A pregnant French woman tortured by German soldiers… But you won’t believe what…

My name is Yanne Vacler. I was 20 years that night, January 1944, some leaves for occupied Alsace. When you are tied between two trees in the middle of at night pregnant at h months with the cold that slices your skin like glass and that a German soldier appears in front you holding a knife. You don’t don’t think about salvation.

You think that the time has come. You close your eyes. You wait for the end. But what happened That night was not the end. It was something that war should never have allowed it. Some something that still haunts me today, 60 years later. No, not like a nightmare, but like the only light who went through hell.

What if I die tomorrow without telling this truth, she will die with me and the name of Matis Keller will disappear as if he had never existed. I was born in Lille in a small stone house where my mother planted lavender and my father repaired clocks. I grew up believing that world had an order, that people respected limits, that cruelty needed a reason.

The war has destroys each of these illusions. In November 1943, at 20 years pregnant and alone, I was torn from my house by German soldiers who did not didn’t even look him in the eye. They have says that women like me are dishonored in the homeland they said that I would be an example. They don’t have me let him kiss my mother.

They didn’t tell me not allowed to take anything. They just pushed me into a truck merchandise with ten other women, most older, some still teenage girls, all with the same terror on the face. The smell of the interior of this truck was that of sweat, urine and despair. No one cried loudly. Fear us had learned to be silent.

They took us to a camp pre-trial detention near Strasbourg. uh a hastily put together structure which did not appear on any official register de la Vertmarthe, a place where rules of the Geneva convention never happened because officially what did not exist. I spent 3 months there 3 months which should have killed me.

The cold was there first torture, a damp cold which entered the waters and never left. We slept in barracks rotten wood, unheated, stacked on top of each other like wood heating. My belly was growing, my body was wasting away. We were eating clear apple soup of earth and turnips once a day, sometimes two if there were leftovers.

The guards treat us like animals fair. He didn’t beat us baby often, but he humiliated us systematically. He forced us to standing for hours in the frozen courtyard. He made us sing German anthems that we do not didn’t know. He laughed when we We stumbled. One of the guards, a blonde woman with light eyes, called Hild, seemed to be enjoying in particular, to point at my stomach and ask out loud where is it? I never responded.

The silence was there the only dignity I had left. At At the beginning, well I prayed. I prayed that my child is born alive, so that I survive long enough to see it breathe, so that something or someone come and get us out of here. But the weeks passed and God seemed too busy with bigger wars. I spent 3 months in this camp near from Strasbourg.

three months who would have who should have killed me. The cold was there first torture, a damp cold, penetrating, which seeped into the bones and never left. We slept in rotten wooden huts, without heating, stacked on top of each other others like firewood. My belly was getting bigger, my body was wasting away. We were eating soup clear of potatoes and turnips per day, sometimes two when there was leftovers.

The guards didn’t beat us not often. They didn’t need it. He systematically humiliated us. Standing for hours in the frozen courtyard, sing German hymns that we don’t didn’t know. Laugh when we We stumbled. He two, the guardian blonde with light eyes, took a particular pleasure in pointing my belly. She asked out loud in front of everyone, “So where is the father? Is he a log or a collaborator?” I never responded.

The silence was the only dignity I had left. At beginning, well I prayed that my child be born alive, so that I survive long enough long time to see him breathe, to Someone come and get us out of here. But the weeks passed and God seemed too busy with bigger ones wars. One night in January, I was lying on the floor of the barracks, feeling my baby moving inside me.

When I heard heavy footsteps outside, the door opened. Two silhouettes blocked the dim lightof the moon. One of them pointed to me and said my number, not my name, number 34. I got up slowly, my neck heavy, my heart beating. The other women looked at me with pity and relief of not being me. We led me out of the barracks to across the yard covered in dirty snow past the interior gates until a wooded area on the edge of the camp.

