“Herman Koster, thirty years old. Herman Koster, fifty-six years old. Herman Koster, eight years old.” The names sound one by one from the loudspeakers placed everywhere on the grounds of the former Westerbork camp. It is pitch dark, the remains of the camp and the national monument are highlighted and one name after another can be heard.
In the middle of the night, different people take turns reading names in a tent. It is two and a half days after reading the first name. More than fifty thousand names and ages have already been read out in recent days and nights. And the readers are only half way there.
For six days, the names of the more than 100,000 Jews, Sinti and Roma who were persecuted, deported and murdered during the Holocaust are read out. Tonight there are several relatives who read out the names of their relatives and also name them.
Sisters Mary Anne and Annelies Koster both read the names of their relatives. “Abraham Salomon Koster, my grandfather, fifty-six years old,” says granddaughter Annelies with an audible lump in her throat. “This makes me emotional,” she says afterwards. She deliberately says that it is about her grandfather, her uncle and her cousin. “I think that is important for myself, but also for the people who listen to it. These are not just names, they are people. People who have been murdered. And that also happened to my family.”
The names of their grandmother and two of their father’s brothers are read by Mary Anne. “I find this very special. Five years ago I was here too. Then I read the names of my grandfather and cousin and uncle. Now I was a little further in the alphabet and I was allowed to read these names. Gradually I have learned almost the entire family.” She thinks it is important that all names are read out every five years. “It is a Jewish tradition. As long as your name is mentioned, you continue to read aloud. That is the only reason why it is good that we do this. But also because it should not be forgotten.”
The two sisters are followed by a group of families who belong to the shul (Jewish name for synagogue) in Elburg. They all take turns reading names and ages for more than an hour. Then it is Gretha Boels’ turn. She came to Westerbork with her daughter. “It is so special to do this in the middle of the night. Just when you drive up and see the illuminated barbed wire at the entrance, I think it is very impressive.”
On Monday afternoon around half past three, the last names will be read by Holocaust survivor Hans Peeper. “Heinrich Zysmanowicz, nineteen years old” will be the last sound to be heard across the grounds.