On June 12, 1942, Anne Frank received a diary for her 13th birthday and started writing about her life as a young Jewish girl in Amsterdam under Nazi occupation.
For 761 days, hidden in a secret annex, she recorded her fears, hopes, first love, and the terror of living locked up with seven other people in a space smaller than an apartment.
On August 4, 1944, the Gestapo broke into the hideout and dragged all eight out. Anne was only 15 years old. The diary was thrown on the floor of the annex and was found by Miep Gies, a family friend who risked her own life hiding them for almost two years.
In the end, the Gestapo took Anne Frank to face unimaginable horrors in the last few months of her life, and she died just weeks before being released, when the war was practically over.
On June 12, 1929, the life of a Jewish family living in Frankfurt, Germany, was filled with happiness. A girl was brought into the world who would be named Annelies Marie Frank.
In that instant, no one could imagine that the birth of that child, celebrated in a simple way among family members, would be linked to one of the most well-known and impactful works of the 20th century—a trajectory that, years later, would symbolize both the hope and brutality of one of the darkest moments in human history.
Until then, the world around the Franks seemed stable and, in some ways, predictable. Otto Frank, Anne’s father, was a cultured man with very firm principles, who believed deeply in Germany as his homeland. He valued education, discipline, and honest work as fundamental pillars for building a dignified life.
Edith Frank, the mother, raised her children with great affection, but also with a sense of responsibility and organization. Margot, three years older than Anne, was serious, studious, and lived more discreetly, often preferring the tranquility of books to agitated games.
Anne, on the other hand, was the opposite: curious, talkative, full of energy, and with a vivid imagination. She made friends with ease, liked to talk, and observed everything around her, demonstrating from a very early age a special interest in words and stories.
Already in that period, she dreamed of being a writer, even if she did not know exactly how this dream could be realized in the future. The family lived in the Marbachweg neighborhood, in a quiet region of the city.
The children of the block played in the garden almost every day, running between houses and sharing games, laughs, and small typical childhood adventures. The Franks were Jews, but they led a more liberal life, fully integrated into the country where they lived.
They had Jewish and non-Jewish family friends. They frequented the same spaces, participated in the same activities, and shared the same everyday routine. Religious differences never seemed to really matter, not even for them, nor to the neighbors around them.
There was a feeling of belonging, as if that was, without a doubt, the place where they could build their future with security—but only until that moment. We then move forward to January 30, 1933, a date that would change everything.
And the reason is simple. It was the moment when Adolf Hitler was appointed Chancellor of Germany by then-President Paul von Hindenburg. In a matter of weeks, the Nazi regime began to dismantle the civil rights of the entire population.
Laws came into force that restricted basic freedoms. Political opponents were persecuted and silenced. And the first concentration camps were created to house those considered undesirable by the new government: political opponents, homosexuals, Romanis, Jehovah’s Witnesses, among others.
The machinery of deletion started to work slowly at the beginning, almost imperceptibly for some, but always methodically and relentlessly. Otto Frank understood the signal. He realized that the political change was not just transient, nor limited to the field of speech.
In September of that same year, he decided to leave alone for Amsterdam, in the Netherlands, where he opened a branch of the company Opekta, specialized in the production of pectin, used in the manufacture of jellies.
Edith and the girls arrived soon after, leaving behind their house, friends, and the city where they had built their lives until then. The Franks were among the approximately 300,000 Jews fleeing Nazi Germany between 1933 and 1939, seeking refuge in other countries of Europe and beyond.
In Amsterdam, the girls enrolled in Dutch schools, made new friends, learned the language, and tried to adapt to the new routine. Life found a different rhythm, more uncertain, but still possible.
In the year 1938, Otto founded a second company, Pectacon, expanding his commercial activities. Little by little, the family began breathing again, trying to rebuild what had been interrupted. But unfortunately, this feeling of peace wouldn’t last forever.
The German invasion then arrived on the 10th of May 1940. German planes began to cross the border of the Netherlands, and the sound of engines in the sky interrupted the routine of thousands of families who were still trying to maintain some sense of normality amidst the growing tension in Europe.
The Luftwaffe used paratroopers to capture strategic points on Dutch ground, while air raids reached important cities. The bombing of Rotterdam was devastating. Much of the historic center of the city was destroyed in a few hours in an attack that left the world in shock at the speed and scale of destruction.
Faced with the threat that Utrecht was the next target, Dutch forces surrendered on May 15, after just 5 days of combat. Anne Frank was 10 years old.
The regime that her family had left behind in 1933 reached them again, precisely in the place that they had chosen as their home, as a refuge, like a fresh start. That which seemed distant, restricted to memories of Germany, was once again part of their everyday life in a frighteningly quick way.
The Nazi occupation did not take long to show its true intentions. Jewish public servants were dismissed from their positions. Companies belonging to Jews had to be registered and were progressively confiscated. Parks, cinemas, and establishments frequented by non-Jews became prohibited.
Anne was forced to leave her school and attend an exclusively Jewish institution, separating herself from colleagues with whom she had created bonds in previous years. In a few months, practically all spheres of everyday life were subjected to some type of restriction for the Jewish population, from the right to attend certain public spaces to freedom of movement on the streets.
