Hella de Jonge - Etty Hillesum

In 1974, I was 24 at the time, our three month old baby had died in his pram during our trip to Texel. Out of the blue. Complete desperation. I wanted and needed to see my mother. Find comfort, hold her against me. When I stood before her, all she could utter was: “One baby is nothing in comparison to the hundreds we lost in the war.” It was the final blow. My mother had abandoned me. I lost control. Until I read, seven years later, An interrupted life: the diaries and letters of Etty Hillesum 1941-1943, published in 1981. A new reality opened up before me. She described how her beloved, her Spier, inspired her and showed her sides of life she knew nothing about. I felt supported, because I also had such a phenomenon at my side.

My husband, my brilliant friend, my beloved. But Freek and I were trapped in our own world at the time. I, a girl from a Jewish family with parents who survived the war because they went into hiding, while the rest of their family was murdered in concentration camps, and who kept fighting against the outside world that looked away and didn’t understand. So narrow-minded that even I, their own daughter posed a threat. Freek, coming from a protestant Christian family where trust and love was preached. At the time his career was all consuming so after three months the baby wasn’t entirely his child yet. Jork, that’s how we named the little fellow, felt still part of my body after nine months inside of me and only three months in the world.

Reading the book I felt a connection. In my mind’s eye I saw Etty, sitting on a mat, meditating in the concentration camp hell. She could withdraw from the misery by keeping close to her pure soul. After reading her book, 38 years after she had left the earth, murdered in Auschwitz, all I could say to myself was: “What have I to complain about? I am alive, I have a beautiful two-year old daughter, a wonderful husband and my life is not in danger!” For me she was resurrected. Her inner strength filled me with courage. I discovered there was not a second to lose, I had to change course: I had to be there for my daughter! Etty taught me to search for love, to find and to share it.

I learned to trust just being. She was right next to me when I sat on my mat, cross-legged, arms in the air, palms together, pointing to a nameless God. All the while she seemed to whisper to me: that’s the way, you can do it, pass it on. And I did. The day after my mother was buried in 2002, I wrote it all down in a notebook. I once made a deal with the publisher of her diaries that he would be the first to read it when I had finished writing my story, based on the idea that if I could inspire three people my mission was accomplished. It was a success. In 2006 Los van de wereld appeared. Partly due to her visions.

Her inspiration is still needed today, because sadly we haven’t learned much from the past. Peace is still horribly shattered. Children from Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan or any other warzone are killed or pursued. How can they ever, after all they have seen and experienced, raise their children? How can we in the future offer comfort to these children? Show them the way to love? I hope I can continue painting and sharing for a long time. Grateful for the visions of Etty Hillesum.

Hella de Jonge