A place I had never seen. I I didn’t ask for anything. The questions were dangerous. I was pushed in front of two nearby trees. They tied my wrist left to one, right to the other and we pulled the strings until my arms are fully extended. My body suspended between the two trees like a grotesque and pregnant Christ.

The pain in the shoulders was immediate, unsustainable. My stomach weighed like a stone. I tried to put my feet on the ground, but the Snow was deep and slippery. I have breathed deeply, trying not to panic. If you panic, you die. If you scream, they’re going to love you that. Do not don’t give what they want.

I am remained there, suspended, trembling, while that I heard muffled laughter and conversations in German around me. He was in no hurry. He were having fun. One of them spat near my feet, another lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into my direction. I closed my eyes and tried to disconnect from my body. A technique that I had learned during the first weeks.

Imagine that I was elsewhere in the kitchen my mother, listening to the ticking of my father’s clock, smelling fresh bread, but the pain does not not allowed. She was taking me back. I don’t I don’t know how long I stayed there. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. Time loses its meaning when you are suspended between two trees, frozen hands and your baby gives kicks inside you as if he was asking to get out of this nightmare. My fingers were numb.

My vision was starting to darken the edges. I knew I was going fainted and then I heard footsteps different, more hesitant. I opened the eyes. A young soldier stood in front of me, holding a knife. He doesn’t have nothing said. He just looked at me. His eyes were brown, deep, full of something I couldn’t name.

It wasn’t hatred, it was not desire, it was the horror. He looked at my stomach, then my hands tied, then the others soldiers who watched from afar, waiting for the show to continue. Then he took a step forward, he raised the knife, I closed my eyes, I waited for the blade. But what I have felt, it was the rope that was loosening.

He cut the rope from my wrist left, then the right. My body collapsed in the snow. I am fell to her knees, breathing in sobs uncontrolled, hands burning with the blood starting to circulate again. He crouched down beside me and he murmured in French, hesitating with a heavy accent: “Get up, quickly, walk. I fell to my knees in the snow.

The cold passed through me like a blade. My hands were burning, the blood started to circulate again and I was breathing in uncontrolled sobbing as if everything the air I had held for months came out suddenly. The young soldier crouched next to me. He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at me. His eternal brown eyes filled with horror, but also other things.

Some something I couldn’t yet figure out name. Then he whispered in French hesitant with a very strong accent. Get up, quickly, walk. I looked at him without understanding. My body was not responding no more, neither does my mind. He handed me hand, I took it, he pulled me towards the top and he started to guide me, not towards the camp, not towards the others guards who were now shouting in the distance.

He veered sideways between the trees, far from the lights, far from the tracks. We we walked quickly. Finally he walked quickly. I was stumbling. My stomach weighed, my legs trembled, but I followed. We went through a side fence. There was a bad hole repaired. He pushed me through then he went behind me.

And suddenly we We were on the other side, in the forest, in the dark. He let go of me, he stopped and he repeated lower. To what? I looked at him without believing it. Oh why? He didn’t answer at all continued. He just looked down my stomach then towards the trees behind us. Then he whispered: “I can’t not go back now.

They are going to me shoot. And you, you can’t return either. So, we will have to continue together.” I felt something break me. Not fear, not joy, just absolute incomprehension. This man wore the uniform that had me tortured. This man was part ofthose who had tied me up. And now he told me he was ready to die for me.

I don’t have thought about it. I no longer had the strength to think. I started walking. He followed me a few steps behind like if he wanted to protect me without daring get too close. The first hours were an ordeal. The snow was deep. My feet, wrapped in rags that he had torn from his own shirt sagging with every step. My stomach was pulling me down.

Each breathing hurt. He was walking in front, opened the way, broke the branches that were in the way. He didn’t speak not, me neither. After an hour, he stopped. He took out of his bag a small piece of dry bread. He has it broken in two. He waited for me the most big part. Eat! I took the bread. My hands were shaking so much that I almost dropped him.

