On Friday night, when my father said the blessing, we put a piece of barches into the salt. But on fall holidays, on Rosh Hashanah, the [Jewish] New Year, we dunked it into honey, so that the year to come would be sweet.
- Traditions 11756
- Language spoken 3019
- Identity 7808
- Description of town 2440
- Education, school 8506
- Economics 8772
- Work 11672
- Love & romance 4929
- Leisure/Social life 4159
- Antisemitism 4822
-
Major events (political and historical)
4256
- Armenian genocide 2
- Doctor's Plot (1953) 178
- Soviet invasion of Poland 31
- Siege of Leningrad 86
- The Six Day War 4
- Yom Kippur War 2
- Ataturk's death 5
- Balkan Wars (1912-1913) 35
- First Soviet-Finnish War 37
- Occupation of Czechoslovakia 1938 83
- Invasion of France 9
- Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact 65
- Varlik Vergisi (Wealth Tax) 36
- First World War (1914-1918) 216
- Spanish flu (1918-1920) 14
- Latvian War of Independence (1918-1920) 4
- The Great Depression (1929-1933) 20
- Hitler comes to power (1933) 127
- 151 Hospital 1
- Fire of Thessaloniki (1917) 9
- Greek Civil War (1946-49) 12
- Thessaloniki International Trade Fair 5
- Annexation of Bukovina to Romania (1918) 7
- Annexation of Northern Bukovina to the Soviet Union (1940) 19
- The German invasion of Poland (1939) 94
- Kishinev Pogrom (1903) 7
- Romanian Annexation of Bessarabia (1918) 25
- Returning of the Hungarian rule in Transylvania (1940-1944) 43
- Soviet Occupation of Bessarabia (1940) 59
- Second Vienna Dictate 27
- Estonian war of independence 3
- Warsaw Uprising 2
- Soviet occupation of the Balitc states (1940) 147
- Austrian Civil War (1934) 9
- Anschluss (1938) 71
- Collapse of Habsburg empire 3
- Dollfuß Regime 3
- Emigration to Vienna before WWII 36
- Kolkhoz 131
- KuK - Königlich und Kaiserlich 40
- Mineriade 1
- Post War Allied occupation 7
- Waldheim affair 5
- Trianon Peace Treaty 12
- NEP 56
- Russian Revolution 351
- Ukrainian Famine 199
- The Great Terror 283
- Perestroika 233
- 22nd June 1941 468
- Molotov's radio speech 115
- Victory Day 147
- Stalin's death 365
- Khrushchev's speech at 20th Congress 148
- KGB 62
- NKVD 153
- German occupation of Hungary (18-19 March 1944) 45
- Józef Pilsudski (until 1935) 33
- 1956 revolution 84
- Prague Spring (1968) 73
- 1989 change of regime 174
- Gomulka campaign (1968) 81
-
Holocaust
9685
- Holocaust (in general) 2789
- Concentration camp / Work camp 1235
- Mass shooting operations 337
- Ghetto 1183
- Death / extermination camp 647
- Deportation 1063
- Forced labor 791
- Flight 1410
- Hiding 594
- Resistance 121
- 1941 evacuations 866
- Novemberpogrom / Kristallnacht 34
- Eleftherias Square 10
- Kasztner group 1
- Pogrom in Iasi and the Death Train 21
- Sammelwohnungen 9
- Strohmann system 11
- Struma ship 17
- Life under occupation 803
- Yellow star house 72
- Protected house 15
- Arrow Cross ("nyilasok") 42
- Danube bank shots 6
- Kindertransport 26
- Schutzpass / false papers 95
- Warsaw Ghetto Uprising (1943) 24
- Warsaw Uprising (1944) 23
- Helpers 521
- Righteous Gentiles 269
- Returning home 1090
- Holocaust compensation 112
- Restitution 109
- Property (loss of property) 595
- Loss of loved ones 1724
- Trauma 1029
- Talking about what happened 1807
- Liberation 558
- Military 3322
- Politics 2640
-
Communism
4468
- Life in the Soviet Union/under Communism (in general) 2592
- Anti-communist resistance in general 63
- Nationalization under Communism 221
- Illegal communist movements 98
- Systematic demolitions under communism 45
- Communist holidays 311
- Sentiments about the communist rule 930
- Collectivization 94
- Experiences with state police 349
- Prison/Forced labor under communist/socialist rule 449
- Lack or violation of human and citizen rights 483
- Life after the change of the regime (1989) 493
- Israel / Palestine 2190
- Zionism 847
- Jewish Organizations 1200
Displaying 9031 - 9060 of 50826 results
Magda Fazekas
Women went to the prayer house rather only on Yom Kippur. I remember my mother going to the prayer house, but we didn't. On Yom Kippur we kept the fast. I kept the fast from my early childhood until the age of eighty-five. I always rigorously observed fasting for the entire day. Then my daughter said that at this age it isn't compulsory. Fasting doesn't apply to children. Well, I suppose I started it when I was twelve or thirteen. [Editor's note: One has to keep the fast only if fasting does not endanger one's health by any means. Children have to keep the fast all day like adults after their bar mitzvah, until that they fast for half a day.]
