When Hitler came to power in 1933 I was one year old. We lived in Berlin in a nice apartment. Both my parents worked at home. My mother, the youngest of a well-to-do assimilated family, had studied in Vienna to become a professional, skilled dressmaker (Meister). She had an atelier (salon) with apprentices, and worked very hard to make ends meet.
My mother has told me that in the apartment next to ours lived a German family with a daughter my age, but there were no relations between us at all. My mother heard this neighbor call from the window to her daughter playing in the street: “Ingrid, spiel mit dem Judenmaedchen nicht!” (Don’t play with the Jew girl). This was intended not for me but for another Jewish girl, one year older, also living in the house. Probably to avoid such remarks, I was not to play in the street or in the yard. When I was two years old, my mother rented a small part of a garden, friends installed a sandbox for me, and she took me there in the afternoons. Also a young Jewish girl, Sephie, who was studying to become a kindergarten teacher, came and played with me at home and taught me things. She was a lovely person and unfortunately perished in the camps, with her child, and the children that were in her care.
When I was two years old I started to go to kindergarten and loved my teacher, Luzie. One afternoon she came to us, unexpected, in tears. She told my mother that she had received orders, that I was not allowed to attend the kindergarten anymore, in other words: I was expelled. My mother says, they both were crying. I was then three and a half years old. My mother had now to find a Jewish kindergarten. The only Jewish kindergarten she could find was in another part of Berlin. Thus it was arranged that a Jewish boy my age and I traveled on our own every morning on the subway under Berlin to the Jewish kindergarten and back. The girls who worked as apprentices for my mother would take turns, and bring us to the train, and at the other end a helper from the Jewish kindergarten would come and fetch us – and vice versa. When I visited Berlin with my mother in 1985 I saw the descent to the underground station near Heidelberger Platz and recognized the tiles on the walls, just as I remembered them.
My father was a talented Bauhaus architect; one of his jobs was to divide big apartments into small units, but he did not know how to translate his skills into earning a living. On the contrary, much money went to pay for registration of his patents. Unfortunately, his ideas were not realized. Among other things he tried to develop a special way to cut tree trunks into wedges, and join them with a special glue in order to get uniform boards and avoid wastage.
Although my father was not a good provider, he had foresight and saw the writing on the wall. In 1935 we went with another couple on vacation to Denmark, and stayed at a beach resort on the west coast of Jutland. My parents, being charming and interesting people, made friends among the guests. They befriended a Danish Jewess, Ebba Heiman, who in turn introduced them to a Danish architect, Dan Fink.
In 1936, my father had an affair with a gentile woman. This was bad enough in itself, but it was forbidden according to the Nuremberg laws. My father panicked, and my mother had to help them to get away quickly to Denmark, to the Danish architect. My mother was now left alone with me and her atelier. Besides the work, she had the responsibility of teaching the apprentices and preparing them for their exams. After some months my father insisted that we, too, come to Denmark as his wife and child, his friend going under the title of ‘assistant’.
My mother now decided to leave, and arranged for the dissolving of her business and the apartment, finding other places for the apprentices, and storing our things with friends; she managed to get passports and visas, and in October 1936 we left Germany for good. You could only take 10 DM with you. In her records it is written that only on the ferry did she tell me that we would not return to Germany.
In Copenhagen, my mother was offered work as a housekeeper for Dan Fink and his brothers and sisters, who were all unmarried and studying, living in a big apartment. This arrangement included housing for us. First I slept in the architect’s room. Later they gave us a little apartment, somehow connected with theirs, where we stayed for a while. I started to go to a Danish kindergarten, not understanding a word of what was said around me. There was a high rate of unemployment in Denmark at that time. My mother sometimes sat in the park with me, and learned Danish from an unemployed worker, in exchange for her teaching him German. The architect gave us an old Danish reader, “My First Book”, which my mother read with me, and so we started to learn the language. She also read H.C.Andersen’s fairytales to me. In January 1937 we got a notice that we had to go back to Germany. The 3 months tourist visa had expired. If not Dan Fink and his professor had gone to the Foreign Office to plead our case, we would have been expelled to Germany. At this time many refugees were sent back to Germany. My mother witnessed how a family she knew, was sent back to Poland just before the war broke out. This was a very traumatic incident. We had to have our visa renewed every 3 months, and it always required help from influential Danes. To obtain a working permit was of course out of the question, one of the reasons being the great number of unemployed at that time.