He looked at me eat. Then he said quietly: “I calls me Matis. Matis Keller. I have swallowed my mouthful. I whispered. Eliane goes clear. He nodded as if was enough. We kept walking all night towards the south, always towards the south. towards what we hoped would be the freedom. We walked all the way night, Matis in front, me behind, stumble in the deep snow, my feet wrapped in rags that he had torn from his own shirt.

Every step was painful, but I walked because I no longer had the choice. He didn’t speak, neither did I. There were too many questions, too many fear, too much misunderstanding. After several hours, he stopped near a frozen stream. He has broke the ice with the stick of his rifle. He filled his flask.

He told me strained the water first. Wood. Slowly, I drank. The icy water burned my neck throat, but that was the first thing clean that I had for weeks. He took a small piece out of his bag dry bread. He broke it in two parts equal. He gave me the biggest one. Eat! I took it. My hands was trembling.

I hadn’t eaten since two days. We ate in silence, sitting on a snow covered stump. The day was beginning to dawn. One day gray, cold, without promise. Then he spoken for the first time really. I calls me Matis. Matis Keller. I come from Bavaria. My father was a carpenter. My mother died when I was ten. He said it like he was reciting a report military without emotion, just facts.

Then he looked at me, really looked at me. And you? I hesitated. Say my name it was becoming human again. It was coming out of number 34. Iian Werk from Lille. He nodded. Lille. Pretty town. I went there in forty, it has nothing added. Me neither. We have continued to walk towards the south, towards what we hoped would be freedom.

The second evening we refugees in an abandoned barn. The smell was that of moldy hay and rat urine, but it was less cold than outside. Matis spread his coat on the ground. He gestured to me lie down. He sat against the wall in front of me, the rifle resting on its knees. He never slept at the same time while I, always on the alert, always in adjects.

I observed him in the darkness, trying to figure out who was this man. He was my age maybe 21 years old, at most. Sound face was thin, scarred, his hands hard and dirty. He wore the uniform of Marhe glass, but without a sign, without decoration, just a simple soldier of lower rank. Why did he have me saved? What did he want from me? These questions are running through my head until fatigue takes me away.

The third day we sat near a frozen stream. He broke the ice to drink the water below. He has said almost in a whisper: “When I saw you tied between these trees, I thought of my sister. He stopped. Its voice cracked slightly. She had a year when the Russians took our village in Poland. They took him away. We never saw him again.

My father became crazy. He hanged himself in the workshop. He has paused, eyes lost in the void. I enlisted to avenge my family, but I didn’t avenge anything. I just killed people who didn’t care for me nothing done. And when I saw you there pregnant, terrified, I told myself that if I let you die, I would become exactly what I’ve always hated.

It was the first time he spoke as much, the first time I saw his eyes watered up. I didn’t say anything. What could I say? All I knew was that this man saved me for no reason apparent, without expecting anything in return. And now we were both fugitives, hunted by the Germans on the one hand, suspicious in the eyes of French on the other.

We didn’t belong to anyone. We were ghosts but we were alive. The weekswhich followed were an ordeal. We We walked towards the south, always towards the south, towards what we hoped would be the Switzerland, towards freedom. Matis walked in front, he opened the way, he broke the branches, he checked for traces of not, he listened to the slightest noise.

Me, I followed the belly more and more heavy, the feet bleeding under the rags, but I followed, he shared everything, the little food he found, the little water, the little heat when we would be against each other a wall to sleep on. He didn’t touch me never, ever inappropriately. Even when we slept side by side to warm us, he kept always a distance as if he had afraid of becoming a monster.

One evening of February, we took refuge in a disused chapel near Colmar. The roof was half collapsed. The snow was falling inside, but it was better than outside. This is where contractions started, first like dull cramps, then more getting stronger, more and more close together. I touched the arm of Matis. I whispered. It’s starting.

