Text: Mathilde Blichfeldt Mjønes (my sister)
My grandmother was born Jewish in Europe.
My grandmother was a Jewish child, youth as a Jew.
Min Grandma wanted to be a doctor, and help other people, but was not allowed to, because she was born a Jew.
My grandmother thought it was unfair that the Jews were kept down by others, and collected signatures for the Zionist Party – and contributed to the founding of Israel.
My grandmother moved to Paris to learn French, and saved her life because she met a language nerd from Ørsta. A sheriff's son, who was not threatened by her Jewish background, but charmed by her interest in operettas and art in the Louvre.
My grandmother lost her sister, his aunts, their parents, his uncles and aunts – all theirs – because they were born Jews.
Her family never got to meet the language nerd from Ørsta. Nor her daughter or sons, who grew up in safe Bergen.
Her parents were not allowed to meet the grandchildren, the great-grandchildren, or the rest of the family who grew up in Norway. They never learned that their family and legacy lives on, a completely different place in Europe, World.
Grandma would never talk about her great loss. She would rather talk about being lucky, that she had met so many good people on her way, people who would help her and grandpa. And think how lucky she was to be released from Bredtvet women's prison only a couple of days before she was actually supposed to be deported with the Danube!
But when we leafed through the one photo album she had kept from Poland, she pointed at her family members and said quietly: “He died in Auswitch, he was sent to Theresienstadt, we never heard anything more from him...".
Every time the conflict between Palestinians and Israelis flared up in the news, she became physically ill, syk. This was not what she had collected signatures for in her youth. This was not what she had wanted to happen. She did not collect signatures for someone to be kept down, be oppressed, locked in, lose their place of residence, its security, his life.
Grandma wanted people to look out for each other. Be good to each other. Help each other. That the weak should become stronger, and that the strong should look after the weak.
Ja, every time the news picture of the great conflict flared up, she sat glued to the news. And got sick. Physically ill.
Fortunately for her, had she got a big one, the family, som, although we didn't know much about how she actually endured the scars after the war, knew that she felt responsible for the ongoing conflict. Time and time and time and time.
Grandma is no longer alive. She died many years ago now. She had a good life, with much love, and a lot of meaning.
And, she fought hard to keep the pain and sorrow inside her until the end, and managed it too, maybe a little too good. But those of us who were close to her know that she had to use sleeping pills, because she feared her own thoughts, the silence, the loneliness, the horror, the anxiety. She knew all too well what evil and dangerous actions could lead to.
Grandma helped found Grandmothers Against Nuclear Weapons in the 80s, and had an unshakable belief that we humans must do the little we can, when we have the opportunity.
In many ways, I am glad that grandmother will not have to witness what is happening today, the abuses that happen on our watch, weekday, every hour.
And I feel an enormous responsibility for us to carry on her legacy, and remember what can happen if we remain silent.
We cannot be silent, must not be silent. Grandma deserves better.