Friends of Dan Fink heard about my mother, a dressmaker who had recently come from Germany, and she was asked to sew at people’s homes, stay for a period, and sew for the lady of the house and her daughters. Thus for two years we went from one home to another. These were all cultured families, some quite prominent, and my mother made friends with many interesting people, meanwhile learning the language and culture. On the one hand, I think that these families admired the German culture and enjoyed speaking German and discussing German issues with my mother, and on the other hand they recognized the upcoming danger and despised Hitler.
In August 1938 my mother was lucky to be offered an inexpensive apartment under the roof, on the fifth floor (no lift) over an old-age home. She made just enough money to be able to afford the rent, 35 Kroner. This was when I started to go to school. My mother sent for our belongings from Germany. In the meantime in Berlin all lofts were searched by the Nazis, and my mothers friends were asked, where all the furniture they kept up there, belonged. Her brother-in-law came from Essen and arranged for the shipment, but he was only allowed to pay as far as the border. From there my mother had to take care of it. Finally, after two years, we had a place of our own.
Although I had hardly gone to kindergarten, because we moved around all the time, I was fluent in Danish when I started school. My teacher told my mother that I was the only one in the class who spoke Danish correctly and with the proper pronunciation. We lived in the inner city of Copenhagen, in an area where mostly poor people and unskilled workers lived.
On September 1st 1939, when the war broke out, my mother was very sad and worried about all her relatives and friends who had stayed behind and now could not get out of Germany. I remember her crying over the letters from her relatives. However, the worry with the renewal of the tourist visa every three months now resolved itself, although there were still refugees who were ordered to return to Germany. (Recently it became known that 21 refugees were asked by the Danish Foreign Office to return to Germany during the war.)
On April 9th, 1940 the Danes woke up to a Denmark that had been occupied by the Germans. In the early morning, within a few hours, against hardly any resistance, the Germans had marched over the border from the south, and the Danish fleet and army had surrendered. German planes were now flying overhead and dropping flyers, explaining to the Danish people in broken Danish that nothing would happen to them if they followed German orders. The official announcement was broadcast shortly after eight o’clock, and my mother’s first instinct was to rush to school to bring me home, but she was told by a friend that nothing would happen to the Jews. Meanwhile, at school, we were being drilled on how to go to the shelters.
All in all, the German occupation from 1940 until August 1943 was quite mild. There was not much Danish resistance, the Germans used Denmark as a larder, shipping all the butter, cheese, eggs and bacon to Germany, while we had rationing. We also had blackout, there were air raids, and sometimes we had to stay in the shelters, although often we did not bother to go down from the fifth floor.
But it was not so difficult. The Danes became very patriotic, organizing huge gatherings where Danish songs were sung by all; people participated in big hikes for everybody, and there was a warm feeling of love for the King and his family. The King, Christain X, rode unaccompanied in the streets of Copenhagen every day – a symbol for all.
On September 26th, 1940, the 70th birthday of the King was celebrated by all, and my mother, who was always busy sewing, surprised me. She came to school and fetched me to go to the King’s castle and greet him with the crowds. She told me why she was not working and had time on her hands. She had never been able to obtain a working permit. It turned out that somebody had told the authorities that my mother was working illegally. My mother suspected a new customer, who came to have a blouse made, and asked for a receipt even before she got the blouse. On that day my mother had been summoned to the police and was ordered to stop working. She immediately returned all fabrics to her customers. She did not work for half a year, until, finally, she obtained a working permit. She had to pay a fine of 100 Kroner. In 1942 she was ordered by the German Embassy to hand in our German passports, and thus we became stateless.
In August 1943, the Danes started to lose patience, and many acts of sabotage were carried out. This angered the Germans. They arrested some 100 prominent people, among them the Chief Rabbi Max Friediger. They declared a state of emergency. A curfew was pronounced, and it was also forbidden for more than five people to gather in the street at one time. We had become friendly with a pastor who had eight children, some of them around my age. I remember taking Sunday walks with them; since they were so many, we had to split up in several groups.
