My mother, Joyce Vanderveen, was a prima ballerina, violinist, painter and author (1927-2008). She was born and lived in Amsterdam in the early part of her life. Her Dutch parents were poor, but talented. My grandmother, Rachel, was a Jewish seamstress and quite deaf. She was banished from her family for marrying my grandfather, Jan, an orphan—a non-Jew, who was a sculptor and master craftsman.
From an early age, aside from being a straight “A” student, my mother showed signs of being a child prodigy in the arts. She became known in the neighborhood since she danced and played the violin in all the local festivals. She was so good that she conducted the children’s orchestra at the age of 9.
The second-hand violin was a gift from my grandfather, who chose the instrument for her for three reasons:
It was small, and my mother was very petite.
It was elegant.
The color of the wood matched her complexion—that of a redhead.
Being a sculptor and artist, he would be aware of such things.
The violin itself is a French Mirecourt, circa 1920, lab: Al Segno del Aquila near Motegalio. The violin is in excellent condition, according to Robert Cauer, violin maker and dealer. There is another label under the visible label, which is unreadable.
When the Nazis invaded Holland in 1940, my mother was barely 13 years old. Much of my mother’s memories of the war remain unknown to me. She barely spoke about it.
What I do know is this:
The Nazis raided their home in the middle of the night and captured my grandmother, who was taken to Westerbork transit camp. She was finally able to escape.
Joyce continued her ballet and violin lessons until she was forced to flee Amsterdam. She always took the same route home, and one day after her violin lesson, one of the shopkeepers grabbed her and told her to RUN in the opposite direction. The Nazis were rounding up Jews in the next street and shooting them.
Finally, faced with starvation, my mother, her sister, and my grandmother rode on two bicycles with no tires to the remote reaches of northern Holland to hide and find food. The one possession she took with her was her violin.
They found refuge with three impoverished farm families. My mother was bone thin, covered in boils (there was no hygiene, no soap, no food), and suffered from scarlet fever. But she survived, along with her mother and sister. They later reunited with my grandfather.
The rest of her family was murdered by the Nazis.
After the war, my mother continued her great love of dancing. She became the star of the Royal Netherlands Ballet. Later she went to Paris, where she joined the Grand Ballet du Marquis de Cuevas, better known as the Monte Carlo Ballet. She toured 19 countries and performed before the crowned heads of Europe as a Prima Ballerina. She often worked with conductors and maestros, and was tenacious about dancing “on the music.”
Back in Paris, she was seen by a member of the Kennedy family, who arranged for her to come to America. She received a special artist’s visa, signed by Senator John F. Kennedy, for what she could contribute artistically to the American public.
She took this privilege very seriously, and did so for the rest of her life.
Based on her performance on the General Electric Hour on television, she was offered a movie contract with Universal Pictures, where she met the love of her life (and my father), Louis Blaine, head of International Press and Publicity for the studio.
She proceeded to do many television shows and several movies, including The Ten Commandments.
In 1997, she received a surprising call from one of her childhood friends who also survived the war, and went on to become a professor in Portland. She was writing an article on Anne Frank, and had visited the hiding place, now the famous museum. She declared, “Your picture is on the wall above Anne Frank’s bed!” The curator came running, having finally identified the mystery girl in the picture after so many decades. My mother had never gone to the museum. She had said, “I want everyone in the world to go. I don’t need to go because I lived it.”
Her picture on Anne’s wall remains there today, a carefree, happy image of a young girl Anne had cut out of a magazine. She wound up doing a taped interview while in Amsterdam in the room with her picture, which remains in the Anne Frank archive.
After she retired from performing, Joyce devoted her life to training professional dancers, which she did for over 25 years. One in particular became her prodigy, an 11-year-old boy from Russia named Ilya Burkov. He thrived under her tutelage, winning dance scholarships and performing in local dance productions.
Ilya needed an instrument for music lessons, so Joyce loaned him her violin. When he and his parents were forced back to Russia, Ilya returned the violin, where it remained under her bed for 19 years. It was not played again.
During this time Joyce also co-authored a book called Deadly Illusions: Jean Harlow and the Murder of Paul Bern, solving a Hollywood true crime mystery published by Random House.
Years later in 2021, thanks to a chance high school reunion party including Dr. Noreen Green, Maestra of the Los Angeles Jewish Symphony, a miracle happened. As she was leaving, she shouted, “Don’t forget to buy your tickets to the Violins of Hope concert.” It immediately caught my attention, and I asked, “What’s that?” She proceeded to tell me about the amazing organization based in Tel Aviv that restores violins of Holocaust victims and survivors and tours the world, educating and playing the instruments with world-class musicians. I told her I thought my mother’s violin might be a part of it. This started me on a journey to research the story about the violin.
I was catapulted into a search for Ilya, whom I located in London, and learned some of the mystery of the violin. Because of him and Maestra Green and her resources, I know now about the violin’s past and how my mother came to own and play it.
I have wonderful memories of my mother playing classical music on the PIANO. I never heard her play the violin. I know now the reason is that it reminded her of the horrific war years.
So now the beautiful violin has a remarkable opportunity after its many journeys, and the deserved rest under the bed. In October of 2021, Maestra Green and I traveled to Washington, D.C. as guests of the King of the Netherlands Embassy. Amnon Weinstein, the restorer, was being recognized for his work by the Anne Frank Special Recognition Award. His son Avshi Weinstein was present to accept the award, and I was able to formally donate my mother’s violin in a ceremony at the Library of Congress. It was a most humbling and proud honor.
May the violin’s strings and players now continue to bring joy to all who hear it sing.
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