In April 2005, Buddy and Gerti Elias, my husband Tony and I were sitting in a restaurant in Camden, north London having dinner. We had not seen Buddy and Gerti for well over a year, during which time they had suffered a shocking and traumatic experience, the memory of which, several months later, was still etched deeply in Buddy’s face and demeanour. As an actor internationally known for his comic timing and skills, even in his late seventies Buddy Elias had continued to carry a youthful appearance, with his good looks and joviality defying his age. But on that evening in London we were shocked to see that he seemed to have aged at least ten years since we had last seen him – his eyes sunken and his skin pale. As our dinner progressed we learnt of the horrific trauma the couple had so recently been through, in which they had had to run for their lives over a distance of three miles. Despite Buddy’s distance from the Holocaust’s terrors by living in Switzerland, the vicissitudes of life were eventually to deal a terrible blow one day after Christmas of 2004.
Buddy and Gerti were spending an idyllic winter holiday in Sri Lanka. On the morning of 26 December, just a few minutes after breakfast and a pleasant conversation with a French woman staying at the hotel, Buddy and Gerti separated as Gerti had booked a reviving massage. This was the morning the Boxing Day tsunami hit the coast of Sri Lanka, having travelled across the Andaman Sea from Indonesia, the epicentre of the earthquake that caused it. Gerti was enjoying the spa and Buddy was in their room, when they heard frantic shouting and screaming. They were each, independently, ordered to run for their lives in the clothes they were wearing: Buddy in his bathing shorts and Gerti in a bathrobe. In the melee of terrified people running inland, it was in fact several hours before the couple were reunited, both believing each had been drowned. Buddy told us they had each run non-stop for three miles – an incredible feat for a man of nearly 80 and a woman of 71. They learned that their French woman companion at breakfast that morning had not been so lucky and had been swept away. Still without clothing, Buddy and Gerti were flown to safety in Colombo, where they were looked after by the Swiss Consulate, and despite the loss of their passports were repatriated to Switzerland.
I had been speaking to Buddy by phone at fairly regular intervals since 1991 (emails were not yet a way of communication then) as he and Gerti were members of the Board of the Anne Frank-Fonds. I recall one dramatic phone conversation with Buddy. He called me immediately after Jon Blair had given him and Gerti a private screening of the feature-length documentary Anne Frank Remembered. Buddy was so enthused he almost shouted down the phone, ‘Gillian, everyone must see this film!!’ He reiterated to me, ‘They have to see this film!! It is wonderful.’ He then thanked me for bringing the amazing talent of Jon Blair into the fold (I had initiated the documentary in 1994 and in 1996 had the thrill of joining Jon and Miep Gies at the Academy Awards ceremony in Hollywood).
Buddy and his brother Stephan had both joined the Board on the Fonds’ inception by Otto Frank in 1963 and Otto was excited to have his nephews involved. In those early years Buddy’s constant travelling precluded him from taking an active role, but his involvement grew as he got older. In August 1980 Stephan Elias died at the relatively young age of 58 from jaundice which had turned into a lethal sepsis. The Elias/Frank families were dealt a double blow as Stephan’s death came just four days after that of Otto Frank.