He is turned white as a sheet. Now, here I nodded, unable to speak. The pain was cutting me breath. He looked around him, panicked. There was nothing. No doctor, no midwife, no water hot, just him, me and this baby who wanted to go out to the worst place in the world world at the worst possible time. Matis has spread his coat on the stone floor cold. He helped me lie down.

He knelt down next to me. He said in a voice that he was trying to make calm but trembling. Tell me what do. I didn’t know. I didn’t have never gave birth. I had never seen someone give birth. Everything I knew came from my mother’s stories, stories she told while laughing around the fire. But it was only stories.

Here it was real, brutal, bloody. The contractions followed like waves that were drowning. I gritted my teeth not to not shout because shouting was risked attracting attention. It was condemned us. Matis held my hand. He was whispering words in German that I didn’t understand not but whose tone was gentle, soothing. The hours passed, pain became unbearable.

I felt my body tearing apart the interior. I thought I was going die. I wanted to die, but somehow something in me refused to give up. Not now, not after arriving though far. And then, in a last effort which emptied me of all strength, I felt my son go out. Matis caught him with her trembling hands, this little body slippery and covered in blood.

And during a terrible moment, there was no noise, just the silence, the silence of death. My eyes filled with tears. No, no, not that, not after all that. But then, Mathis turned the baby, patted him on the back and suddenly a cry tore the silence of the chapel. A crystal, furious, alive. My son cried. My son was alive.

Matis has burst out laughing. a nervous laugh, in disbelief and he placed the baby on my chest saying “It’s a boy, a handsome boy. I held him close to me, this hot, screaming little being. And for the first time in months, I cried. No fear, no pain, joy, relief, love.” Matis remained kneeling next to us all night, watching over us like a silent guardian.

In the morning he cut the cord with his knife military. He washed my son with water from the nearby stream. He has it wrapped in his own shirt. He told me looked at with something in the eye which I had never seen at his house before. Of tenderness, of wonder, of responsibility. What are you going to call it? I thought a moment, looking at this little face wrinkled and perfect. Henry like my father.

Mathissa smiles. Henry, it’s a good name. From that day on we were only two fugitives left. We we were a family, a family impossible, forbidden, dangerous, but a family all the same. From this day, we were no longer just two fugitives. We were a family, a impossible, forbidden family, dangerous, but a family nonetheless.

Henri was three weeks old. When we We almost got discovered, for the first time we hid in an abandoned lumberjack cabin heart of the forest, several kilometers of all civilization, had left fetch water from the stream when I heard voices, German voices. My senses froze, I squeezed Henry against me.

I placed my hand on her mouth in case he starts to cry and I sank into the darkest corner of the cabin behind a pile of rotten wood. The voices were getting closer. It was a patrol, three or four men laughing. The door of the cabin wasopened suddenly. My heart stopped beat. A soldier entered. He has looked around distractedly. He spat on the ground.

Then he is came out shouting something to his comrades. They left again. I am remained still for ten more minutes, trembling before Matis returns. When I told him, he became livid. We can’t stay here anymore. He you have to go down towards the south, towards the Switzerland. Switzerland was the dream impossible.

The border was more than 100 kilos. through mountains snow-covered, villages controlled by the Germans, patrolled roads with a new nose, without papers, without money. But what other option did we have? To stay was to die. So, we left. We have market for weeks, avoiding main roads, sleeping in barns, caves, ruins of farm bombed. Henry cried at night.

Matis rocked him while I was sleeping. He sang to her lullabies in German that I don’t didn’t understand but seemed calm my son down. Sometimes I woke up and saw them all two. Matis sitting against a wall. Henry fell asleep in his arms and something tightened in my chest. It was not not his father but he acted like one, better than some fathers I had known.

March has arrived, the snows were starting to melt. We have crossed a series of small villages where people looked at us with suspicion but not asking questions. The war had taught people not to meddling in other people’s affairs. In a village near Belfort, an old wife gave us hot milk and blankets. In exchange for the knife Matis, she looked at us for a long time.