But, as they say, nothing is so bad that it cannot get worse. In 1941, the situation deteriorated even further. Jewish men started to be arrested during night raids and deported to the concentration camp in Mauthausen, Austria.
Among those captured were friends and acquaintances of the Frank family. Shortly afterwards, reports of deaths began to arrive, spreading fear and uncertainty among those who still remained in freedom.
Otto Frank tried to achieve visas for the United States and Cuba, hoping to leave Europe with the family before it was too late. The problem was that the requests were denied.
A new law came into force in the Low Countries in 1942: all Jews were required to sew a yellow six-pointed star on their clothes. From May 5th, whoever was found without the symbol could be arrested and detained for up to six weeks.
The emblem, which once represented faith, was transformed into an instrument of public humiliation and social control. Anne turned 13 on June 12, 1942. Among her presents, she received a notebook with a red and white checkered cover.
She started writing immediately on that same day, recording thoughts, feelings, and events that she could not share with anyone else. It was the last birthday she would celebrate in freedom.
The summons and the hiding place. Still in June 1942, someone in the family received harsh news. It wasn’t Otto, but rather Margot. She was summoned by the Nazis and ordered to present herself to one of the labor camps of the Third Reich.
The Franks knew exactly what that would mean. They had heard the stories. They had also seen many friends disappear overnight, one after another, without explanations, without goodbyes. The decision then was to flee.
They carried everything they could and walked to number 263 Prinsengracht, the address of Otto’s office in Amsterdam. In the back of the building, accessed by a carefully positioned rotating bookshelf, there was a set of hidden rooms.
Otto had prepared that secret place in the previous months, anticipating that at some point there would be no other choice. That would be their home for the next 761 days.
A week later, the Van Pels family arrived: Hermann, Auguste, and the young Peter, 16 years old. The space, which was already very limited, would need to be split again in November 1942. Joining them was Fritz Pfeffer, a dentist and family friend.
Eight people, three floors, without being able to make noise between 8:30 AM and 5:30 PM, the time at which warehouse workers below were present. During these hours, even firm steps could be dangerous.
Survival depended on six helpers: Miep Gies, Johannes Kleiman, Victor Kugler, as well as Bep Voskuijl and other members of Otto’s staff. They risked their own lives every day, bringing food, clothes, and news from the outside world. The punishment for hiding Jews was death.
When workers went out for lunch, some of the helpers went up to the secret annex. It was the most awaited moment of the day. They could talk louder, walk a little more freely, and sometimes listen to Radio Oranje, where Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, exiled in England, sent messages of hope to the Dutch people.
Anne wrote morning, afternoon, and night. The diary was her only space for real freedom. She recorded conflicts with the Van Pels, her growing closeness with Peter, her fights with her mother, her admiration for her father, and her dreams of being a writer and journalist.
She even rewrote parts of the diary when, in March 1944, she heard on the radio that the Dutch Minister of Education required citizens to preserve personal documents about the occupation. Anne imagined that her writings could have historical value someday, and she didn’t even know how right she was.
The beginning of the tragedy. It was an ordinary Friday, the 4th of August 1944. It was still morning when a car stopped in front of number 263 Prinsengracht. Dutch police, under the command of SS officer Karl Silberbauer, entered the building after receiving an anonymous report.
To this day, the identity of the whistleblower has not been officially confirmed. Silberbauer and his men went up to the secret annex. The residents were found. There was no resistance.
The occupants, who had survived for more than two years in almost absolute silence, had nowhere to run, nor any way to react to this unexpected presence. Silberbauer confiscated money and valuables. Papers and notebooks were scattered across the ground during the search. Among them was Anne Frank’s diary and other manuscripts.
When the eight prisoners were taken, two of the helpers, Miep Gies and Bep Voskuijl, went up to the annex and collected the documents before the Nazis could empty the place completely. That one gesture would save the memory of Anne Frank.
The prisoners were then taken to Gestapo headquarters in Amsterdam and from there transferred to the transit camp Westerbork, in the north of the Netherlands. Conditions were harsh, but still bearable compared to what was to come later.
Men and women were separated during the day, forced to carry out different tasks. At night, Otto could still see Edith, Margot, and Anne. It was the last period in which the family would be relatively united.
Then, in September 1944, a train left Westerbork bound for Auschwitz-Birkenau. The prisoners were transported in cattle cars, with more than 1,000 people compressed into minimal spaces, without adequate ventilation, with little water, and just one barrel as a collective bathroom.
The trip lasted three days. When they arrived at Auschwitz, they were subjected to selection. Nazi doctors evaluated who was in a position to perform forced labor and who would be sent immediately to the gas chambers.
According to the records of the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, about 350 people from Anne’s transport were murdered as soon as they disembarked. These included children, the elderly, and people already weakened by the journey.
Anne, Margot, and Edith were sent to the female work camp. Otto was separated from them at that moment. He would never see them again.
The three women of the Frank family became, according to testimonies of survivors harvested after the war, inseparable companions in Auschwitz. They protected each other, shared the little they had, and tried to remain nearby whenever possible. But as we already know, Auschwitz was not built to preserve humanity.
