In some ways I feel like he and I share something particularly special, as if I had been living my whole life as an island in a sea of strangers and now, finally, after more than 40 years, there is someone else there with me.
I look at him and see my face in his, and that is such a novel idea for me. But of my two little boys, the younger one is my biological child, and I cannot deny that there is something - a bond of blood - that is hard to quantify but nonetheless real. I have no idea who my birth parents are or were, and even if I did, I don’t know if I’d feel a connection to THEIR ancestors either. I’m an adopted child, and while I regard my adoptive parents and associated close family as my “real” family, I don’t feel the same connection with previous generations down that line that most people probably would. On another note, I find the idea of researching family history both fascinating and alien at the same time. I’ve heard it said that “there’s nothing sadder than the words ‘It might have been …’.” I instantly see my own little boys in my head and think of how bereft I would feel without them - and the incredibly sad thought of potential ever unfulfilled. Ever since I’ve become a dad, it makes me extremely uncomfortable to hear of bad things (whether accidental or intentional) befalling children. People down the line may appreciate it in ways you can’t anticipate now.Ī very interesting entry with such a tragic component. Without the snapshot, that vital information would be lost forever. Perhaps people who don’t know my family members aren’t familiar with it, but there’s a Beem family face that’s unmistakable and these children have it. You cannot ignore the photograph, though. Like so many things with text, it lacks expression and tone. If someone hadn’t taken these snapshots, I’d have nothing but names on paper to connect Abraham and Eva Beem to my own family. However, a case like this reminds me that it’s not so terrible if a photograph is just a document. I still believe that’s true and it’s what I strive to accomplish with my photography. With a snapshot, you’re just documenting someone.Ī portrait reveals character, interest and art. We’re always talking about photography as an art and I really do think that’s important. Many photographers, myself included, tend to dismiss snapshots. The photograph tells me everything I need to know that the connection is real. On the other hand, I don’t feel that I have to prove it in writing now. As I mentioned, I’m having a hard time establishing the link to Michael Beem, which would seem necessary to establish a line down to the Dutch Beem family. I may not be able to prove the link in our families. It makes me wonder if there was a split before part of the family moved to America, or if the difference came from other issues. For one thing, I’ve never heard any mention of our family being Jewish. It also raises some questions for my own history. I’m in a very different line of the family, but the images make me feel close to people who were long past before I was ever born. Our family photographs, even snapshots, may have impact on someone else in the future.
Yes, our common family name tells me that there’s likely a connection, but actually seeing someone with those family features drives the story home for me. I wouldn’t have this connection had it not been for the photographs. It’s no different than looking in the mirror and seeing parts of my father in the reflection.
#Abraham beem parents full
The book my Aunt Dorothy sent is full of family photos and it’s not hard to pick out the folks with a Beem family gene compared to their other loved ones in the images. I look at these two children and I instantly see family features. The Photo Says What Words Can Never Tell You The part that drives this home is the photograph. Had it just been a story with the name “Beem”, I would’ve been intrigued. The difference is that I’ve always read them before as an outsider, looking in at someone else’s story.įor the first time, I’ve come across a Holocaust story that very likely has a connection to my own family. I’ve always had an interest in history and have read numerous reports just like this one. Their story, like so many others during the war, is tragic and heartbreaking. The Death of Abraham and Eva BeemĪbraham and Eva Beem were murdered in Auschwitz on 6 March, 1944. They claimed they weren’t Jewish, so the police forced young Abraham Beem to undress and his penis gave him away. One night, police came to arrest the children and their foster parents. The Germans paid rewards to people who turned in Jews. It worked for a couple of years until they were betrayed.
Their parents, Hartog & Rosetta Beem went into hiding and sent their children to Christian friends to live under assumed names. Abraham and Eva Beem lived in The Netherlands, children of parents who were active in the Jewish community.
0 kommentar(er)