The Germans were now planning to catch the Jews. They had hesitated until now because they knew that the Danes would not tolerate such an action, for it was against their deepest beliefs. However Hitler and Eichmann were determined to make Denmark “Judenrein”, and a raid was planned for the 1st of October 1943, Rosh Hashanah, when most Jews would be at home. We did not know about this yet, of course. But the idea of going to Sweden was now being mentioned. I remember all my mother’s refugee friends, sitting in our little apartment, discussing whether to go to Sweden or not, and how to go. My mother was recovering from a severe case of jaundice, and said that she wouldn’t be able to go. At one time there had been a plan to hide us at sea in big perforated containers, which were used for storing fish. All kinds of ideas and rumors were exchanged. My mother also told me about a Danish Jewess, who was convinced that if there would be any action at all, it would be against immigrants from Poland and Germany, certainly not against the Danish Jews, who had lived in Denmark for generations.
At the end of September a good Danish friend of my mother’s, Mimi, who lived at that time in her summerhouse on a remote little island, said she had “felt” something, and came to stay with us. She wanted to help us, and asked my mother where to go for help. My mother knew some people in Elsinore, and Mimi went there (it is described in detail in her account). On the 29th of September we went to a birthday party for Hanne, one of the pastor’s daughters, and Mimi joined us. It later became known that the German Naval Attache Duchwitz “doublecrossed” the German leaders and disclosed the planned raid to the Danish Government, who in turn informed the leader of the Jewish Congregation, a highly estimated lawyer, by the name of Henriques. He, however, did not believe the Danish leaders, he said: “you are lying.” He was sure that nothing could happen to the Danish Jews. In the end he was convinced by the Rabbi, Marcus Melchior, who had also been informed. On this day, the 29th of September, at the morning service in the synagogue, the Rabbi told the people present about what he had heard; there would be no prayers, no Rosh Hashana service, everyone had to go home immediately and warn all their relatives and friends and urge them to go into hiding, and also to tell their good Danish friends and acquaintances. The rumor spread like wildfire, and at night, at the party, the pastor and my mother’s friend, Mimi, were already busy finding an escape route for us. Ove, one of the pastor’s sons, a few years older than I, had been sitting with the adults, listening to their discussions. He then came to the room where I was sitting with the younger children and said with a big, incredulous smile on his face, “Annette, you are going to flee.” It seemed so adventurous to him. The people from Elsinore had called and told us to come, there would be a boat from there that night. The pastor was reluctant to let us go, but he went down to the taxi stand in front of the building. He came back with a relieved smile. It turned out that not only was the curfew about to start, but that taxis were forbidden to drive out of Copenhagen. This settled the dispute between the pastor and his wife; she wanted us to go, whereas he was still not convinced that it was necessary. In the end it was good we did not go, because it did not go well that night in Elsinore.
It was decided that we should stay overnight with the pastor, and Mimi went home to our apartment. In the morning I went to school for the last time. This was a quite prestigious girls’ high school. I had just started first grade of “Junior High” there in August, with girls from all over Copenhagen, all from better neighborhoods than mine. As soon as class began, my teacher took me aside and asked me if “I had where to go”? Soon after the principal came and asked me the same question. Evidently the rumor had reached them. There were only two Jewish girls in the school: one girl, who was older than me, religious, and I, who had started just 6 weeks earlier. I told the two teachers that the pastor was helping us. They knew of him, because all of his girls went to that school. If we had not had his help, these teachers would have intervened on our behalf. Last year we went to Denmark, and I met with the oldest of the pastor’s daughters, Marie. She told me something about that morning. At that time, in 1943, she was in her last year of high school. Every morning, between the first and second lesson, the whole school gathered in the gymnastics hall, a patriotic song was sung by all and some words said by the principal or a teacher. On this morning of the 30th of September, the song was “We Love Our Land”. Marie burst into tears and went to the principal’s office crying: “How can you sing a song like that as if nothing has happened, while fellow citizens are being chased for their life? We must do something.” The principal and some teachers tried to calm her down, but she insisted that something had to be done. Finally it was decided to give her leave from school, so she could help accompany the Jews to places of hiding and get them to the boats. Her father had been helping a group of immigrants from Germany and Poland, and now she took part in the work.
