anne frank the part when they get the cake

On November 1, 1944, Anne, her sister, Margot, and Augusta Van Pels were transferred from Auschwitz to Bergen-Belsen. Had Anne been at my mother’s party, she would have had a slice of the cake decorated with a scene from Hansel and Gretel, made by women who worked in the SS officers’ kitchen, created at the risk of punishment for stealing scarce ingredients.

Meanwhile, in Christianstadt, my mother received gifts: slippers and a hat made of straw pulled from mattresses flowers made of somehow-procured crepe paper. A celebration of any sort would have been unthinkable. (She deliberately made the holes shallow, rendering the weapons useless.)īy October 8, the date of my mother’s birthday, Anne - having been deported with her family on the last train to leave Westerbork - had known the terror and depredations of Auschwitz-Birkenau for more than a month. In its neighboring munitions factory, she gouged holes in grenades, preparing them for pins. Finally, providentially, she and her sister Elisabeth were sent to Christianstadt, a labor camp in Lower Silesia. For more than two months, she had struggled to survive in the shadows of the gas chambers and crematoria. And the trauma of being separated from her parents and siblings on the ramp at Birkenau. They hauled the group to a detention center, a stop before Westerbork, the Dutch transit camp.īy this time, my mother had endured the harrowing journey from Sighet to Auschwitz. Searching behind the office’s bookcase, they found Anne and the seven others (Otto, Edith and Margot Frank Herman, Augusta and Peter Van Pels and Fritz Pfeffer) who had been hiding there for more than two years. On August 4, 1944, SS-Oberscharfuehrer (Nazi squad leader) Karl Josef Silberbauer and Dutch police officers raided Prinsengracht 263, where Otto Frank ran his business. Here is why Anne and my mother were never at the same place at the same time: Hopeful.Įventually, after multiple conversations and into my college years, I learned the truth. She recalled and elaborated on her birthday party in a labor camp. She worried that her experiences in Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen would give me nightmares. When I was a young teenager (about 13, the age my mother was during the war), my mother was restrained in what she shared with me. Though Anne knew that terrible things were happening, “The Diary of a Young Girl” does not touch the horrors of the Holocaust. I could appreciate her humor, wisdom and powers of observation. How did I arrive at such a fantastic conflation?įor one, who hadn’t heard about the gifted diarist? Expressing normal adolescent interests and concerns, Anne’s letters to imaginary friends helped her cope with the oppressive situation in “the Secret Annex.” I could picture the hiding place she described. After all, they were the same age and they were both in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. It’s called Hungary for a reason.When I was a teenager, I imagined that Anne Frank was at my mother’s 15th birthday party. Or watch a video of bakers making the cakes and try to contain your appetite afterward. Read Don George’s online Trip Lit column about book of the month, Valeria’s Last Stand, which takes place in part in Hungarian markets. Read more: Check out the recipe here to make the cakes yourself at home, or order some online here.

They are best when they are just hot off the fire.” I definitely have to agree.

City Life editor Amy Alipio tells me that, “you can find them at folk fairs and festivals, they’re kind of like the Hungarian equivalent of funnel cakes or corn dogs. The dough is coated with oil and sugar, and when baked it creates a crunchy, sugary outside crust, not unlike a hot pretzel, with a soft doughy inside. Its origins are from Transylvania, but they’re now celebrated as the oldest pastry in Hungary, and they’re often served as street food. The Kürtöskalács, or chimney cake, is a traditional Hungarian pastry that is wrapped around a wooden spool and slowly turned over an open fire. Naturally, it was the pastry that rose to the top of the things that screamed out “this must be blogged.” I toured the Czech ambassador’s home, nibbled on Polish perogies, and happened upon a delicious pastry during my stop in Hungary (or the Hungarian embassy, if you will). are the infinite ways to engage in the city’s international culture, and this week-long event is one of my favorites. One of the best parts about living in (and visiting) D.C. Ok, so it wasn’t really Europe, but it was easy to pretend while visiting the many EU embassies that opened their doors this past Saturday for Europe in D.C. I spent last weekend wandering through Europe.

Anne frank the part when they get the cake