Each member of our family observed fasting, because my father expected the children to do so; otherwise we weren't such devout Jews, not even my father. He was praying; that's what his being religious consisted of. But we didn't eat at random, that is, we didn't mix dairy products and meat, which one must not do according to the Jewish laws. The night before Yom Kippur we had a more abundant meal, that's the custom, but I know by experience that the more you ate for dinner, the hungrier you got. As of late, I've reduced this abundant dinner. We always had meat soup. This was a custom, to have meat soup, then keep the fast, and when fasting was over, we didn't have meat soup again, but only roast. And I also remember that we used to have honey on these holidays, and of course barches [challah].
Each member of our family observed fasting, because my father expected the children to do so; otherwise we weren't such devout Jews, not even my father. He was praying; that's what his being religious consisted of. But we didn't eat at random, that is, we didn't mix dairy products and meat, which one must not do according to the Jewish laws. The night before Yom Kippur we had a more abundant meal, that's the custom, but I know by experience that the more you ate for dinner, the hungrier you got. As of late, I've reduced this abundant dinner. We always had meat soup. This was a custom, to have meat soup, then keep the fast, and when fasting was over, we didn't have meat soup again, but only roast. And I also remember that we used to have honey on these holidays, and of course barches [challah].
Though we lived in the countryside, we strictly observed holidays. I remember holidays were always very nice. The family gathered, so it was very nice. We had a festive meal, and we always had fruits. Fruits are very important, especially on high holidays. Since vine can't grow in that region, producers from the Regat used to bring grapes, they sold them by the box, and on holidays my father always bought a box of white grapes and a box of blue grapes. I like grapes very much, even today.
Perhaps my father prayed in that hall with a glassed-in door, in the porch; it was closed. There was a table and an armchair. He prayed from a book. [Editor's note: Prayers must always be recited from a book in order to avoid making a mistake.] I didn't get acquainted with Hebrew letters, I can't pray. I have a prayer book in Hungarian, the Mirjam. My parents had a prayer book that contained the prayers both in Hebrew and Hungarian.
When Hermin started to become a sewer, she worked in Gyergyoszentmiklos. After a few years she went to Bucharest, because we had an aunt there who invited her to come, because she thought Hermin was a much too excellent sewer to work in the country. My two sisters, Hermin and Margit, went to Bucharest together. My sister Hermin was the head of the showroom, and Margit worked with her, but she was only sewing. Hermin tailored and tried on dresses in her showroom; she employed several girls. They lived in Bucharest until the [Second] Vienna Dictate.
In 1940 Hermin came back to Gyergyoszarhegy, because she didn't want to be separated from her parents by a borderline. Margit had married before that. Margit's husband was called Matyas Gluck. Before getting married, he worked in the catering trade in Brasso. The parents of Matyi [Matyas] also lived there, in Brasso. He spent many years in Paris, but then came home. In fact he was a goldsmith, a jeweler by his original profession; that was his basic trade. In those times there were Iron Guard [8] actions in Bucharest, and Margit's husband was an illegal communist, and he was afraid of being caught by the Iron Guard, as that would have had consequences. So they fled Bucharest and went to Csernovic. They thought they would be safe there.
In 1940 Hermin came back to Gyergyoszarhegy, because she didn't want to be separated from her parents by a borderline. Margit had married before that. Margit's husband was called Matyas Gluck. Before getting married, he worked in the catering trade in Brasso. The parents of Matyi [Matyas] also lived there, in Brasso. He spent many years in Paris, but then came home. In fact he was a goldsmith, a jeweler by his original profession; that was his basic trade. In those times there were Iron Guard [8] actions in Bucharest, and Margit's husband was an illegal communist, and he was afraid of being caught by the Iron Guard, as that would have had consequences. So they fled Bucharest and went to Csernovic. They thought they would be safe there.
After the [Second] Vienna Dictate, in 1940 these laws were introduced, saying that a Jew can't be a trader, can't own a shop. [Editor's note: Anti- Jewish laws were extended to Northern-Transylvania on 26th-27th March 1941; the territory had been annexed to Romania, according to the Trianon Peace Treaty of 1920, and had been re-annexed to Hungary on 30th August 1940 according to the Second Vienna Dictate.] So we gave the shop to an Armenian trader, who took over not the shop as such, but the merchandise. He took over all the merchandise as it was. And we closed the shop. There were two Armenian traders in the village, and one of them took over my father's business.
When I was a small child, we had a large shop. But since my father gave people a lot of credits, he also ended up having buyers who didn't pay. And my father had debts too, because he got goods on credit, but if he sold them on credit, and they didn't pay for them, my father didn't have means for paying his debts. As a result, he was close to bankruptcy, but Dorika saved him. First, she didn't sell goods on credit anymore; she sold the merchandise only against cash. Besides she introduced the 'currents.' Currents were things that were much in demand; she made every endeavor to have these on stock all the time, and above all she sold them a little cheaper than others. She was traveling and purchasing things all the time, she was extremely busy, and thus she improved the business. Before deportation we had managed to recoup the losses quite well.
My brother Joska became an architect; he attended a three-year school of architecture in Csernovic. Dorika stayed home in spite of the fact that she should have studied at a university, because she was extremely clever; she was the cleverest of our family. Her susceptibility was remarkable. She stayed home, for my father was so old, he wasn't able to run the shop anymore, and Dorika took it over. She stayed home, and sacrificed herself, that's how this can be interpreted, when such an intelligent person should have continued her studies, but instead remained where she was. Well, I oughtn't to say it was a backward, insignificant place, because Gyergyoszarhegy was quite a big village, but it was a sacrifice of her anyway. She transformed my father's shop, which was close to failure, into a prosperous and booming business, so to speak. She saved it from the edge of bankruptcy, it was insolvent, but she came to an agreement with the creditors, and she assumed to pay within a certain period. Later it turned into a flourishing shop.