At school I could not tell the girls that I was not coming back the next day. I confided in one girl, with whom I had become friendly in the short time I had been a student in that school. She asked, ”but why, why do you have to leave?” I dared not tell her why. I returned my library book ‘Emil and the Detectives’ by Erich Kaestner (in German) to the school library. When I came home, my mother had finished the garments she had been working on, (she remembers she finished a coat that morning), gave them to her customers and made lists for Mimi about the unfinished dresses that had to be picked up. She packed a tiny suitcase and I packed my rucksack from the girl scouts. Mimi was going to stay in our apartment (it solved a problem for her) and she was going to take us to a summerhouse near Copenhagen, belonging to a nurse. This was at the end of September when the summer season is over and the fall vacation has not yet started. The owner of the food store, where we bought something, asked whether we were on an early fall vacation. He also asked us under what name to order milk for us. We felt awkward for a moment, my mother could not bring herself to tell a lie, and mentioned our name, Goldmann. This milk was never to be fetched. Obviously he did not know what was going on, but he would certainly know soon, for the area quickly swarmed with people who stuck out like sore thumbs. We were approached by frightened people who asked us for directions in broken Danish. Mimi left us and went back to town. There were no radio and phone in the summerhouse, so we agreed that we would call at a fixed time from a pay phone near the bus station. So here we were, trying not to attract attention. My mother, who was usually so busy sewing, was now idle, passing the time knitting. The birthday party we had attended was on Wednesday, we arrived in the summerhouse Thursday, and stayed all Friday. On Saturday, the 2nd of October, Mimi came out to us. In the meantime the raid had started but we did not know about it. She had the address of a fisherman who could arrange for us to be taken to Sweden. We left the summerhouse, leaving the suitcase behind. I carried the rucksack. Mimi went with us. We had to pass a road, where there were German guards posted at intervals, so we tried not to attract attention. We reached the village, Dragoer, on foot, and found the house of the fisherman. I remember first sitting near the water, across the street, writing a farewell letter to my best friend, Ellen, the pastor’s daughter.
The fisherman’s son and wife received us, and directed us upstairs to the attic, and we were to wait there until nightfall. Mimi borrowed a bicycle and went back to the summerhouse to bring the suitcase. While we were sitting up there between the featherbeds that the family kept up there, maybe I cried a little, because the son of the fisherman, about 16 years of age, came up with supper for us and said, “Wipe your tears, sister, everything is going to be alright.” To him it was clearly an adventure. Mimi arrived with the suitcase, we said goodbye to each other, and she stayed with the fisherman’s wife until she heard that we had arrived safely. (We have her own account of what happened. She had of course to stay over night because of the curfew.) The young son led us to the harbor, but first we stopped at the entrance of the house of the fisherman, who was going to take us across the sound. We were standing there in the dusk, and all of a sudden we were told that we could not go that night, since there were German patrol boats in the harbor. My mother said to a young man: “maybe this is a sign that we should not go.” He said to her: “If we do not manage to go from here tonight, we will have to go all the way to Lolland (south on the Island) to get over.” Then we were told by the son of the fisherman that all was clear, and we could go after all. We now proceeded to the harbor through narrow lanes. We reached the quay, when suddenly someone said that there was a raid and it was too dangerous to go on.
Some of the people panicked and wanted to go back to Copenhagen in cabs, but since there was a curfew on, that was impossible. We now know that this was the second night of the raid. We were quickly led into a shack in the harbor. We had to be very quiet, but some of the people were too tense. My mother was very calm, mustering some inner strength. She prayed quietly to God. After some time the door was opened and one of the fishermen told us to come, noticing that we were quiet. We were led to the fishing boat. We had to walk on a very narrow gangplank. It was dark and I had difficulty seeing where to tread.
My mother handed over 1000 Kroner. One of the young men said to the other, “No more money to be had here.” She had taken out her savings from the bank, 400 Kroner, and the rest was given to her. She says that after the war she was not even allowed to thank those people who had given the money, let alone pay it back. Nobody was left behind because of lack of money, a lot of money changed hands in those days. Whenever money was needed, there were always funds. We were now asked to go down into the hold. We were nine persons, besides us there was a family consisting of a young couple, a little child and a grandmother, another couple and a single man. The child was drugged so as to be quiet. The hatch was closed over us. Before long we heard the motor start and we knew we were on our way. It was very narrow, crowded and stuffy down in the hold and all of a sudden one of the locks of our suitcase sprang open, into my eye. I also became seasick, and the single man gave me his handkerchief. After an hour or two we crossed the line into the territorial waters of Sweden. The fisherman opened the hold and we were allowed up on the deck. It was wonderful!
It did not take long until we reached the Swedish shore. When we saw soldiers, we gasped for a moment, thinking of the German soldiers, but these were of course Swedish soldiers saying, “Welcome to Sweden”. We were pulled to shore, the boat turned around, and my mother waved and shouted: “God bless you, fisherman.”
