“If I knew that the world would end tomorrow, I would still plant a tree today”

The focus of the evening was Eva Erben, 95 years old, one of the last surviving witnesses of the Shoah. As part of a Zikaron BaSalon—a format that deliberately focuses on personal conversations—she shared her story.
The evening was opened by Uriel Kashi, the country representative of Action Reconciliation Service for Peace in Israel, and Ralf Melzer, the director of the Friedrich Ebert Foundation Israel, who jointly organized the event. Kashi began by noting that organizers had been unsure beforehand whether there would be sufficient interest in a German-language Zikaron evening. The packed room proved otherwise: the interest is there.

Following a brief musical introduction by three students from Jerusalem’s Akademia leMusika, the conversation with Eva Erben began, weaving together memories and questions. She spoke calmly and clearly—yet so vividly that she drew the audience step by step into her story.

Eva began with her childhood in what was then Czechoslovakia. She described growing up in a well-established Jewish family that saw itself as fully part of Czech society. Life, she recalled, had been shaped by education, music, and cultural openness. “Life smelled of flowers and music,” she said.

Then came the rupture. Gradually, her world began to change. At first, she explained, her family did not take political developments seriously and believed that the existing order would endure. One moment remained particularly vivid: standing in front of an ice cream shop and noticing a sign stating that Jews were no longer allowed to enter. She went in anyway and was served – but from that point on, everyday life changed fundamentally.

In December 1941, her family was deported to Theresienstadt. She described this moment as a profound turning point: the loss of a familiar world and the realization that parents could no longer offer protection. “We suddenly understood that our parents were powerless,” she said.

At the same time, she recalled another side of life in the ghetto. Theresienstadt, she explained, was home to intellectuals, artists, and academics. Education, cultural life, and theater played an important role. She herself performed in the children’s opera Brundibár. “We were actors. We were something,” she said. For her, the character of Brundibár symbolized Hitler – making it all the more meaningful that, in the end, the children defeat him together.

In 1944, she was deported to Auschwitz. She described the arrival as chaotic and filled with fear. Her mother, looking through a crack in the cattle car, immediately understood that this was a place of imprisonment. There was smoke and a sweet, unfamiliar smell in the air – only later did she realize what it meant. A woman who had already been in Auschwitz advised her to say she was 18 during the selection – a decision that likely saved her life. She remembered not the face of the man making the decisions, but “his boots.”

After a short time, she was transferred to forced labor in a subcamp. Toward the end of the war, she was forced onto a death march. Cold, hunger, and exhaustion defined daily life, and many of the women who set out with her did not survive.

One night, the group stayed in a barn. The smell of animals and manure, she recalled, was almost unbearable. The next morning, the column moved on – but she remained behind, unnoticed. This moment became the turning point of her survival. It is also the origin of the title of her autobiography: “They Forgot Me.”

After several days of wandering, she was taken in, hidden, and cared for by a Czech family.

After the war, she lived in a Jewish orphanage in Prague, where she met other survivors and began to reflect on her future. Many hoped to remain in Czechoslovakia, but political developments and renewed antisemitism made this increasingly uncertain.

Eventually, she decided to emigrate to the newly founded State of Israel. At that time, she was already pregnant. She described the journey by ship vividly: as they approached Haifa, the constant noise of the engines suddenly gave way to silence. Her husband turned to her and said: “We will build a house there. And we will have children. They will not know what we went through.”

In Israel, she began a new life under very modest conditions. At first, they lived in a simple wooden structure without electricity or running water. She had to fetch water herself, and food was scarce. Later, they built their own house – mostly out of concrete, as bricks were too expensive. “My whole house is a bunker,” she said with a smile.

For many years, she did not speak about her experiences. That changed in 1979, when her son, during a school commemoration, told his teacher that his mother had been there and could speak. She was invited into the classroom. Not knowing how to begin with ten-year-old children, she started by speaking about her childhood. From that moment on, she began to share her story more widely – and eventually wrote her book.

What made the evening so powerful was not only the story itself, but the way it was told. Again and again, Eva Erben brought the audience to laughter with dry remarks. At the same time, she connected her past to the present. She spoke about the current situation in Israel, expressed clear criticism of the government, but also of what she described as one-sided and unfair international reporting. Her message was clear: look more closely, think more carefully, and avoid oversimplification.

For Action Reconciliation Service for Peace, this evening was more than an event. It was a reminder of how vital personal encounters with Holocaust survivors are – especially now, as these opportunities are becoming increasingly rare.

We thank Eva Erben for her openness, her clarity, and her strength.

The full conversation was recorded and can be viewed on YouTube: