Features
New book tells story of incredible courage shown by two Dutch Jewish sisters during World War II

Reviewed by BERNIE BELLAN In early August we received an email from a publicist for HarperCollins by the name of Rebecca Silver, who’s sent us interesting books to consider reviewing in the past.
Here’s how Rebecca’s email read:
Hi Bernie,
Roxane van Iperen did not know what she would eventually uncover in her home after she moved in, but later discovered it was once known as the High Nest and became enthralled with the inspiring story of its former occupants. As she unearthed the history behind her own walls, she learned it was a safehouse for Jews in the Nazi-occupied Netherlands. From then on, van Iperen was determined to explore its hidden corners and found she had unprecedented access to two sisters’ personal archives to create this remarkable work of narrative non-fiction.
The High Nest was one of Holland’s most daring rescue operations conducted by Jews for Jews. Through her excavation, she learned the story of two sisters, Janny and Lien Brilleslijper, who joined the Dutch Resistance, helped save dozens of lives, were captured by the Nazis, and ultimately survived the Holocaust. Through renovating her home, the sisters’ ingenuity and drive to survive was exposed by double walls, secret doors, and walled-off annexes that were so well concealed they were left undetected for decades.
Originally published in The Netherlands as The High Nest, the book was awarded the 2019 Opzij Literature Prize, an annual Dutch award given to female authors whose work has contributed to the emancipation, evolution, and awareness of women. Janny and Lien’s story is a remarkable story of resistance, strength, and determination — one you must read to believe.
All the best,
Rebecca
Included with Rebecca’s email was the following synopsis of the book: Eight months after Germany’s invasion of Poland, the Nazis roll into The Netherlands, expanding their reign of brutality to the Dutch. But by the Winter of 1943, resistance is growing. Among those fighting their brutal Nazi occupiers are two Jewish sisters, Janny and Lien Brilleslijper from Amsterdam. Risking arrest and death, the sisters help save others, sheltering them in a clandestine safehouse in the woods, they called “The High Nest.”
This secret refuge would become one of the most important Jewish safehouses in the country, serving as a hiding place and underground center for resistance partisans as well as artists condemned by Hitler. From The High Nest, an underground web of artists arises, giving hope and light to those living in terror in Holland as they begin to restore the dazzling pre-war life of Amsterdam and The Hague.
When the house and its occupants are eventually betrayed, the most terrifying time of the sisters’ lives begins. As Allied troops close in, the Brilleslijper family are rushed onto the last train to Auschwitz, along with Anne Frank and her family. The journey will bring Janny and Lien close to Anne and her older sister Margot. The days ahead will test the sisters beyond human imagination as they are stripped of everything but their courage, their resilience, and their love for each other.
Based on meticulous research and unprecedented access to the Brilleslijpers’ personal archives of memoirs and photos, The Sisters of Auschwitz is a long-overdue homage to two young women’s heroism and moral bravery—and a reminder of the power each of us has to change the world.
Author bio: Roxane van Iperen is a Dutch writer and lawyer who resides in the countryside east of Amsterdam, in a home known as “The High Nest” which was once the center for one of Holland’s most daring rescue operations conducted by Jews for Jews. She was shortlisted for the biggest public prize in Holland, NS Publieksprijs’ Book of the Year.
Now for my review of “The Sisters of Auschwitz”: The information I’ve quoted verbatim from Rebecca Silver’s email gives as complete an idea what the book is about as one might like. The question with which I want to deal is whether I would recommend this book.
It was a year ago precisely that I wrote about a book that was also based on documents that had been found hidden for years and which opened up an entirely different perspective on certain facets of the Second World War. That book was titled “The S.S. Officer’s Armchair – Uncovering the Hidden Life of a Nazi”. (You can read my review by entering the word “armchair” on our website when you click on “search archives”.)
Of course, there’s a world of difference in reading about a hitherto undisclosed account of what life was like for an S.S officer in contrast with the lives of two Jewish sisters (and their families), but the comparison is fair to make because, in both cases, through a combination of luck and great diligence, the authors of the two respective books were able to piece together their subjects’ lives.
As I made my way through “The Sisters of Auschwitz”, knowing that the two sisters who are at the heart of this book actually survived Auschwitz did not detract from the suspense that the author builds in telling the story. Every Holocaust survivor has their own unique story to tell, but it’s in the telling of the story that the great books separate themselves from the more mediocre ones. And, as is evidenced by author Roxanne van Iperen having been shortlisted for Holland’s most prestigious literary award, this book is not just a fine piece of reporting what the author discovered, it’s very wonderfully written.
Rebecca Silver’s email tells you about as much as you need to know about the story that was unearthed by van Iperen’s having had the good fortune to have lived in the house – the “High Nest”, which became the hiding place for Janny and Lien Brilleslijper, along with a great many other Jews, for a good part of World War II. What the author also does so well is describe the terrible fate that befell so many of Holland’s Jews during the Holocaust, when almost 75% of the Jewish population was exterminated, either by being murdered in Holland, sent to labour camps where they perished from exhaustion and hunger, or finally were gassed in death camps, particularly Auschwitz.
I’ve read before how so many Dutch citizens cooperated fully with the Nazis. It still comes as a shock to contemplate that fact because we’ve come to regard Holland as such a liberal state, which for the longest time was thought of as a mecca for those in pursuit of sex and drugs. But when you realize that 76,000 Dutch Jews were sent to their deaths, in no small part because so few Dutch gentiles were willing to come to their aid, it certainly leaves a different impression of the Dutch for Jews who might have thought of the Dutch as being active resisters to the Nazis. Sure, there were many brave souls in the Dutch resistance, but the Nazis were as comfortable in Holland as any Western European country, where they found many Dutch who were all too willing not only to work for the Nazi regime, but who were as cruel as many Nazis in carrying out their duties.
That’s not the major theme of “The Sisters of Auschwitz”, but as you read of Janny and Lien’s constant worry about being betrayed during the fairly long period in which they were able to avoid being detected by Nazi hunters, who were primarily Dutch citizens – zealous in their pursuit of Jews, it’s hard not to wonder whether there was a much deeper anti-Semitism engrained within the Dutch than perhaps we’ve thought.
While the first half of “The Sisters of Auschwitz” deals with Janny and Lien’s being able to hide from the Nazis, also their active involvement in the Dutch resistance, once the storyline moves from Holland to the sisters’ (along with their younger brother and both parents) being transported to Auschwitz, the book becomes nothing less than an outright horror story.
Before Janny was captured, by the way, she was in hiding in Amsterdam, along with her non-Jewish husband, Eberhard, where they were both quite active in the resistance. Once she is captured –and tortured, however, how she manages to endure the horrors that are subsequently thrust upon her is a testament to this woman’s utter resilience. While Lein is brave, nothing compares to Janny’s determination to carry on, no matter how many times you might think to yourself: “Why didn’t she just give up and let herself die?”
Whether it was being starved, beaten, or forced to spend hours naked outside in freezing temperatures, Janny not only managed to endure, her incredible willpower also enabled her to keep Lein alive at the same time – many times when Lein was ready to give up.
What might come as the greatest surprise to readers moreover, is the introduction of the Frank family into the story: father Otto, mother Edith, and sisters Margot and Anne. I was always under the impression that Anne Frank died in Auschwitz, but I was wrong; she died in Bergen Belsen, along with her sister Margot. If the details given in “The Sisters of Auschwitz” are accurate, the fact that Margot and Anne even made it as far as Bergen Belsen after having been in Auschwitz is largely due to the care that was given to both of them by Janny and Lein when both Frank sisters were suffering from typhus in Auschwitz.
As much as this book is a compelling read, I admit that I had a hard time with the many foreign names in the book. There are so many different characters introduced – and that is largely a reflection of just how many different Jews the two sisters were able to hide in the “High Nest” at one time or another, that it became quite confusing for me, as did the names of the sisters’ children. Still, I’m sure that if you concentrate on trying to remember who is who (and I’m terrible at that), it will all come together for you.
Just as reading “The S.S. Officer’s Armchair”, which was published in 2020, enabled an entirely new understanding of what life must have been like for an ordinary Nazi official – 75 years after that particular individual likely died, reading “The Sisters of Auschwitz” also opens up an insight into how some Jews were able to endure the tortures inflicted upon by them by the Nazis that, were it not for a quirk of fate, would also have remained undisclosed.
“The Sisters of Auschwitz”
By Roxane van Iperen
320 pages
Published by HarperCollins
Released for sale August 31, 2021
Available on Amazon
Features
I Speak “Jew”

By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”
That’s all.
Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967
He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project
Features
At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence

By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact. A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store. He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls. “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.) “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says. We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s. After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William. The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales. “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says. “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods. “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods. The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete. I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage. Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed. She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly.
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene. For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century. Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.
Features
Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco

By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier. She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego. When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape. They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places.
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom Toledano’s first language. The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world.
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country. His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano. His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele. He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.