When Mimi received the message from the fisherman the next morning that we had arrived safely, she went back to Copenhagen and informed the pastor, and then continued to help other refugees from this group. But first she went to my father and his wife. They were living in seclusion without any friends or acquaintances. My mother had asked Mimi to go and get them into hiding and help them over to Sweden, since they may have been unaware of the danger.
Thus she repaid my father; he got us out of Germany, and my mother helped them to get to Sweden. So in spite of their differences, all worked out for the better. They came to each other’s help at the crucial time.
We were taken to a nearby school or community building. We had arrived at Klagshamn, a small community near Malmo. It was now the night between the 2nd and 3rd of October. Only on the 2nd of October had Sweden made it public that they would take the Jews coming from Denmark, regardless of whether they were Danish citizens or refugees from Germany and Poland. This happened only after Prof. Niels Bohr, the nuclear physicist, was taken to Sweden on Sept.30th. The Allies wanted him to come to America, but he said, “I am not going anywhere, until the Swedes promise to take in the Danish Jews and the Jewish refugees, and to make this fact known in the papers and over the radio.” He had to go to the King to bring this about. Thus we were among the very first to arrive in Sweden and it was now permitted to receive us. We did not know about all this then.
We waited in this building for hours. The little children had awakened from their induced sleep. They were cranky, and families with children were taken first. At last we were interrogated by the Swedish police authorities. During the interrogation we were by chance photographed by a Swedish journalist, and our picture was in the paper the next day with an article about the influx of refugees from Denmark, stating that if The Swedes would have opened up their borders for the Jews before, many people who were now dying in the camps could have been saved. My mother saw this, she cut out the picture and sent it to my aunt and uncle in Birmingham, with whom we had had no contact since the German occupation in April 1940. In the meantime the same picture had been in the English papers. My aunt and uncle saw it, one said, this is Marianne and Annette, the other one said no, it cannot be, and the paper was thrown into the garbage. When my mother’s telegram reached them, my aunt fished the paper out of the garbage, she always kept the clippings in her purse and told people this marvelous story. She knew how to tell a story and it always made a big impression. On this photograph my mother is looking so attentively at the officer in order to understand the Swedish, which we had not heard before. In the early morning we were taken to another place. We slept there on mattresses on the floor, many people in a big room. A woman in uniform went around with a basket with apples, distributing them to the refugees with a smile and a kind word. This gesture broke my mother’s strength. She wept.
We were now under military guard, even when we went to the toilet a soldier accompanied us. When a button fell off my shoe – my mother sewed it on. The thread which was given to her, was too strong to tear, so she went and cut it on a soldier’s bayonet.
The next day my mother asked to be taken to Malmo, the nearest town. We were driven there by a police official. When we arrived in Malmo, we were told to go to the police station, they would take care of us. At the police station they said that we were now released from the police and on our own. They told us to go to a certain Danish import/export office. The people there were very nice and helped us to contact Danish friends of ours who had moved to Goteborg half a year before. We were put up in a school, with beds with paper sheets. When one person moved it woke up the whole crowd. It was a big thing for us to see all the lights in the streets, because in Denmark there had been blackout for years .We walked around in the evening in the train station, I with the rucksack, to which my mother’s big hat was pinned. A man who noticed us gave me some Swedish Kroner, and we bought some chocolate with the money.
The next day we went back to the import/export office. The friends from Goteborg had wired money for train tickets for us. My mother had the address of a lady in Malmo, we went there to freshen up and have breakfast. Then we traveled to Goteborg, about 5-6 hours by train. I explained to my Mother the scenery, as we had learned about it at school the year before. The farmhouses are red with white trimmings, lots of birch trees, and rocks. It is very different from Denmark Just when we arrived in Goteborg, our friend there said to hurry, for a business acquaintance was just going back to Denmark legally, to bring his belongings. We could make a list and he would bring our clothes along with his own things. And so it was. My mother started to sew for our friend’s friends, I started school. After six weeks we managed to get a little apartment through a very nice lady from the municipality, with whom we became friends afterwards. Apartments were very scarce. It was a one-room apartment in a completely new complex. There was a big kitchen, where my mother did her sewing, while she received the clients in the room. It was lucky that we got the apartment at that time, because only after we got it, our friends told us that they would have to move to a smaller apartment. We learned the language and stayed in Sweden until the end of the war. The Swedes did not want any payment at all from the Danish government after the war. My mother did not take any money from the government, except the ticket back to Denmark after the war, but many people lived in homes and camps, funded by the Swedes. The Swedes also tried to find work for the skilled people.
