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Very difficult times need healing too. Our Spiritual growth is based, in part, on our roots, our upbringing. Sometimes very bad experiences in our younger years can leave a gaping wound that takes many years to heal. I am referring specifically to veterans of all wars, whose battle experiences left deep physical as well as psychological wounds. Actually not having experienced such grave injuries as an adult, I should probably leave this subject to the experts. But I have experiences which come from the time of my childhood that did a great deal of damage especially in my early years. It caused great confusion, and for many years I did my very best to avoid people altogether. I was going through a private hell that needed time to heal, and since I had really no one who was able to help me through this period, it just was very difficult. I do not know if my experiences were similar to veterans who have been in wars, and for their sake, I hope their experiences were tamer. I want to tell this story, finally, after sitting on it for some 60+ years. People can make of it what they want. I do not want pity, but I do need your prayers. I was born in a cellar underneath a corner property in the city of Nijmegen, the Netherlands in August 1940. Holland and most of Europe had been at war since the previous May when the German (Nazi) Army invaded Holland without warning. That Holland capitulated in four days is not surprising as its Army just could not hold back the hoards of people and machinery that entered the area. Of course I was too young to recall my birth and the first two years of my life. As far as I can determine from websites on the psychological development of infants and toddlers, the range of months when memory becomes clearer is from 21 to 25. So my 21st month of life began in June 1942 and the 25th month of life in September 1942. That time-span is very important to what happened to me. On the night of August 2-3, 1942, my mother and I were picked up by a group of shouting and rough Nazi soldiers with Dutch NSB police (Nazi sympathizers), thrown on an Army truck, and transported to Camp Armersfoort. What is notable is that Edith Stein (now Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, ODC) was picked up on the same evening in Echt, a village about an hour and a half (142km) south of Nijmegen. And the ride, probably with additional stops to Amersfoort is also quite long. None of this travel could have been pleasant on the back of an Army truck. Although I do not recall this trip, I do have spotty memory of what followed. At Camp Amersfoort there were masses of people. There was much screaming and there were beatings. In my younger years, as a teenager, I had frequent horrible nightmares and flashbacks to that time. I had a recurring dream that sometimes even recurs now, 67 years later but in lesser intensity (however always unnerving), that dealt with the pressing of my body between two surfaces that came closer and closer together. I have no recollection to what caused these particular dreams but to this date I have trouble with the dark, small places and with hot water. The influx of the hot water in my memory probably took place about 4-5 years later as I recall a specific incidence of child-abuse that had nothing to do with the war nor my parents. I do recall in bits and pieces that mother and I were released from the camp on the 8th of August, 1942. For many years I had a slip of paper, a release certificate which unfortunately I lost (but I had copied the text from it, because the paper was falling apart due to age) which said: "SchaefferImbach, Nelly, geb. [born] 24.7.02 in Ostrowo, würde sofort wieder erlassen da sie in Mischehe lebt. [is immediately released since she lives in a state of mixed marriage]". How 'immediate' that "sofort" was, remained to be seen. It should be noted that only about 300 people were so released, as we found out afterwards, and everyone else living in "mixed marriage" (a person who practiced Judaism, married to Aryan spouse-Dad was a Dutchman and a devout Catholic) was shipped out to Auschwitz and killed. Nevertheless, mother was considered a Jew and since the lineage goes from the mother to the son in the Jewish religion, I too, was considered a Jew, and during the war years the German administration had issued a replacement birth certificate for me with the name Aaron. My name wasn't on that release certificate, which bothers me, of course ... but it is clear in subsequent investigations and stories of my parents before they passed on, that I was there. When we returned home, it became clear that mother had been beaten, and for two years afterwards, she was visited by a Dominican Sister who bathed her, and tended her wounds. I recall that during the time from the end of the war (May 4, 1945) until mid-1946, I spent loads of time at a Padagogical Institute at the outskirts of the city of Nijmegen for one treatment or another. So my youth wasn't exactly a swell time to say the least! This ordeal so upset the family that it was decided I should spend time in a Dutch boys school, a boarding school, from August 1946, onward. The horrors of the camp were bad enough, but the boarding school added more injury to all of that. This boarding school was run by an obscure Catholic order of brothers. While I was there, a weak kid, without friends, still messed up because of the war, and I am sure I wasn't the only one, an older boy and I became friendly. This was OK at first but it lead to experiences of child-abuse eventually. The older kid was abused by someone else, and the aberrent behavior came to me the more I got involved with him. Meanwhile, every Saturday afternoon we were subjected to our weekly shower in scalding hot water. That did major damage to my already ailing nervous system. When I reached my 12th year of life, I begged my parents to come pick me up and bring me home as I was in pain. I never wanted out from a place so bad as from there. My parents had moved to The Hague in the interim, and it was great to see them again. I missed them, and I know that they missed me too. In The Hague I was schooled first at a neighborhood school where I recall classes in art, physical education and some other subjects, but I no longer recall the name of the place as I was there only for a couple of months. After that, my parents placed me in something similar to a high school for languages (M.U.L.O., "Meer Uitgebreid Lager Onderwijs" - or Junior High School by American standards)- the negative part was that it was a very rough and tumble school where teachers (not clergy) believed in corporal punishment (as had been the case also in the boarding school), and it was a very long almost two-hour bicycle ride from home through streets with fairly dense traffic. That's OK in the warm months but not in wintertime or when it rains, and it does so often in Holland. In the meantime (1952-1954) my Dad had been applying for an American Visa to bring his wife and son over to USA as a permanent move, and he was succesful in 1954. A long ship-ride from the port of Rotterdam, where we left on October 9th, 1954 brought us to the port of Hoboken, New Jersey around October 24th. It was a rough trip, weatherwise. Life in USA was 1000% better than in Holland and my outlook began to improve slowly and as time went on, I was able to forget these horrible experiences. The fact that my parents valued a strict Catholic upbringing probably had a positive effect on my life as I began to love the Lord, however, it took me many years before I really trusted people. I remained single and I do not believe that will change. But who knows. The mental pain is gone but occasionally, I do recall these awful days. Hopefully not too often. I served in the US Army in the early part of the 1960's and although this service took place largely in Germany in WWII quarters, I am grateful for the service's VA program that helps me cope now. My health has its "trying moments" (a stroke in 2002, and Parkinson's Disease since 2005.) but so far it is tolerable. With God's help, I find life more than tolerable. He gives me much peace and grace. I was thinking of all this, yesterday, Thanksgiving, and I was glad and thankful for all He has done for me. Others with similar experiences may contact me. Peace and Good, Fred S. Schaeffer, SFO November 27, 2009