When I attended elementary school, I was the best pupil. So certainly I would have had the skill to finish a high school, even more... But my parents didn't have the means to send me somewhere else. There wasn't anything else in the surroundings, just the Catholic school in Gyergyoszentmiklos. In order to pursue my studies in a high school, I would have needed to go to Brasso or Marosvasarhely.
It was not possible for me anymore to study there, because an order was introduced, and they didn't admit any persons of Jewish origins in that Catholic school. Thus we submitted an application in Gyergyoszentmiklos, in the high school for boys, so I could take the exams in order to have some qualification. I was studying at home, privately, and I sat for the exams in that high school. The boys, Andor and Jeno, attended that school too. But my brother Joska went to another school. I don't know the reason why they sent him away; if I remember correctly, they sent him to Lippa [in Romanian Lipova] in the Banat [region]. He went to a high school there.
That's all my education, the curriculum of four grades of gymnasium and languages. A teacher from Gyergyoszarhegy taught me all this, he was called Joska Ferenc, he was Hungarian. Due to his illness he didn't actually work as a teacher, but he was at home, at his parents', and he accepted to prepare me, he was teaching me. He used to come to our house, and prepared me at home. This was my possibility, thus I had as much education as my sister with her four grades of public school. As compared to my brothers, I didn't attend any school, but studied privately. I studied French and other subjects that were compulsory.
That's all my education, the curriculum of four grades of gymnasium and languages. A teacher from Gyergyoszarhegy taught me all this, he was called Joska Ferenc, he was Hungarian. Due to his illness he didn't actually work as a teacher, but he was at home, at his parents', and he accepted to prepare me, he was teaching me. He used to come to our house, and prepared me at home. This was my possibility, thus I had as much education as my sister with her four grades of public school. As compared to my brothers, I didn't attend any school, but studied privately. I studied French and other subjects that were compulsory.
Back then elementary school was seven grades. [Editor's note: In Hungary before the Trianon Peace Treaty one had to finish the six-grade public school. In the case of Romania cf. [7].] My sisters finished elementary school in Gyergyoszarhegy and after that all of my sisters attended the convent, a Catholic school in Gyergyoszarhegy. It wasn't a gymnasium, but four grades of public school. [Editor's note: In Gyergyoszentmiklos, in the Saint Vincent de Paul convent, a Catholic higher elementary school for girls opened in 1892.] In those times children finished four grades of public school, and they attended that one. They, my elder siblings, finished their studies there. Then my sister Dorika pursued her studies in Kolozsvar, in the Jewish High School, the Tarbut, she graduated there. The others didn't, they were left with those four grades. In those times people didn't really go to university, therefore four grades of public school counted for a basic education.
Andor attended the gymnasium in Gyergyoszentmiklos [established in 1908]. He lived in lodgings at Aunt Kati's; she was a simple Hungarian woman, who always let out rooms to students. First my elder brother, Jeno, lived there, and then Andor.
Andor attended the gymnasium in Gyergyoszentmiklos [established in 1908]. He lived in lodgings at Aunt Kati's; she was a simple Hungarian woman, who always let out rooms to students. First my elder brother, Jeno, lived there, and then Andor.
We didn't have any series of Hungarian classics, but we had a few Russian novels by Tolstoy [5] and Dostoevsky [6]. My brother Joska liked the Russians better. I liked to read too, in my childhood, well not exactly Dostoevsky or Tolstoy, but to read in general. At that time I preferred reading light novels; there were series like the Pengo series. And there was Courths-Mahler, a German writer, back then I didn't know the writer was a woman. [Hedwig Courths-Mahler (1867-1950): German writer, internationally acknowledged author of romantic fiction, she wrote more than 200 novels.] It was pulp fiction, but it was successful. Well I've just found out from the 'Nok lapja' [magazine] that Courths-Mahler was a woman.
The series contained romantic stories, and it always had a happy ending. Usually we borrowed these books from somebody who came and brought books from somewhere. These girls, who served somewhere in a bigger town, stole these books. They came home to the village and they always brought such cheap books.
Then we had books by Brehm. [Alfred Brehm (1829-1884): German zoologist and writer, whose main work, 'Life of Animals' was a popular family book for generations. Brehm himself extended the original edition of six volumes (1863-69) to ten volumes (1876-79); this version was published in Hungary between 1901 and 1907, and a single 'concentrated' volume was also edited, the so-called 'Short Brehm,' revised by Raymund Rapaics.] These were books of natural science; it was rather my brother Joska who read these, for example 'The Love Life in Nature', we had that one too. [Editor's note: A work in two volumes by Wilhelm Bolsche, 'Love Life in Nature. The Story of the Evolution of Love,' published in Hungarian in 1912 by the Athenaeum publishing house.
The series contained romantic stories, and it always had a happy ending. Usually we borrowed these books from somebody who came and brought books from somewhere. These girls, who served somewhere in a bigger town, stole these books. They came home to the village and they always brought such cheap books.