They also had many Danish saboteurs and members of the resistance movement, and people, who fled to them from other countries. They did everything possible to receive us all well. However, it is thought that the wave of the Danish refugees was just what Sweden needed. We became their alibi. Up till then they had been, although neutral, pro-German. Only in Sweden “Jude” was shouted at me, and a snowball thrown into my face. This had never happened in Denmark. I had a Norwegian friend at school, she had fled from Norway with her family. Her father had been in the resistance movement. Grethe and I had a “club”, just the two of us: “Up with Norway and Denmark, down with Sweden.” We were children after all. There had been quite some anti-Semitism in Sweden. It is said that the Chief Rabbi in Stockholm, Ehrenpreis, was against receiving the Jews from Denmark, but of course once we were there, the Jewish congregations also helped to accommodate the refugees. They handed out written advice on how the refugees should behave. One point was not to go in the streets in groups of more than five people. They must have been afraid that the influx of Jews from Denmark would attract attention to them.
We enjoyed the beautiful nature very much. Just across the street from our apartment were rock formations, where you could climb and pick blueberries and cranberries, and there were beautiful lakes and woods for excursions. On D-day, June 6th 1944, I was on an excursion with the class, we were staying overnight, and somehow I heard the news. I had nobody to share the excitement with. It did not mean anything to the Swedish children. However, I had one worry: that the war would end before I should have to participate in the big ski tour, which the class was planning for the 3rd grade of Junior High. This problem resolved itself.
When the war ended, neither my mother nor I remember a dramatic moment, when we heard it on the radio or celebrated. All this was of course experienced completely differently in Denmark, candles were lit in all windows, and people were chasing out the Germans and their Danish helpers, and rejoicing. We went home in July 1945. As a farewell present from the teacher and class I got a beautifully illustrated unabridged edition of Selma Lagerloef”s Nils Holgersson’s adventurous travels. When I think of what had been and what was yet to come, one could say that this was quite symbolic for me. The day we returned our Danish friends were going back and forth the whole day on the ferry between Elsinore and Helsingborg in order not to miss us. Mimi had taken care of our apartment. When I met my friends, we looked at each other in wonder; we could hardly recognize each other. We were not children anymore. They had lived through a very hard time while we were away. At school I was received warmly and the teachers helped me to catch up with what I had missed. However, now that I reflect on it, I think we felt that we had missed something, that we had not been part of something important. It was very bitter that all my mother’s relatives did not manage to get out of Germany. I have warm memories of my aunts and uncles, whom I had visited on my own in the years before we left for Denmark. My mother has their letters, with greetings also to me, as well as letters from other relatives. Luckily my mother’s sister managed to get herself, her husband and three children to England, only with the greatest difficulty and at the last minute.
I have only written about how things happened with us, as seen through my eyes and discussed countless times with my mother, when we dwell on this detail or another; the topic is never exhausted. We think that we were so lucky. What really happened, how it came about that the Danes acted in such a marvelous way, is described very well in many books, it has been analyzed from all kinds of angles, and there are many personal accounts. Many people went through a lot of hazards and hardships, and some ended up in Theresienstadt, some were killed or took their own lives. I shall include a list of books I have, many have been translated into or were written in English. I hope you will read at least one of them.
1. Rescue in Denmark, by Harald Flender
2. In Denmark it could not happen, by Herbert Pundik
3. October ’43, by Aage Berthelsen
4. The rescue of the Danish Jews; moral courage under stress, editor Leo Goldberger
5. The bitter years; the invasion and occupation of Denmark and Norway April 1940-May 1945, by Richard Petrov
6. Boats in the night; Knud Dyby’s story of resistance and rescue, as told by Martha Loeffler
7. The rescue of Danish Jewry: Test of a democracy by Leni Yahil
8. Number the stars by Lois Lowry (children’s book)
8. A Rabbi remembers, by Dr. Marcus Melchior (Danish Chief Rabbi)
9. The rescue of the Jewish Danes, by Alegra M. Schafer, Highschool student’s thesis, got first prize.
10. The little Dunkerque: The Danish Rescue of Jews in October 1943, (article) by Joergen Glenthoej (Marie’s husband)
11. Sipur acher by Emilia Roi, in Hebrew, for Children
12. Denmark and the Jewish Refugees 1933-1940 by Lone Runitz (Danish)
13. Passage to Palestine by Joergen Haestrup
14. The film “the only way” on video
15. Copenhagen. Play by Michael Frayn