German-born Bettina Malka-Igelbusch is a convert from a Catholic family and graduate of Cologne University. She has dual citizenship – German and Israeli.
She lives in Jerusalem with her husband and three children (ranging in age from 13 to 26) and serves as director of the Reference and Information Services Department of the Yad Vashem Archives.
Bettina notes, “My work at Yad Vashem constantly reminds me why I am here. I cannot ever simply be a Jew. I have to work at it every day. Even though I bear no personal responsibility for the Holocaust, I never stopped looking for a way to atone – to make up for what others did.”
“My work at Yad Vashem constantly reminds me why I am here. I cannot ever simply be a Jew. I have to work at it every day. Even though I bear no personal responsibility for the Holocaust, I never stopped looking for a way to atone – to make up for what others did.”
Bettina Malka-Igelbusch
The Magazine sat down with Bettina at the end of March to get more of her story.
When you learned that your paternal grandfather, Anton Igelbusch, was a member of the SA (Nazi Storm Troopers), you stopped visiting his grave. What made you decide to keep Igelbusch as part of your married name?
I learned about my grandfather’s role much after I chose to keep the name, even though I knew in general that he was a Nazi supporter. In fact, I had second thoughts at the time (when I learned about his membership in the SA) about whether to drop the name; but I decided that you should not run away, and you cannot shed your past by wiping out a name. And at that stage, I already knew that it was part of me, for better or for worse, and that keeping it would also mean that I am facing my own history.
Although you broke away from your past, you still wear your maternal grandmother’s wedding ring. How did you decide which connections to maintain?
I am wearing my grandmother’s wedding ring because it was purchased at a Jewish store and reminds me of the “good” side of the family. It keeps me sane. I have learned the hard way that you cannot simply cut connections. I came to understand that they catch up with you in the end. You think you can make that choice, but in fact you can’t. Instead, you have to work them through at some point and make peace with them.
Is there any special story about your maternal grandfather?
Though it would have helped him with his career, my maternal grandfather refused to join the Nazi Party. Eventually, he was drafted into the Wehrmacht (the armed forces of Nazi Germany) and was sent to guard prisoners of war who were loading food onto trains bound for the eastern front for the German soldiers. Though his orders were to shoot any POW who would take food for himself, my grandfather would avert his gaze and let the POWs fill their pockets with food so they wouldn’t starve.
When did you first learn about the Holocaust atrocities?
When I was nine or 10, I noticed a book in my parents’ library titled Der Gelbe Stern (The Yellow Star: The Persecution of Jews in Europe, 1933-1945). I was totally horrified by the gruesome photographs. When I asked my mother about the book, she told me that it was not age-appropriate and I should let it go until I was older. Needless to say, this only fueled my curiosity, and I became obsessed with the subject.
How did your parents respond to your original interest in the Holocaust, to your conversion in 1991, your aliyah in 1992, and your marriage in 1994 to a native Israeli?
They were fine with the initial interest and, in fact, did a lot to foster it, especially my mother. But when there were consequences, it became more difficult. There was a lot of estrangement and clashes at first, which became better when the children were born, but the rift never completely mended. My conversion was hard for them, but they had the hardest time with my move to Israel. It was intensified by the fact that I was an only child. And separation was traumatic for me as well.
Interestingly enough, my maternal grandmother understood me the best. She told me: ‘You have to do what makes you happy.’
In 2008, you visited Munich on a business trip and visited the city’s main synagogue. What decisions did you make there?
Sixteen years after my conversion, I realized that I was missing a Jewish identity – that it doesn’t happen naturally with a conversion, and it’s something you have to build. I returned to Jerusalem determined to strengthen my Jewishness and began raising the level of my Jewish observance. I joined Ramot Zion, a Masorti synagogue, and currently chair the ritual committee and lead the prayer service on Friday mornings.
In 2015, you joined Yad Vashem as a guide for the Commemoration and Community Relations Department. Describe one of your unforgettable encounters.
I almost fainted when I learned that my tour group included a grandfather who was a survivor. The grandfather was silent throughout the tour until we reached the photo of the Buchenwald liberation. At that point, he said that he identified with the photo because he was there. I didn’t know how to proceed. To share with him my story or not? I did, and I’ll never forget his response. He came up to me and hugged me with tears in his eyes.
As a department head today at Yad Vashem, you have insider status. Does that help you cope with the Holocaust in some way?
Yes, definitely. The insider status helps you to detach and be in control because you deal with it in a professional and not in a personal way. When I guide at the museum, I feel that I am taking charge of the story. I am the voice of the Holocaust, the voice of the victims and, yes, also that of the perpetrators.
And the same goes for my current role at the archives. It’s like taming a wild beast that threatens to consume you. You tame it by owning it, by knowing it. And, ironically, friends of mine from the ‘other side,’ the victims’ side, told me about similar experiences. It is no coincidence that so many second- and third-generation survivors work there.
Yes, dealing with the Holocaust professionally is definitely a way to cope with the Holocaust. ■
Bettina Malka-Igelbusch, 54 From Oberhausen, Germany, to Jerusalem, 1992