Our Spiritual growth is based, in part, on our roots, our upbringing. Sometimes very bad experiences in our younger years can leave a gaping wound that takes many years to heal. I am referring specifically to veterans of all wars, whose battle experiences left deep physical as well as psychological wounds. Actually not having experienced such grave injuries as an adult, I should probably leave this subject to the experts. But I have experiences which come from the time of my childhood that did a great deal of damage especially in my early years. It caused great confusion, and for many years I did my very best to avoid people altogether. I was going through a private hell that needed time to heal, and since I had really no one who was able to help me through this period, it just was very difficult. I do not know if my experiences were similar to veterans who have been in wars, and for their sake, I hope their experiences were tamer. I want to tell this story, finally, after sitting on it for some 60+ years. People can make of it what they want. I do not want pity, but I do need your prayers.

I was born in a cellar underneath a corner property in the city of Nijmegen, the Netherlands in August 1940. Holland and most of Europe had been at war since the previous May when the German (Nazi) Army invaded Holland without warning. That Holland capitulated in four days is not surprising as its Army just could not hold back the hoards of people and machinery that entered the area. Of course I was too young to recall my birth and the first two years of my life. As far as I can determine from websites on the psychological development of infants and toddlers, the range of months when memory becomes clearer is from 21 to 25. So my 21st month of life began in June 1942 and the 25th month of life in September 1942. That time-span is very important to what happened to me. On the night of August 2-3, 1942, my mother and I were picked up by a group of shouting and rough Nazi soldiers with Dutch NSB police (Nazi sympathizers), thrown on an Army truck, and transported to Camp Armersfoort. What is notable is that Edith Stein (now Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, ODC) was picked up on the same evening in Echt, a village about an hour and a half (142km) south of Nijmegen. And the ride, probably with additional stops to Amersfoort is also quite long. None of this travel could have been pleasant on the back of an Army truck. Although I do not recall this trip, I do have spotty memory of what followed. At Camp Amersfoort there were masses of people. There was much screaming and there were beatings. In my younger years, as a teenager, I had frequent horrible nightmares and flashbacks to that time. I had a recurring dream that sometimes even recurs now, 67 years later but in lesser intensity (however always unnerving), that dealt with the pressing of my body between two surfaces that came closer and closer together. I have no recollection to what caused these particular dreams but to this date I have trouble with the dark, small places and with hot water. The influx of the hot water in my memory probably took place about 4-5 years later as I recall a specific incidence of child-abuse that had nothing to do with the war nor my parents.