Then we had books by Brehm. [Alfred Brehm (1829-1884): German zoologist and writer, whose main work, 'Life of Animals' was a popular family book for generations. Brehm himself extended the original edition of six volumes (1863-69) to ten volumes (1876-79); this version was published in Hungary between 1901 and 1907, and a single 'concentrated' volume was also edited, the so-called 'Short Brehm,' revised by Raymund Rapaics.] These were books of natural science; it was rather my brother Joska who read these, for example 'The Love Life in Nature', we had that one too. [Editor's note: A work in two volumes by Wilhelm Bolsche, 'Love Life in Nature. The Story of the Evolution of Love,' published in Hungarian in 1912 by the Athenaeum publishing house.
We took short walks too; there wasn't any promenade, but the forest was very near. There was a very nice road, which led to the Franciscan monastery. We liked it a lot. One could walk up there, it was a nice walk. We walked up there frequently, just we, children, and there was a bench in front of the monastery. It was quite a long walk to go up to the monastery. When we went up there, we sat down on the bench, and we watched the monastery. Two monks lived there. I understand there had been more monks before. There was a very nice young boy, sometimes he came out of the monastery's yard and sat down. And we would have a conversation with him. There weren't such strict rules that they couldn't communicate with people.
My brothers and I enjoyed nature a lot. As it was close, we wandered around the forest. There was a quite high mountain, it was called 'sharp mountain.' For us, children it was a great deal to walk up to its top. There was a spring too, it was called Hidegkut, it was quite far, but it counted a lot if we managed to reach it. When you're walking in the mountains, and you know there's a spring, it's a challenge to get there and drink some of that fresh water.
My brothers and I enjoyed nature a lot. As it was close, we wandered around the forest. There was a quite high mountain, it was called 'sharp mountain.' For us, children it was a great deal to walk up to its top. There was a spring too, it was called Hidegkut, it was quite far, but it counted a lot if we managed to reach it. When you're walking in the mountains, and you know there's a spring, it's a challenge to get there and drink some of that fresh water.
In the meantime, during these seven weeks my sister Hermin fell ill. There was a so-called sick-bay, it was called 'Revier,' where they put those who could be, let's say, healed. She had an eruptive illness, it is called erysipelas. It started on her neck, and went down to her shoulders, and so she was in a sick-bay, where she was taken care of by a Polish woman doctor, who was a prisoner like we were.
I got beaten in Auschwitz once, when my sister was ill and was in the sick- bay. There was no water, and one day they brought one cistern of water for such a huge camp. And there was a stone tank in it. It was forbidden to approach it, nobody was allowed to go there. When this cistern was taken away, I ran after it, because water was still dripping out of it, and I wanted to get some water to take it to my sister in the hospital. So they trashed me, because even this was forbidden. They hit me and beat me...
Something else I recall was that we agreed not to talk, if possible, because talking too makes you tired, you loose energy, and so we decided not to talk and save some energy. Thus we remained silent for days, and that's how those weeks in Auschwitz passed. It is interesting that we thought we had a slight chance to survive: if we went to work. But we were afraid of selection, and that we would loose my sister Hermin. When she got better, she'd be let out from the sick-bay.
I got beaten in Auschwitz once, when my sister was ill and was in the sick- bay. There was no water, and one day they brought one cistern of water for such a huge camp. And there was a stone tank in it. It was forbidden to approach it, nobody was allowed to go there. When this cistern was taken away, I ran after it, because water was still dripping out of it, and I wanted to get some water to take it to my sister in the hospital. So they trashed me, because even this was forbidden. They hit me and beat me...
Something else I recall was that we agreed not to talk, if possible, because talking too makes you tired, you loose energy, and so we decided not to talk and save some energy. Thus we remained silent for days, and that's how those weeks in Auschwitz passed. It is interesting that we thought we had a slight chance to survive: if we went to work. But we were afraid of selection, and that we would loose my sister Hermin. When she got better, she'd be let out from the sick-bay.
After this was over, they gave us some thin liquid, they called coffee, but it had nothing to do with coffee. It didn't taste like coffee, it was a slop we had in the morning. This was breakfast. We had some kind of dish; we got all kinds of mangy dishes acquired from who knows where, let's say a small pot or casserole. Everybody had a different one. Those dished were rusty, disgusting, but we didn't have any other. One could see that these had been thrown away, I don't know from where they collected them.
For lunch they gave us something called 'Gemüse.' It means vegetables. Well, it was a bit like hay covered with dust; it had nothing to do with vegetables. Just looking at it, I was overcome by such disgust, that I didn't even want to try it. When you first tasted it, you thought you'd never be able to eat it. Finally we did eat it. And they gave it to us in those repugnant dishes. Most of the people got diarrhea after one or two days, and became so weakened, that they couldn't live on, couldn't exist. I wouldn't say my stomach resisted, the most awful was when I had to go out in the night, but I didn't have diarrhea, interestingly enough. And that's how we lived for seven weeks, under such circumstances.
We didn't wash ourselves, because it was not possible. Once in a month you could take a shower. We didn't have any underwear, hygiene was lacking, yet I didn't have a rash on my skin a single time. I didn't have lice either. Not once. Our hair was closely cropped, but it grew, and later we had unbelievably beautiful hair. We had much nicer hair after being shaved than we had had before.