In 1991, I was viewed by the Anne Frank-Fonds with a degree of suspicion – an unknown woman from a strange English place called Dorset who had allowed a set of T-shirts to be created with a logo that contained the words ‘Anne Frank’. Unlike some of the notorious Anne Frank-branded goods that had been produced in the Far East, our T-shirts were not for any commercial gain. In July 1992 our fledgling charity had taken part in a charity walk to raise awareness and some much-needed funds. All the participating charities were invited to wear distinguishing clothing, i.e. a baseball cap or T-shirt, and we had printed the name Anne Frank Educational Trust and our eye catching yellow steps logo on the top right-hand side of the T-shirt. The President of the Anne Frank-Fonds in the early 1990s was a man called Vincent Frank-Steiner (no relation to the Frank family) and he was dogmatic in his view of the protection of Anne’s name. I am not sure how our T-shirts (printed in a limited edition of ten items for the charity walkers) came to Vincent’s attention, but a few days after the walk, I received a call from him. In no uncertain terms he instructed me to send EVERY single printed T-shirt to Switzerland immediately so they could be inspected. ‘But Vincent,’ I stuttered, ‘They have been worn for a long summer walk – can I at least have a chance to wash them?’ No, they must be packed up and sent that very day, came the further instruction. So ten sweaty T-shirts were duly packed into a padded envelope and sent off to Switzerland, where several days later Vincent Frank-Steiner appeared on Swiss TV displaying the T-shirts as an example of the misappropriation of Anne Frank’s name! Buddy had no such irrational dogma, and though a great defender of the memory of his cousin Anne and Uncle Otto, years later we came to laugh about the story of the T-shirts. Vincent Frank-Steiner left the Anne Frank-Fonds in 1996 and Buddy appropriately took over as President. Like his Uncle Otto before him, Buddy’s later life was devoted to spreading the ideals of Anne and Otto Frank, and combatting the evils of prejudice and hatred.
A call to Buddy in Switzerland usually involved Gerti taking part on an extension. I particularly recall one ‘Elias conference call’. It was 1998 and Buddy had recently taken over his new role as President of the foundation. I had submitted an application for a grant from the Fonds to tour an Anne Frank exhibition to British university campuses. Optimistically, and I thought unrealistically, I had sent them a shopping list of the entire budget I would need to create, launch and keep the exhibition touring campuses for a full two years. The exhibition I planned would have an extra section on ‘Students in the Third Reich,’ with panels showing the persecution of Jewish and anti-Nazi professors and explaining how young German university students were often enthusiastic supporters of Nazism (seeing it as an exciting anti-bourgeois movement) and committers of the notorious book burnings. The ancillary exhibition, accompanying the story of Anne Frank, would remind students of their responsibility towards democracy.
I picked up the call to hear Buddy tell me that the Fonds would certainly fund the creation of the exhibition, for which I thanked him profusely. Then Gerti’s voice informed me that they would also fund the launch of the new exhibition at University College London. Back to Buddy who told me they would fund the cost of bringing over a volunteer from the German volunteer organization Action Reconciliation Service for Peace to tour with and manage the exhibition for two years. And then to Gerti who told me they would fund the insurance, marketing and transportation of the exhibition. And thus it continued until the entire budget had been covered. The sum was not insignificant and they were as delighted as I was.
Buddy and Gerti were in London again in February 2011 for the British launch of the book Treasures from the Attic, a 400-page compilation of thousands of letters, photographs and memoirs of the Frank family dating back to Anne Frank’s great-great-great-grandparents Juda Nathan and Gutta Cahn who lived in the Frankfurt Jewish ghetto in the eighteenth century. The cache was only discovered when Gerti was clearing the attic of the family house in Basel. Together with the German biographer of Anne Frank, Mirjam Pressler, Gerti edited and transcribed the documents over a period of over two years. What is so fascinating about this engrossing family saga recorded in the book is that it shows how Annelies Marie Frank actually came from a long line of family members who were descriptive and enthusiastic writers – and how much the skill of writing was in the young diarist’s DNA.
At a London book festival, I chaired the session where Buddy and Gerti described the process of collating the material, as well of course of Buddy’s memories of his two lost cousins. At the end of the session an elderly woman stood up from the audience and explained how she had been a school friend of Margot’s until her own family were
able to flee to England in the mid-1930s. Buddy and Gerti went over and made a great fuss of her.
The following year I saw Buddy again but this time it was not in the flesh. I was on holiday in Norway and was flicking through the TV channels looking for an English language station. A German language movie appeared and, before I had a chance to flick the channel over, a very familiar face appeared on screen. It was Buddy. I can’t recall what the film was about, I think it may have been a murder mystery, but I was riveted nonetheless. I was also wondering how many people who saw the movie, or indeed had laughed out loud many years earlier at the crazy antics of the clowning on ice duo of ‘Buddy and Baddy’, had realized they were watching the beloved first cousin, playmate and hero of Anne Frank.