Me with my baby, him with his uniform German torn and dirty. And she said : “You are far from home every two.” Matis nodded. “Yes, Madam.” She smiled sadly. The war does strange things. Come on, leave before someone else sees you. The closer we got to the Swiss border, the more Matis became nervous.

They knew that the controls would be strict, that the Germans massively patrolled this area to prevent deserters and Jews to flee. He also knew that if he was captured, he would be shot immediately. I would be sent back to camp if I was lucky, Henry. I didn’t even want to think about it. One evening, while we were hidden in a stable, Matis told me something that I will never forget.

Yanne, listen to me good. If we get caught, you say I kidnapped you. You say I have you forced to follow me. You say you are my prisoner. Do you understand? I shook the head. No, I won’t say that. He has insisted. If you don’t say that, they will also kill. Me, I’m already dead anyway. But you and Henry, you have a chance. I grabbed his hand.

Matis, I will not betray you. Never. He looked down. It wouldn’t be a betrayal. It would be the truth that must be said to survive. We don’t never got caught but we We were close, very close. 2 km away from the border, we came across a German checkpoint. He was impossible to get around without making a detour of several days.

Matis took a crazy decision. He handed over his uniform neatly, adjusted cap, took Henry in his arms and said to me “You are my wife. We are going home home after visiting your family in France. You don’t talk, you smile just if we ask you something.” My heart was beating so hard I was sure that the soldiers would hear it.

We We walked towards the checkpoint. A young soldier stopped us. He has looked at Matis, looked at Henry, looked at me looked at paper. Matis released a old military ID card damaged and half illegible. The soldier looked at him with a frown and she smiled at my French wife. We we had permission to visit his family in Mulouse. The soldier stared at me.

I smiled. My heart was screaming. Henry has chirped in Matis’s arms. The soldier looked at the baby smiled despite him, then he returned the papers to Matiskin. We walked slowly, calmly until the post control disappears behind us. Then we ran. The Swiss border was an invisible line in the mountain.

No barrier, no sign, just trees, rocks and the promise of freedom of the other side. Matis knew the area. He had studied the maps for weeks. We walked all night, climbing steep slopes, sliding on wet stones. Henri attached against my chest with strips of fabric. At dawn, Matis stopped at the top of a ridge. He pointed finger. That’s Switzerland over there.

We are almost arrived. We started the descent. Henri was sleeping. The sun iswas rising. I believed for a moment beautiful and stupid as we go succeed and then I heard the click metal of a weapon that is armed behind us. Three German soldiers came out of nowhere, we circling like wolves. The oldest, a non-commissioned officer with a scar on the cheek smiled coldly.

Look at this. A deserter and his little French girl. Matis raised his hands slowly. Let her go. She doesn’t have nothing to do with that. The non-commissioned officer laughed. Ah good ? And the baby? He fell from the sky. He approached me, tear Henry from my arms. I screamed. Matis took a step forward.

One of the soldiers pointed their guns at him. Don’t move, traitor. The non-commissioned officer looked at Henry grimacing. A bastard mixed race. What a shame. He held Henry by ankles, head down like a dead rabbit. My son started cry. I screamed. Give it back to me. The NCO ignored me. He looked Matis.

You know what we do deserter? Matis did not respond. He me just looked with his eyes as I now knew so well. His eyes who said: “Sorry, sorry for not was able to save you until the end.” The NCO put Henry on the ground in the snow like a package without value and he took out his pistol. He has aimed at Matis’ head. I closed the eyes. I heard the gunshot.

But it was not the gun non-commissioned officer. It was a shotgun from the ridge above us. The NCO collapsed, a flower red on his chest. The other two Soldiers pivoted, searching for the source shooting and two more shots rang out. They fell. Silence. Then voices. Voices in French. Don’t don’t move. Hands in the air.

Men came down from the ridge. six or seven armies dressed in civilian clothes, armbands tricolors on the arm, resistance fighters. They surrounded us, distrust in the eyes, gun pointed. An older man, in his fifties, bearded, approached by Matis. Your Germans. Matis nodded the head.