In Auschwitz after a while we stopped having menses, we were told later that the food we were given had bromide in it. [Editor's note: There is no actual evidence of dosing sedatives (bromide), though many people from different sources stated that prisoners were given bromide. Yet it is possible that bromide was needless: little food, beating, cold or on the contrary, heat, little sleep, terrible work conditions etc. wore out prisoners in a very short time, all this bore down their resistance.] Back then we didn't know the reason for it, we thought that it was because of nutrition, but in fact we didn't know, we were just rejoicing over it, so we didn't have to worry about that at least. This was good, that they did this, among all that evil.
For lunch they gave us something called 'Gemüse.' It means vegetables. Well, it was a bit like hay covered with dust; it had nothing to do with vegetables. Just looking at it, I was overcome by such disgust, that I didn't even want to try it. When you first tasted it, you thought you'd never be able to eat it. Finally we did eat it. And they gave it to us in those repugnant dishes. Most of the people got diarrhea after one or two days, and became so weakened, that they couldn't live on, couldn't exist. I wouldn't say my stomach resisted, the most awful was when I had to go out in the night, but I didn't have diarrhea, interestingly enough. And that's how we lived for seven weeks, under such circumstances.
We didn't wash ourselves, because it was not possible. Once in a month you could take a shower. We didn't have any underwear, hygiene was lacking, yet I didn't have a rash on my skin a single time. I didn't have lice either. Not once. Our hair was closely cropped, but it grew, and later we had unbelievably beautiful hair. We had much nicer hair after being shaved than we had had before.
In Auschwitz after a while we stopped having menses, we were told later that the food we were given had bromide in it. [Editor's note: There is no actual evidence of dosing sedatives (bromide), though many people from different sources stated that prisoners were given bromide. Yet it is possible that bromide was needless: little food, beating, cold or on the contrary, heat, little sleep, terrible work conditions etc. wore out prisoners in a very short time, all this bore down their resistance.] Back then we didn't know the reason for it, we thought that it was because of nutrition, but in fact we didn't know, we were just rejoicing over it, so we didn't have to worry about that at least. This was good, that they did this, among all that evil.
When we arrived here, in the barrack, they portioned us out one loaf of bread, which was brick-shaped; I don't even want to imagine what it was made from! In any case, it didn't look like bread at all. Everybody got bread for a week. It was gray, its color wasn't that of bread. I put it down at my place. Well, I thought if I went back there, the bread would be still there. But the bread was not to be found. I came back, and the bread wasn't there, and I saw the others eating, and I had nothing to eat... Dorika's bread too was taken away. Thus I was starving, because I didn't have any bread. On the very first day they stole my bread, and we never ever got an entire loaf of bread again. After that they only gave you enough for a day.
In the morning it was still dark when they shouted that we had to get up. We had to go out and line up, and stand there on the stony ground for hours, until they would come to count us. There were so many people crowded in one room, that you weren't cold there. It was such a place, where at daytime it was around forty degrees, so the skin got blistered because of the extreme heat, but in the morning you were freezing in that dress, as you were standing there waiting. And we huddled up, we warmed each other, because we were freezing. The temperature was almost zero at night. And this was the same every day. They came in the morning and counted us. Why they did this, that I don't know.
In the morning it was still dark when they shouted that we had to get up. We had to go out and line up, and stand there on the stony ground for hours, until they would come to count us. There were so many people crowded in one room, that you weren't cold there. It was such a place, where at daytime it was around forty degrees, so the skin got blistered because of the extreme heat, but in the morning you were freezing in that dress, as you were standing there waiting. And we huddled up, we warmed each other, because we were freezing. The temperature was almost zero at night. And this was the same every day. They came in the morning and counted us. Why they did this, that I don't know.
Then we lined up as follows: Dorika, me, my sister, and mother between. Then selection followed: they let the three of us there and snatched away my mother. We didn't see her again... we never saw my mother again. I know that this Mengele was there, we found out consequently who he was. He performed the selection, it was always him who selected among those who arrived. [Editor's note: Historians generally agree that since more than 450,000 Hungarian Jews were sent through Auschwitz in a three month period, it is highly unlikely that Josef Mengele himself divided up tens of thousands of Jews each day.]
Later he came into the concentration camp where we were, he came together with a beautiful, blond, young SS woman-soldier. They rivaled in beauty. That woman-soldier was a blond beauty, and he was a male beauty. A tall, brown-haired, handsome man. You wouldn't have thought him so cruel. Mother was pulled away, and they let us go further, that was all. We preserved in our memory what Mengele looked like, because he showed up several times in the concentration camp.
After we were parted, those who were put on the right side went into the gas-chamber, and those who were put on the left, were taken to the bath to take a shower. Right after they were separated, those who were let to live, were taken to the shower room, and they even gave you soap. They took away everything we had on us, what we wore, they let us keep only our shoes. First they cut off our hair I think, then came the shower. Everywhere, everything, they shaved all our body hair.