Chapter 18
Anne Frank and Daniel Pearl
Daniel Pearl was an idealistic young American journalist who was murdered by al-Qaeda in Pakistan in 2002. I was fortunate to know him. It was in January 1997 and he was researching a story for his newspaper, the Wall Street Journal. He called me early in the morning requesting an interview with me concerning a rumour he had heard regarding a dispute that erupted between the two Anne Frank organizations in the Netherlands and Switzerland over the use of trademarks. He was incredulous that the two Anne Frank organizations set up with such good intent by Otto Frank could not see eye-to-eye.
The young American man rang my doorbell on a dark January night in 1997. He parked his dripping umbrella considerately outside the front door, came inside, removed his navy blue preppy-style raincoat and sat himself down on my lounge sofa. He asked me to call him Danny and we spoke for an hour over coffee. I deflected his probing about the trademark issues that had blown up between the two Anne Frank organizations by speaking about Anne Frank’s true legacy. He was intrigued by the educational work the Anne Frank Trust was doing in the name of a talented writer killed so tragically young and brutally. I shudder when I think that on that evening Danny was not to know that in just a few years there would be educational work done in his memory too.
Danny Pearl followed up our meeting with several phone calls to verify some of the things we had discussed. I also arranged for him to interview Eva Schloss at her home in London and Hans Westra, Director of the Anne Frank House, in Amsterdam. I subsequently read the article filed by Danny, and found it very fair, without sensationalizing what was a delicate situation.
I thought no more about this encounter until the publicity surrounding the shock execution of the young American Wall Street journalist Daniel Pearl in Pakistan in February 2002. The terrified young hostage whose photo was flashed around the world after his capture, sitting on the bare floor dressed in a pink shell suit with his wrists in handcuffs and a gun pointing at his head, bore so little resemblance to the affable, intellectual young man in a suit, tie and navy raincoat who had visited my London home that I didn’t make any connection between the two. That was until I opened The Times newspaper the morning after the news broke of his murder.
The obituary photo showed a familiar face, with round glasses and in suit and tie. I then read that Daniel Pearl had worked for two years in London between 1996 and 1998 as Wall Street Journal Bureau Chief. In a frenzied mission I looked back through the Anne Frank Trust’s press archive and found the piece – published on 30 January 1997, and filed by ‘Staff Reporter Daniel Pearl.’
Following his posting in London, Danny had gone on to Mumbai as the Wall Street Journal’s South East Asia Bureau Chief. Five months after the 9/11 attacks, in February 2002, he went to Karachi in Pakistan to follow up a lead to an al-Qaeda suspect called Mubarak Ali Gulani, who was supposedly connected to the ‘shoe bomber’ Richard Reid. Danny never arrived at the meeting. On his way to the café rendezvous, he was abducted by a militant group.
Just two days before his abduction, Danny had learned that his Parisian-born wife Mariane was expecting a baby boy. Thrilled by this news, he told her of his choice of name for his son, Adam. In May 2002, three months after Danny’s murder, Mariane Pearl gave birth to Adam. She went on to write a book about her husband, A Mighty Heart, which was turned into a movie starring Angelina Jolie as Mariane. Mariane channelled her intense grief into bringing up her son and tackling important causes through her journalism and writing, for which she has won many awards.
On 10 March 2007, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, an alleged al-Qaeda operative who was reported to be third in command under Osama bin Laden, claimed responsibility for the murder of Daniel Pearl. In a confession read during his Tribunal hearing, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed said ‘I decapitated with my blessed right hand the head of the American Jew Daniel Pearl, in the city of Karachi, Pakistan.’
Danny’s parents Judea and Ruth Pearl set up a foundation in Los Angeles in their son’s memory. The aims of the Daniel Pearl Foundation are to promote cross-cultural dialogue and understanding, to counter cultural and religious intolerance, to cultivate responsible and balanced journalism, and to inspire unity and friendship through music. My admiration for this family was huge, but I never suspected my path would cross again with the Pearl family, especially as Danny’s parents were in LA and his widow Mariane and son were living in Barcelona.