Yes, the resistance armed his rifle. So you’re dead. I screamed. No, he saved me. He protected me. Please. The resistance fighter looked at me. looked at Henry who was crying in the snow. Watched Matis tied to the tree. Explain yourself quickly. Matis has tell everything. The camp, the night he detached me, the escape, the weeks of caval, the birth of Ingry, the attempt to reach Switzerland.

The resistance listened: “Impossible! When Matis finished, there was a long silence. Then the resistance fighter said: “You deserted to save a pregnant woman?” Matis nodded. The resister spat on the ground. The beches killed my wife and my two daughters in ouradour. Give me only one reason not to shoot you head shot here and now.

Matis didn’t say anything. He just looked the resistant in the eyes without fear, no anger, just resignation. It was me who spoke because he chose to remain human when all world around him became a monster because he risked his life for baby that wasn’t his because if you kill him, you become exactly like them.

The resister stared at me for a long time, then he lowered his gun. We takes you to the other side of the border. After that, you get by. And he pointed. And you, take off this shitty uniform and burn it. If I see you again one day Germany, I won’t keep my promise. They drove us to Switzerland. Two hours of silent walking. Henry in my arms.

Matis walking ahead me, surrounded by resistance fighters who didn’t take their eyes off him. When we we crossed the invisible border, marked only by a terminal Pierre, the resistance fighter stopped. There you are, you are in Switzerland, you are free. Matis nodded. Thank you. The resistant did not respond. He just turned on his heels and left with his men, leaving us alone in the Swiss mountain, free but lost.

We we walked to a village called Porteui. The Swiss welcomed us with suspicion, but without hostility. Matis was interned in a camp for military refugees. Me and Henry, we were placed in a home for displaced women. We have been separated. For 6x months, I didn’t have no news from him. I thought he had been sent back to Germany.

I believed that he was dead. I tried to rebuild, find work, to raise Henry in a world that was slowly starting to return to normal. But I thought of him every day, every night. I was wondering where he was, if he thought of us, if he regretted saving us. And then one morning in September, there was a knock on my door.

I opened, it was him, tired but alive. He wore civilian clothes. He held a small suitcase. He smiled timidly. Hello, Elian. I remained frozen,unable to speak. Henry who had now eight months has been chirping since his cradle. Matis entered, kneeling before the cradle, looked my son with infinite tenderness. He grew up so much, I found my voice.

What are you doing here? He got noted. I am free. The Swiss gave me released. I can stay in Switzerland or return to Germany. He scored a break, but I don’t want either the other. I want to stay with you if you want me. I should have said yes immediately. I should have thrown myself into his arms but I didn’t do it because that the war was over.

And now we had to face reality. The reality that we come from opposite sides. That the world would not forgive us never. That people would look at us with hatred, that Henry would grow up with a German father in a country that had suffered. But people don’t understand not. They will hate us. They will hate Henry. He nodded.

I know but I don’t care. Does you hate me? I watched this man who had saved me, who had put his life in parentheses for mine, who held my son in his arms time when he was born. No, I have whispered, I don’t hate you. We We tried for three years. We we tried to build a life together in Switzerland.

Matis found working as a carpenter, like his father. I worked in a laundry. We rented a small apartment in Freiburg. Henry grew up magnificent and happy. People were looking at us strangely, whispered behind our backs. But we pretended not to see. We were a family. It was everything that mattered. But the weight of past was too heavy.

Mathis was doing nightmares every night, screaming in German, waking up in a sweat. He drank more and more. He became distant, haunted. One evening I found it sitting in the dark, crying silently. I can’t manage to forget everyone I killed, all the horrible things I’ve done before meeting you. I don’t deserve this life. I don’t deserve Henry.