The soap they gave us was cube-shaped, grayish. Coarse, grainy. And it was written on it: RIF, 'Reiche Jüdische Fette.' This means 'pure Jewish fat.' We weren't aware then what this monogram meant. Later we got such soap again, and we ignored it then too. [Editor's note: There are two conflicting views concerning the 'soap-issue.' According to one the soap manufactured from human fat is a legend based on a misinterpretation. The German occupiers distributed soaps bearing the 'Rif' inscription in the Polish ghettos. The Jews of the ghetto interpreted the acronym RIF as 'Rein jüdisches Fett,' which means 'pure Jewish fat,' and this was the basis of the belief that soaps were made from the Jewish corpses in the concentration camps. In fact RIF stands for 'Reichstelle für Industrielle Fettversorgung' (National Center for Industrial Fat Provisioning).] Right after that we were given a simple linen dress, it was neither white nor grey. Only a linen dress, nothing to wear underneath.
Then they lined us up. We were always four in one line. Four when they selected us. After the shower we had to walk along a stony road; they were larger stones, not small ones. They told everybody in which barrack they had to go.
Such a barrack was around thirty to forty square meters large. And we were crammed in there, more than a hundred persons, like sardines. There was nothing on the ground, straw or anything, only the bare ground. And so I laid down on my shoes, those were my pillow. I was together with Dorika; Hermin was in another room. Why she wasn't with us, that I don't know. We would have liked to be together of course. It was settled how many would go here, and they pushed people in, and then it couldn't be changed, unless you made an exchange, arranged that one would go there, and the other come here, for the number would be the same. That did occur.
Later he came into the concentration camp where we were, he came together with a beautiful, blond, young SS woman-soldier. They rivaled in beauty. That woman-soldier was a blond beauty, and he was a male beauty. A tall, brown-haired, handsome man. You wouldn't have thought him so cruel. Mother was pulled away, and they let us go further, that was all. We preserved in our memory what Mengele looked like, because he showed up several times in the concentration camp.
After we were parted, those who were put on the right side went into the gas-chamber, and those who were put on the left, were taken to the bath to take a shower. Right after they were separated, those who were let to live, were taken to the shower room, and they even gave you soap. They took away everything we had on us, what we wore, they let us keep only our shoes. First they cut off our hair I think, then came the shower. Everywhere, everything, they shaved all our body hair.
The soap they gave us was cube-shaped, grayish. Coarse, grainy. And it was written on it: RIF, 'Reiche Jüdische Fette.' This means 'pure Jewish fat.' We weren't aware then what this monogram meant. Later we got such soap again, and we ignored it then too. [Editor's note: There are two conflicting views concerning the 'soap-issue.' According to one the soap manufactured from human fat is a legend based on a misinterpretation. The German occupiers distributed soaps bearing the 'Rif' inscription in the Polish ghettos. The Jews of the ghetto interpreted the acronym RIF as 'Rein jüdisches Fett,' which means 'pure Jewish fat,' and this was the basis of the belief that soaps were made from the Jewish corpses in the concentration camps. In fact RIF stands for 'Reichstelle für Industrielle Fettversorgung' (National Center for Industrial Fat Provisioning).] Right after that we were given a simple linen dress, it was neither white nor grey. Only a linen dress, nothing to wear underneath.
Then they lined us up. We were always four in one line. Four when they selected us. After the shower we had to walk along a stony road; they were larger stones, not small ones. They told everybody in which barrack they had to go.
Such a barrack was around thirty to forty square meters large. And we were crammed in there, more than a hundred persons, like sardines. There was nothing on the ground, straw or anything, only the bare ground. And so I laid down on my shoes, those were my pillow. I was together with Dorika; Hermin was in another room. Why she wasn't with us, that I don't know. We would have liked to be together of course. It was settled how many would go here, and they pushed people in, and then it couldn't be changed, unless you made an exchange, arranged that one would go there, and the other come here, for the number would be the same. That did occur.
The arrival at Auschwitz was terrible. The railway was laid down just until the entrance to the Auschwitz concentration camp. After such a journey of three and a half days, when they finally open the door, instead of getting fresh air, we smelled the smoke of the crematorium, a stinking, singed smell. By this time you could think no more. You saw the chimneys were smoking. You could think of nothing anymore. We didn't think of surviving anymore.
As we got off, they separated men from women immediately. And these Poles, who were there for years, because they had been deported first, they were at home there already, in striped dress. They had arm ribbons, for they were people of some significance. They told women with little children at first to give the child to the elderly, because they would get a better supply. Well, there were some who didn't give them their children, they chose to take their children with them, and those who took their children with them, got into the gas-chamber. That young mother, who gave her child to her old mother, had the chance to get among those who survived, while the old mother went straight into the crematorium with the child.
At this moment my father was still there. The son of the householder was there too, because first they were exempted, as his father had I don't know what cross from World War I, he had some important decoration [12]. They didn't have to wear yellow stars. But then the right to be exempted was taken away from them, and they were together with us. I told the householder's son, 'Take care of my father' - I recall this well. He was a grown-up man, I don't know why he was at home, because in fact he should have been a married man, but he didn't have a family. He lived at home with his family. His grandmother had been thrown out on the way, because she had died, she was eighty-something. And so his mother came with us, while he went with his father, that's why I asked him to take care of my father. But who would have thought that... I didn't think yet they would kill them, but I didn't have any good feelings.
As we got off, they separated men from women immediately. And these Poles, who were there for years, because they had been deported first, they were at home there already, in striped dress. They had arm ribbons, for they were people of some significance. They told women with little children at first to give the child to the elderly, because they would get a better supply. Well, there were some who didn't give them their children, they chose to take their children with them, and those who took their children with them, got into the gas-chamber. That young mother, who gave her child to her old mother, had the chance to get among those who survived, while the old mother went straight into the crematorium with the child.
