Letter to relatives in the US

Barbera wrote this letter to family members in the United States on october 16^th 1945:

“It’s quite a decision to write to you now. You will understand how difficult it is once you hear the story of what happened to my parents and to me. Perhaps Aunt Tilly has already written about it, I hope so.

We all got through things fairly well until May ’43, when there was the big roundup in the city center, and friends helped me to go into hiding. My parents were not very enthusiastic about that, because they thought that if I were caught, it would be dangerous for them. But my friends said the time had come, so I rented a room in a boarding house where the people knew nothing about me, just like any other lodger, and I had a false identity card.
In June things were fairly quiet, and I went home for Pentecost, just for the coziness.
And exactly that Sunday, June 20, it happened. We were warned at seven o’clock. Mother called me and said I had to leave. I grabbed a small bag and went out into the street. The weather was beautiful. Everything was calm, and I just walked for a while, not knowing where to go.
Suddenly shouting, commotion, cars with loudspeakers: All Jews must prepare themselves; Aryans are not allowed to leave their houses! There I was, walking in the street, and suddenly I thought I might as well go back to my room. I walked a bit further and suddenly stood before a line of green soldiers, I had reached the border. It was the Hobbemakade; the canal formed a natural boundary, and on every bridge stood the Greens (German Ordnungspolizei).
I believe the dear Lord helped me that day. See map.
At the first three bridges things went badly, they didn’t believe the little stories I made up to explain how I had come from this side of the bridge, and each time they sent me on to the next bridge. Finally, at the last one, I began to cry from fear and said that I had to go to my mother. They asked where she was, and I said, ‘over there,’ and pointed across the water. Then they said, ‘Go on then.’
I can still feel the sensation in my head, the dizziness as I walked across the bridge, free to go wherever I wanted. A strange, light feeling in my head, and dizzy, I went to my friends, who were still asleep and knew nothing. That day we tried everything we could for my parents. They had a hiding place in the house that Mother had made, but they wouldn’t use it. I called them and begged them at least to put Suusje inside; I said I would come and get her. But no, she left, and later I received long, strong letters from her and my parents from Westerbork.
They had it relatively good there, as far as food went, because I sent enormous amounts of parcels during the nine months they were there. In January ’44 they were sent further, and I have heard nothing from them until today.
I’ve done all right for the rest of the time. Only the loneliness was often very hard, and at eighteen having always to act like a grown-up in such a difficult time wasn’t easy.
At the moment I work in a ballet company, for I’ve become a dancer, and I earn some money. We perform all over the country, and it’s pleasant work.
Food is not too bad here right now, only I do miss those little extras that make life a bit nicer.
Dear Uncle Bep, Father told me you still have something of his for me. I need a few things now, and you would help me very much if you could send some of what I ask for. I have no idea what you can or cannot get there, and perhaps you’ll laugh at some of the things I mention.
Something everyone here needs is shoes, stockings, and socks, especially the last, which I really need. My size here is 36½–37. Also a warm dress for winter. I wear the smallest ladies’ size or size 40. For food, I would love some jam, if possible, some cocoa or coffee, chocolate, and sweets—things we don’t have here.
Auntie Rootje, also some night cream, a toothbrush, toothpaste. For my face I need all sorts of things; mine is a mess from the rubbish they sell here. The simplest items are no. 5 and 3, young red, green, and purple for above the eyes (those little tubes of makeup, you know?), also black rimmel, black eyeliner, and rouge (red and orange), all from Max Factor; they say he’s the man for such things in America now.
For my work I also need pointe shoes, those with the hard tips, you can find them in special ballet shops—and soft ballet shoes, and a light tricot leotard. Wool for knitting, black, dark blue, brown. And matches!
Dear Aunt Rootje, I just write everything down, and if any of it is even a little difficult for you to get, please don’t do it. I’m sorry to trouble you so much.
From Aunt Tilly I already heard a bit about how you’re doing, but I’d like to know everything precisely, and I’d love to hear something about Ekkie and Lex too. They must have grown into such lovely children. Sorry, Ekkie—you are a lady, of course! I heard Uncle Bep on the radio during the war (I realized afterward it was him). I often thought how wise you were to have gone away, and how wonderfully calm and safe you all must have been there.
Could you please send my regards to the Blumenfelds? I’d love to hear from them, but I don’t know their address to write first. I saw a photo of Uncle Erwin in the first Picture Post that appeared here again. It was a real little work of art.

Goodbye, all of you, I hope to hear from you soon, and in advance my heartfelt thanks for all the trouble you are taking for me.”

Yours,

Barbara

Barbara Ledermann
p/a Viruly
Koningslaan 14
A'dam

Who are these people who are mentioned in this letter?
Aunt Ro (Rosa Citroen).
Uncle Bep (Bernard Person).
Aunt Tilly (Mathilde Citroen-Weijermann?)
Ekkie (Elke Person, daughter of Rosa and Bernard).
Lex (Lex Person, son of Rosa and Bernard).
Family Blumenfeld (Lena Citroen married Erwin Blumenfeld).