Irene Biderman Orner
Holocaust Survivor
(In the photo, Irene is seen with her mother Chaya, her aunt Fela Turner, and her cousin Max during one of their family vacations on the beach in Belgium.)
“I was born in Brussels in 1935, an only child. I remember a wonderful, happy childhood. We were a close and joyful family who loved going on picnics and family holidays.
Everything changed completely with the German invasion of Belgium. At first, we fled to Paris, then to Toulouse, but after some time my parents decided to return to Brussels. When we came back, we were already required to wear the yellow badge. I hated wearing it – it was so humiliating to be marked in that way.
Because of the growing danger to Jews, my parents decided to send me to live with a Christian family. My piano teacher, who was Jewish, knew a Christian couple named Florent and Suzanne. They had no children and agreed to take me in. They did, however, have a nephew, Roger, who lived with them. I still remember how he would often bully me.
It was incredibly hard to be separated from my parents and to live with strangers for four years, until the war ended. In the beginning, I missed my parents terribly. I was so frightened that I often wet the bed because of nightmares. Over time, I began to adjust, but the longing for my parents never went away.
The house I lived in was quite large. A German soldier and his Belgian girlfriend lived there too, and the basement was rented to a Jewish family hiding from the Nazis. I never knew whether the German soldier realized that he was living in the same house as a hidden Jewish child and another Jewish family in hiding. I often wonder what would have happened to us if he had found out.
My parents managed to find shelter in the attic of a beauty salon in Brussel. The hairdresser who owned it had volunteered for service in the German army, but not out of ideology – he simply wanted to please the new authorities. He was not antisemitic, and he agreed to hide my parents in his attic. Sometimes, the safest hiding place is the one no one would ever think to search. While he entertained his German army friends downstairs, my parents stayed quietly in the attic above.
From time to time, Florent would take me to visit my parents. I remember hugging and kissing them, not wanting to leave. But I understood our situation, and after each visit I returned to live with Florent and Suzanne. Being able to see my parents during the war gave me tremendous strength and hope – it was something extraordinary, something I will never forget.
Toward the end of the war, the hairdresser decided to desert the German army and told my parents that they should leave the attic. It was already near the end of the war, and fortunately, they survived until liberation.
My parents and I were among the lucky ones. We survived. But almost everyone else in our extended family did not.
Nearly all of my parents’ relatives were murdered in the Holocaust.
After the war, I think I became more connected to being Jewish – not in a religious sense, but in a cultural and emotional way. I realized that I am part of a great people and a rich tradition, and I am proud to belong to it.
Do I believe in God?
I’d like to say yes – faith was part of my upbringing.
But after all that I’ve seen and lived through, I can’t be certain.
Faith, for me, is complicated.
My parents and I were incredibly fortunate.
Most of our family was not.
Luck is a very fragile thing.”