At this moment my father was still there. The son of the householder was there too, because first they were exempted, as his father had I don't know what cross from World War I, he had some important decoration [12]. They didn't have to wear yellow stars. But then the right to be exempted was taken away from them, and they were together with us. I told the householder's son, 'Take care of my father' - I recall this well. He was a grown-up man, I don't know why he was at home, because in fact he should have been a married man, but he didn't have a family. He lived at home with his family. His grandmother had been thrown out on the way, because she had died, she was eighty-something. And so his mother came with us, while he went with his father, that's why I asked him to take care of my father. But who would have thought that... I didn't think yet they would kill them, but I didn't have any good feelings.
The wagon was strictly locked; they opened it only when they gave us some water, and when dead bodies were thrown out. Those who guarded us until the border were Hungarian gendarmes. They kept on saying that if we had jewels, if we had a ring left, we should give it to them. I don't know anymore what their pretext was for requesting us to give them our jewels; certainly they didn't say 'for you are being taken away.' It was not likely, however, that people had anything on them.
When a hundred and two persons are crowded in a wagon, and air can get in only through that small window, one can image what smells were in that wagon. There was one pail you could use to relieve yourself. And they didn't stop frequently enough to be able to empty it, so you can imagine how it stank. Besides it was a hot summer, July, it smelled of sweat and all the rest. The traveling was unbearable until we got there, three and a half days later. All the family was up in the wagon, we were together. My father being seventy. [Editor's note: The interviewee's father was born in 1868, therefore in 1944 he was already 76 years old.] Alone the traveling until we got there was already such suffering...
They didn't tell us anything about where they would be taking us. We didn't know where we would arrive either, or where we were. At the Czech-Hungarian border certainly Germans took over the guarding of the train, because there weren't Hungarian gendarmes anymore.
When a hundred and two persons are crowded in a wagon, and air can get in only through that small window, one can image what smells were in that wagon. There was one pail you could use to relieve yourself. And they didn't stop frequently enough to be able to empty it, so you can imagine how it stank. Besides it was a hot summer, July, it smelled of sweat and all the rest. The traveling was unbearable until we got there, three and a half days later. All the family was up in the wagon, we were together. My father being seventy. [Editor's note: The interviewee's father was born in 1868, therefore in 1944 he was already 76 years old.] Alone the traveling until we got there was already such suffering...
They didn't tell us anything about where they would be taking us. We didn't know where we would arrive either, or where we were. At the Czech-Hungarian border certainly Germans took over the guarding of the train, because there weren't Hungarian gendarmes anymore.
All I know is that when I returned to Kaposvar just after the war, in 1945, I entered the pharmacy, and Mittelmann, the pharmacist was there just as before. What had happened to the others, that we didn't find out. Certainly they all survived, but didn't stay there, since most of them left either for America, or for Israel. But Mittelmann, the pharmacist, stayed in Kaposvar. He was glad too to see me, but it was such a delicate matter that I couldn't ask him in which concentration camp he had been, or where he was set free.
When we were already at the railway station, we saw a wagon where they put on Mittelmann, the pharmacist, who was a millionaire. We recognized another person too, whom we knew was also very wealthy. We were poor. When we were put into wagons, I saw there was a separate one for these rich people, where only they would go. These people could survive for the Germans seized their fortune. They negotiated with the Germans, who could be bribed.
When we finally set off, we traveled in the dark. There was only a small window, one couldn't look out from there, and we were a hundred and two persons in this wagon. Crushed together, you could sit down only if you pulled up your legs. The train stopped rarely. Those, who could get at it, drank some water. You see, the train didn't have enough so everybody could have drunk some water. Once we stopped for a longer time, not only to get a little water, and we knew that wagon was uncoupled [the part where the wealthy people were]. So it was obvious why we stopped and remained still. Because the wagon was uncoupled, and they transported us further.
When we finally set off, we traveled in the dark. There was only a small window, one couldn't look out from there, and we were a hundred and two persons in this wagon. Crushed together, you could sit down only if you pulled up your legs. The train stopped rarely. Those, who could get at it, drank some water. You see, the train didn't have enough so everybody could have drunk some water. Once we stopped for a longer time, not only to get a little water, and we knew that wagon was uncoupled [the part where the wealthy people were]. So it was obvious why we stopped and remained still. Because the wagon was uncoupled, and they transported us further.
So the way it happened was that they gathered us. They came into each house and told us: pack up and let's go. We had nowhere to escape. Those who were wealthy, the great manufacturers, the millionaires, bought their freedom. We were gathered in the riding-hall of Kaposvar. In other towns they gathered them in brick factories, but in Kaposvar we were gathered in the riding-hall. It was large, but one couldn't think of escaping from there. A mother saved two girls from there, because their father was Jewish, and she was Christian. We lived in the same yard with them. The father of the girls was either dead, or doing work service. I don't know how their mother arranged for them that they let out these little girls from there, where we were already gathered. But after they gathered us, one had no chance to escape at all.
While we were in the ghetto, it occurred that people were tortured - but we weren't among the tormented - in order to make them tell where they had put their jewels. Not the gendarmes tormented them, but there were persons fit for this, for not everybody could do this. These were bouncers; they were trained for torturing people. There were gentle people too among the gendarmes.
