Lily Boyer Mrs

Lily Boyer
Mrs. Shelnutt
10th Literature
22 September 2017
The Greatest of God’s Commandments
One Wednesday morning I woke up with the common flu, not knowing what would happen in the next few hours. Even though I knew this was a possibility, knowing the complications of my job, I prayed it never would. No human being would dream of a man betraying their country, but he did. On February 28th, 1944, my and my family’s lives changed forever.
The sound of a doorbell woke me up, ears ringing as I sluggishly got out of bed. Still half asleep, I swung my arms around blindly feeling for my robe. I had been sick with the flu and my head was killing me, and the doorbell ringing didn’t help. I opened the door and I forced my exhausted eyes open. There stood a Dutch man who looked distraught. “Do you work with the Dutch underground?” He asked timid and unsure. I stood there stunned. “No, I do not,” I lied. He looked over his shoulder and whispered. “I know you do. You are the famous Corrie ten Boom. My wife is a Jew and the Gestapo are looking for her. I need money to send her into hiding.” I paused before I spoke. What if this man was lying? What if this was a trap? But what if his wife is really in danger and needs help? All of these questions were running through my head. “I will help you,” I finally got the nerve to speak again, “come back at five o’clock and I will get you the money.” His eyes lit up entirely as if he won the lottery. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” He ran back home with a huge smile on his face. I shut the door behind him and grabbed my throbbing head and a tissue to blow my stuffed nose. Something felt off about this man, but I was too tired to care. I climbed back into bed and slept my fears away.
There were four Jews and two renaissance fighters hiding in a secret room installed in my bedroom. At first I was upset about having my room turned into hiding place, but then I quickly realized my selfishness and was glad to do it. Later, after the Dutch man stopped by our house, all of us, including my family, were eating and carrying on a normal conversation at the table when someone tripped the buzzer. A buzzer was installed by one of our Dutch Underground friends to alarm us if the Gestapo were ever to invade our home. Just like we had practiced, the illegal people quickly, but quietly, walked to the secret room. The buzzer, like the doorbell, hurt my head. It was supposed to be loud enough to wake up the whole house at night.
“Where are the Jews?” A Gestapo officer, who I’ve never seen before, grabbed me and yelled in my ear. The Gestapo accompanied with two Dutch Nazis, who betrayed their country, broke in my house and drug my family into the living room. “We don’t have any Jews here.” I said scared but firm. He slapped me across the face and I fell on the ground. “I will ask again. Where are the Jews?” I got up off the floor and looked him dead in the eyes, “I told you, there isn’t any here.” He beat me with his club. Terrified, I prayed aloud, “Lord, help us!” “Don’t ever say that again, or I will have to kill you.” The officer yelled. When he got tired of my lies he moved on to my sister, Betsie. We were both beat severely.
They finally gave up and started searching for the Jews themselves. In the process they completely disassembled my house. For thirty minutes they destroyed every room in the house looking for the Jews. My beautiful, childhood home was getting destroyed by the people I hated the most. My family and I were sent to the police station. My father, Casper, my brother William, my sisters, Nollie and Betsie, my nephew, Peter, and I were arrested that day. My father, being the good christian he was, led a prayer group in the station. We quoted the entire chapter of Psalms 119.
After Betsie and I were sent to prison, better known as Ravensbruck Concentration Camp, we received a letter from someone back home. It didn’t reach us until much later because the guards have to look through everyone’s things. The code we communicated with to get past the guards was watch lingo. The letter said that our father was told he could released if he would never disobey the Germans again. He responded with, “It would be an honor to give my life for God’s chosen people.” Ten days later, on March 10th, 1944, he died. The letter also said that the six watches (people in hiding) all escaped safely. They hid in our house for forty-seven hours with no communication to the outside world. The letter ended with something that made my blood boil. The Dutch man, who I was skeptical with, was not the man who he said to be. The Dutch man worked with the Gestapo and tipped them off about our operation.
I felt so enraged with them. I told Betsie, “I hope he gets what he deserves. I hope he’s somehow punished for his wrongdoings.” My mature sister responded, “Corrie, we are to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.” I don’t know what made me more angry, the fact that she could say that about an evil man, or the fact that she was right. Betsie died two days before my release on December 30, 1944. I wasn’t able to forgive the terrible men until years later.
Even though my family and I suffered so much, I would do it again in a heartbeat because it taught us things I’ll never forget. It taught me how to be selfless towards others, and think of others before myself. It taught me how to be thankful for the big and little things in life. Lastly, and I think most importantly, it taught me how to love my enemies. Through this experience I truly learned how to love my neighbor as myself.