In 2014, I attended the Global Conference on Sexual Violence against Women held in London. Angelina Jolie (soon to become a Dame) and our then Foreign Secretary William Hague were co-chairs of the conference and had kindly agreed to sign the Anne Frank Declaration together. When the Anne Frank Trust’s chairman Daniel Mendoza and I entered the room where the signing was to take place, William and Angelina were already sitting at the table with the Anne Frank Declaration placed in front of them, beaming widely and with pens at the ready. The two clearly had a great rapport.
Angelina was as beautiful in real life as she is on the screen. I gave her a copy of the credit card-size version of the Declaration she had just signed, and asked her, as I do to all signers, to keep it in her wallet as a reminder of what she had just signed. She asked me for more copies for her six children and told me that as they were all being home-schooled, she would ensure they learned about Anne Frank.
At the end of our warm and friendly chat, I mentioned to Angelina that I had known Danny Pearl. ‘But Mariane is here at this conference. I must get you two together,’ she said. Angelina asked me for my business card, passed it to her assistant and within two hours Mariane had emailed me. Due to conflicting commitments on both our sides, Mariane and I didn’t actually get to meet that week, but we spoke on the phone.
Seven months later Mariane Pearl and I did get to meet. Mariane was the worthy recipient of the 2015 Anne Frank Award for Moral Courage, presented to her at our annual lunch to mark Holocaust Memorial Day. She flew from Barcelona to London to receive it. In her acceptance speech, as well as speaking about Danny, Mariane Pearl, born Mariane van Neyenhoff, told the 600-strong audience how her family had their own ‘Anne Frank experience’. Mariane’s grandfather was a Dutch diamond merchant and she had only recently discovered that her aunt had also been hidden from the Nazis in Amsterdam.
I often think of the young man in the navy-blue raincoat who came to my home on that dark winter night. I think of his loneliness and fear in those days of captivity and his last moments, when he knew his imminent fate. Danny refused the sedative offered to him before these animals who masquerade as human beings took a knife to his throat. He read out to camera the propaganda statement written for him by his captors, giving clues to the world that this was obviously not written by him, but preceded this with the words, ‘My name is Daniel Pearl. I’m a Jewish American from Encino, California, USA. On my father’s side the family is Zionist. My father’s Jewish, my mother’s Jewish, I’m Jewish. My family follows Judaism. We’ve made numerous family visits to Israel.’ Then his throat was cut and his head, with a brain brimming with intelligence, compassion, wisdom and talent, was cut from his body.
Chapter 19
The Anne Frank Declaration
The Anne Frank Declaration was a pledge to heal th
e world written by the Anne Frank Trust in 1998. Its creation and its reception is one of my proudest achievements with the Trust. The words of the Declaration remember and honour all children who were victims of wars, hatred and persecution in the twentieth century, motivating those who sign it to strive for a fairer and more just world for all our children in the coming century. It has been signed by many international statesmen, politicians and civic leaders, social activists, heads of organizations, academic and educational institutions, including Nelson Mandela, Bill Clinton, British Prime Ministers Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, Theresa May and David Cameron, the UN Secretary General Kofi Annan, and more. It has also been signed by some of our best known celebrities including Steven Spielberg, Angelina Jolie, Peter Gabriel, Nile Rodgers and others; but most importantly tens of thousands of young people. This is how it all came about.
For several centuries a horse chestnut tree had been growing in the small garden at the back of 263 Prinsengracht, a typical canalside house that was built by Dirk van Delft in 1635, and where 300 years later Anne Frank was hiding. In her diary, Anne mentions the tree during different seasons of the year and how glimpses of this deciduous tree, in its changes throughout the seasons, had given her comfort and hope. Even on a wintry February morning in 1944, when she and Peter van Pels had climbed the stairs up to the freezing attic, she recorded: ‘The two of us looked out at the blue sky, the bare chestnut tree glistening with dew, the seagulls and other birds glinting with silver as they swooped through the air, and we were so moved and entranced that we couldn’t speak.’ Otto Frank also believed in the redemptive power of trees, once referring to his favourite saying as, ‘If the world were to end tomorrow, I would still plant a tree today.’
The Legacy of Anne Frank Page 26