I do recall in bits and pieces that mother and I were released from the camp on the 8th of August, 1942. For many years I had a slip of paper, a release certificate which unfortunately I lost (but I had copied the text from it, because the paper was falling apart due to age) which said: "SchaefferImbach, Nelly, geb. [born] 24.7.02 in Ostrowo, würde sofort wieder erlassen da sie in Mischehe lebt. [is immediately released since she lives in a state of mixed marriage]". How 'immediate' that "sofort" was, remained to be seen. It should be noted that only about 300 people were so released, as we found out afterwards, and everyone else living in "mixed marriage" (a person who practiced Judaism, married to Aryan spouse-Dad was a Dutchman and a devout Catholic) was shipped out to Auschwitz and killed. Nevertheless, mother was considered a Jew and since the lineage goes from the mother to the son in the Jewish religion, I too, was considered a Jew, and during the war years the German administration had issued a replacement birth certificate for me with the name Aaron. My name wasn't on that release certificate, which bothers me, of course ... but it is clear in subsequent investigations and stories of my parents before they passed on, that I was there. When we returned home, it became clear that mother had been beaten, and for two years afterwards, she was visited by a Dominican Sister who bathed her, and tended her wounds. I recall that during the time from the end of the war (May 4, 1945) until mid-1946, I spent loads of time at a Padagogical Institute at the outskirts of the city of Nijmegen for one treatment or another. So my youth wasn't exactly a swell time to say the least! This ordeal so upset the family that it was decided I should spend time in a Dutch boys school, a boarding school, from August 1946, onward. The horrors of the camp were bad enough, but the boarding school added more injury to all of that.

This boarding school was run by an obscure Catholic order of brothers. While I was there, a weak kid, without friends, still messed up because of the war, and I am sure I wasn't the only one, an older boy and I became friendly. This was OK at first but it lead to experiences of child-abuse eventually. The older kid was abused by someone else, and the aberrent behavior came to me the more I got involved with him. Meanwhile, every Saturday afternoon we were subjected to our weekly shower in scalding hot water. That did major damage to my already ailing nervous system. When I reached my 12th year of life, I begged my parents to come pick me up and bring me home as I was in pain. I never wanted out from a place so bad as from there.

My parents had moved to The Hague in the interim, and it was great to see them again. I missed them, and I know that they missed me too. In The Hague I was schooled first at a neighborhood school where I recall classes in art, physical education and some other subjects, but I no longer recall the name of the place as I was there only for a couple of months. After that, my parents placed me in something similar to a high school for languages (M.U.L.O., "Meer Uitgebreid Lager Onderwijs" - or Junior High School by American standards)- the negative part was that it was a very rough and tumble school where teachers (not clergy) believed in corporal punishment (as had been the case also in the boarding school), and it was a very long almost two-hour bicycle ride from home through streets with fairly dense traffic. That's OK in the warm months but not in wintertime or when it rains, and it does so often in Holland. In the meantime (1952-1954) my Dad had been applying for an American Visa to bring his wife and son over to USA as a permanent move, and he was succesful in 1954. A long ship-ride from the port of Rotterdam, where we left on October 9th, 1954 brought us to the port of Hoboken, New Jersey around October 24th. It was a rough trip, weatherwise. Life in USA was 1000% better than in Holland and my outlook began to improve slowly and as time went on, I was able to forget these horrible experiences. The fact that my parents valued a strict Catholic upbringing probably had a positive effect on my life as I began to love the Lord, however, it took me many years before I really trusted people. I remained single and I do not believe that will change. But who knows. The mental pain is gone but occasionally, I do recall these awful days. Hopefully not too often.

I served in the US Army in the early part of the 1960's and although this service took place largely in Germany in WWII quarters, I am grateful for the service's VA program that helps me cope now. My health has its "trying moments" (a stroke in 2002, and Parkinson's Disease since 2005.) but so far it is tolerable. With God's help, I find life more than tolerable. He gives me much peace and grace.

I was thinking of all this, yesterday, Thanksgiving, and I was glad and thankful for all He has done for me. Others with similar experiences may contact me.

Peace and Good,

Fred S. Schaeffer, SFO
November 27, 2009

Very difficult times need healing too.