The last winter. We now arrive at the beginning of November 1944. Anne and Margot were selected and deported to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Germany. Edith stayed behind at Auschwitz-Birkenau. It was the last separation of the family.
Then, on January 6, 1945, Edith Frank died of exhaustion and illness. Soviet troops freed Auschwitz three weeks later. Unfortunately, she did not survive to see liberation.
Bergen-Belsen was, in the last months of the war, one of the most devastating places in Europe. The camp had been built originally for prisoners of war, but throughout 1944 and 1945, it became overcrowded with Jews transferred from other camps as the Third Reich retreated.
Between January and March 1945 came the trains from the so-called death marches—columns of prisoners forced to walk for miles in the intense cold, hunger, and constant violence. According to British records of the period, about a third of the prisoners arrived dead.
Of those who were still alive, almost 80% needed to be loaded onto trucks from the railway stations, unable to even walk. In a single transport of 1,000 prisoners, more than 500 arrived lifeless.
Inside the camp, conditions were practically indescribable. The intensely cold German winter punished already weakened bodies. The barracks were overcrowded, and many slept directly on the ground because there were not enough beds.
There were about 200 blankets for tens of thousands of people. There was almost no food, and not enough water even to drink, let alone maintain basic hygiene. In that scenario of abandonment, a typhus epidemic spread without any control.
The daily mortality rate in Bergen-Belsen, according to British military reports compiled after the liberation, varied between 250 and 300 deaths per day. Anne Frank and Margot were in that camp.
Nanette Blitz was a childhood friend of Anne Frank. The two had attended the same school in Amsterdam before the war. In Bergen-Belsen, they met again not as classmates, but as prisoners.
In her testimony preserved by the Anne Frank House, Nanette described what she saw. Anne was bald, malnourished, and shaking. The energy that had defined that girl for years—the constant curiosity, the easy laughter, the desire to write about everything—seemed to have disappeared.
In her place, there was someone who was barely recognizable, physically fragile, and emotionally exhausted. Anne spoke to Nanette:
“I believe my parents are dead. I no longer have the will to live. But when the war ends, I still expect to write a book based on my diary.”
Even there, in the midst of collapse, the idea of turning her words into something bigger still survived. Gena Turgel, another survivor of Bergen-Belsen who worked in the makeshift camp hospital, also remembered Anne in a subsequent testimony.
She described her in critical condition, delirious, with a high fever, burning up inside. Gena brought water so she could wash. That was all that was within her reach at that moment. A simple, almost minimal gesture, but deeply human.
It wasn’t enough. Then came death. Margot died first. Weakened beyond what the body could sustain, she fell out of her bunk during the night. The impact, added to the extreme state of weakness in which she found herself, was fatal. She died shortly afterwards.
The next day, or a few days later—reports vary—Anne also passed away. Both succumbed to typhus sometime in February 1945. For a long time, it was believed that the sisters had died shortly before the liberation of Bergen-Belsen on April 15, 1945.
Further research, including analyses carried out by the Anne Frank House, indicates that their deaths likely occurred weeks earlier, still in February, when conditions in the camp were at the height of collapse. Anne Frank was just 15 years old.
Otto, her father, managed to survive. She and Margot were buried in mass graves, like millions of other Holocaust victims. They were reduced to numbers in reports, to names on transportation lists, and to silence.
Otto’s fate: Soviet troops managed to free Auschwitz-Birkenau on January 27, 1945. Anne’s father, Otto Frank, was there. He took the long way back to the Netherlands, arriving on June 3, 1945, 9 days before what would have been Anne’s 16th birthday.
On the way, he learned that Edith had died. Still, he maintained the hope that his daughters were alive in some other camp awaiting rescue. In July 1945, that wait ended.
Miep Gies waited for him with a box of documents that she had collected from the floor of the secret annex on that August day in 1944. She had kept them unread, in the hope of returning them to their owner. Now, she handed them over to the only survivor of the family.
Otto took weeks to find the courage to read it. When he finally did, he discovered a daughter that he didn’t completely know: her depths, her internal conflicts, her lucid and, at the same time, generous vision of the world around her. He discovered a writer, and he also discovered the desire expressed by her that her stories be published one day.
And so it happened. In 1947, the first 3,000 copies of Het Achterhuis, known worldwide as The Diary of a Young Girl, were published in the Netherlands. Since then, the book has been translated into more than 70 languages and became one of the most important works of contemporary history.
In 1960, the Prinsengracht 263 building was turned into a museum, the Anne Frank House. There, you can still see Anne’s room with the walls covered in photos and postcards she collected.
In addition to the original notebooks in which she wrote her last words in freedom, there is an excerpt from the diary written on July 15, 1944, just three weeks before the arrest, which Otto cited in interviews throughout his adult life. Anne wrote:
“Despite everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.”
She was wrong about a lot of things that would come later, but it’s possible that she was right about this. And perhaps that is the reason why we still return to her words—not to find ready answers, but to remind us that the question remains urgent.
How to prevent this from happening again in the future? Anne Frank died in February 1945, but her voice was never really silenced.