I don’t don’t deserve you. And in Matis has disappeared. He left a letter, a single page. Eliane, forgive me. I love you. I love Henri, but I am a danger to you. The authorities French people are looking for me. They want judge me for desert. Or worse, if I rest, they will come. They will ask questions.

They will make you evil. I’m leaving so that you can be security. Take care of our son. Tell him his father loved him. Matis, I never saw him again. I never have it reviewed. Henry grew up without a father, but he grew up happy. He grew up strong. He has grew up good. I told him everything the story when he turned 18. I him I showed the letter, the few photos that I had kept, a piece of rag the Matis shirt he had used to wrap Henry on his birthday birth.

Henry cried. He asked me “Do you have it? looking for?” I replied: “Yes, during decades. I wrote to the Red Cross, in the military archives German, to associations of veterans. I searched everywhere, none trace.” Matis Keller had disappeared like if it had never existed. Maybe had he changed his name. Maybe had he returned to Bavaria under a other identity.

Maybe he was dead somewhere in a ditch? alone haunted by these demons, I will never know. But I know, Matis Keller saved me. He saved my son. He gave up everything for us. And for 3 years he was the best father that Henry could have had. Not the father biological, but the father who counted, the father who was there, the father who loved unconditionally.

The story does not will never remember him. There is no commemorative plaque in his name, not medal. No statue, just this story that I tell now before I die so that someone somewhere knows that in the midst of absolute horror, there had a man who chose kindness. Some people ask me if I loved it. It’s a question complicated.

I don’t know if what we had was love in the sense romantic. It was something deeper, more essential. It was shared survival, trust absolute, mutual respect in the worst circumstances imaginable. Is this what is love? Maybe, maybe not, but it was real. I I’m going to die soon. My heart is tired. My poumé give me a few months, maybe a year. I’m not afraid.

I lived long time. I saw Henry grow up, become a good man, start a family. I saw my grandchildren. I had a life against all odds. But before leave, I wanted to tell this story because Matis deserves to be known, because Henry deserves to know where he really comes from. And because the world must know that even inthickest darkness, even when humanity seems to have disappeared, there is always someone who chooses to stay human.

If you are listening to this now, from wherever you are in the world, know that this story really happened past and maybe, just maybe, you will understand why I kept this secret for 60 years. I left in 2023, at 83 years old in my little house in Switzerland, surrounded by Henry, his wife, of my grandchildren. He held me hand, he whispered words of love to me.

Before closing your eyes for last time I thought about everything night of January 1944, to the rope that cut my wrists, to the cold which cut my skin, to the knife raised in front of me. I thought that it was the end and then I thought about Matis, with his trembling hands which cut the strings on his gaze when Henry was born, with his shy smile the door of my apartment in Fribourg.

I thought about the three years we we lived together, with the family that we trained against the world whole. I thought about the letter he left to his disappearance, to his silence for years and I smiled because despite everything, we held on, we survived, we loved, we transmitted. Henry became a good man.

He started a family. His children know the name Matth Keller. They know what he did that night. They know that they exist thanks to a man who chose kindness in the midst of the horror. To you who are listening to this story today, I leave you a message. The last one, the war takes everything.

Dignity, freedom, beings that we love. But she doesn’t take everything. She don’t take what we let’s choose to keep. The memory, the voice, the refusal of silence. To speak is already resist. Silence protects executioners, the word protects the victims. I don’t forgive those who tied me down. I won’t be able to never. But I never hated Matis.

He did a human thing in the middle of the inhuman and it counts. I don’t ask not that we forgive him. I don’t ask that we idealize it. I just ask that we remembers that a simple soldier German risked his life to leave leave a pregnant woman. that he does not didn’t know and that this story reminds us that even in hell, a human being can still choose.

To you now when you see injustice, don’t look elsewhere. When you have the choice between obeying a cruel system or listen to your awareness, choose awareness, even if it costs a lot, even if it fear, because it is in these choices that we remain human. I am Eliane Wlerk. I survived the rope. I have survived thanks to a knife and thanks to a man I called Matis.