaanstraat. Survivors would sight each other by chance from across a street and run up to each other and trade horror stories. Where were you? And one would tell the other, and then ask the same. Then would come the real questions: “Is your brother back? Have you seen my cousin?” Everyone had a few people for whom they were still looking.
Simple events took on tremendous significance. The birth of achild, such as the Silberman girl, or the first wedding, which was Sam Perl’s marriage to Anna Baum, who had also hidden in Namur, became a major community event. As late as 1951, people were hugging each other in the street over news that a new Rottenberg had been born—Jozef’s first child, Mordechai. Hundreds attended his circumcision. Later, Chaim and Rifka would also name their first son Mordechai.
Chaim Rottenberg performed the Perl–Baum wedding in a synagogue on Terliststraat, near the diamond district. Of the five main synagogues, it was the only one still in good enough condition to use. What was left of the Jewish community came to celebrate, along with Christians from Namur who had saved Anna and Sam.
For hundreds of thousands of Jews, Antwerp, like Paris, was just a place where they could try to find passage to Palestine or North America. But because of those who stayed to work in the diamond industry, the Antwerp Jewish community grew after the war from a few hundred to a few thousand. It became even more dependent on the diamond industry than before. Jozef Rottenberg—no bearded prophet like his brother, but an amiable, clean-shaven businessman—was one of the few who did not go into diamonds. Seeing that credit lines had opened up for new businesses, he started a small pharmaceutical manufacturing company with a few employees.
Sam Perl, whose entire family had been in diamonds ever since they had emigrated to Antwerp from Transylvania when he was a small boy, now in his early twenties became a sawer. It takes ninety minutes, more or less, depending on the stone, for a rotating diamond saw to bisect a rough diamond, a preliminary step in the gems’ manufacture. As he got more work, he hired a few sawers to work under him, until the payroll reached fifteen, which in diamonds is a factory.
Another man from a diamond family who had also jumped off the transport train to Auschwitz was Israel Kornfeld. He too had been captured and put on a second train. And he too had jumped again. The second time, he managed to get to Switzerland, where he and his wife, son, and two daughters were able to live quietly throughout the war. When they got back to Antwerp, they found a small old house to rent on the other side of the train tracks from the Pelikaanstraat. Israel had had to reinforce the banisters and doorjambs in the shaky little house to enable it to withstand three wild children, who had managed to break almost everything in their sturdier Swiss home.
Israel had learned diamond cleaving in the 1930s, after he had emigrated to Antwerp from Poland. His wife had come from Poland, too, and had worked slavish garment jobs to earn money to send back to her family. But once Israel started cleaving, he earned enough money for both of them. After the war they returned to Antwerp from Switzerland, confident that he could again bring in a comfortable income from
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