While we were in the ghetto, it occurred that people were tortured - but we weren't among the tormented - in order to make them tell where they had put their jewels. Not the gendarmes tormented them, but there were persons fit for this, for not everybody could do this. These were bouncers; they were trained for torturing people. There were gentle people too among the gendarmes.
We heard that Jews from everywhere were being deported. Then they gathered us from Kaposvar too. The street where we lived, Daniel Berzsenyi Street, was in the ghetto. Quite a lot of Jews lived in this street, and they brought here the Jews who lived in other parts of the town. The Germans came to Hungary in March 1944, I think on the twenty-first. [Editor's note: Germany occupied Hungary on 19th March 1944.] They deported us after that; I know for sure it happened in July.
Jews were prohibited from leaving the ghetto. They were not allowed to leave the street where they lived, and there too, they had to wear a yellow star [11]. I don't know from where others acquired the star, but for those who lived in this yard my sister sewed them. We had yellow material, some satin, she cut that out, and she gave everybody a yellow star to put on. My poor sister had already become weaker. She was sickly, she had pain in the joints, besides she was sensitive too, she was always prone to get a cold, she had a cough. Yet she worked a lot in Kaposvar. She always had work to do, she was called to families all the time, and she did go. The humiliation and all that treatment against Jews, that was astonishing. One could feel it in the air that something horrible would come. Yet what did come, we would never have thought of.
Jews were prohibited from leaving the ghetto. They were not allowed to leave the street where they lived, and there too, they had to wear a yellow star [11]. I don't know from where others acquired the star, but for those who lived in this yard my sister sewed them. We had yellow material, some satin, she cut that out, and she gave everybody a yellow star to put on. My poor sister had already become weaker. She was sickly, she had pain in the joints, besides she was sensitive too, she was always prone to get a cold, she had a cough. Yet she worked a lot in Kaposvar. She always had work to do, she was called to families all the time, and she did go. The humiliation and all that treatment against Jews, that was astonishing. One could feel it in the air that something horrible would come. Yet what did come, we would never have thought of.
According to the local fashion villagers wore 'pruszli,' a crocheted bodice. It was an apartment building where we lived, the host was called Satler. Several families lived in that yard. One of the women used to work for the shop where these bodices were sold, and she said she would get a job for me too. I learned how to crochet bodices. So I earned some money too, Dorika was spinning, and she earned some, but my sister Hermin earned the most. We had some money, the villagers had bought some of our belongings we had sold, and we had some savings, so we had something to live on until they deported us. This was the Kaposvar intermezzo.
We weren't allowed to do anything else in Kaposvar besides trying to do some needlework or something similar. Since my sister Hermin was a sewer, the woman we lived at got her clients for whom she could sew. These weren't Jews. They paid well for it, because she could make such unbelievably nice things, she could design patterns too, not only execute them. And she always knew what would suit a certain shape, and what would not. In short she had work. Of course the person she worked for asked her where we came from, how we had gotten there, and when she told them, they pitied us. So besides paying her work well, they packed her up with food and things.
Dorika learned how to spin. At that time Angora wool, was very fashionable. First one had to learn it properly; one cannot succeed in it at once. A lot of Jews lived in Kaposvar. Most of the Jews were physicians, but there were craftsmen too, for example tailors and watchmakers. There was a kind woman, she was Jewish too, and she was engaged in spinning angora. She taught Dorika, and so she was spinning the whole day.
I tried to do something as well; once I was recommended to a family. Of course in those times Jews couldn't be employed. It was a very distinguished family, the husband was the director of the sugar works, and they had two little children. His wife was about to give birth to the third child, and so they needed somebody to take care of the two elder children. Well, I couldn't stay there for long, for these two children were unbearable, they behaved dreadfully. They were tearing my hair... I was the youngest child in my family, but I couldn't have pictured that such children could exist. They were spoiled, the little boy and the girl. I couldn't get on with them at all; I didn't know how such children should be treated. Back then a director general used to be called milord, everything was so formal. [Editor's note: Presumably the title of 'milord' wasn't 'officially' due to the director of the sugar works of Kaposvar; yet it is conceivable that his milieu promoted him informally.] I tell you honestly, I couldn't fit in this milieu, after two weeks I told them I could come no more. They knew too why I was there, and so they packed me all kind of things.
Dorika learned how to spin. At that time Angora wool, was very fashionable. First one had to learn it properly; one cannot succeed in it at once. A lot of Jews lived in Kaposvar. Most of the Jews were physicians, but there were craftsmen too, for example tailors and watchmakers. There was a kind woman, she was Jewish too, and she was engaged in spinning angora. She taught Dorika, and so she was spinning the whole day.
I tried to do something as well; once I was recommended to a family. Of course in those times Jews couldn't be employed. It was a very distinguished family, the husband was the director of the sugar works, and they had two little children. His wife was about to give birth to the third child, and so they needed somebody to take care of the two elder children. Well, I couldn't stay there for long, for these two children were unbearable, they behaved dreadfully. They were tearing my hair... I was the youngest child in my family, but I couldn't have pictured that such children could exist. They were spoiled, the little boy and the girl. I couldn't get on with them at all; I didn't know how such children should be treated. Back then a director general used to be called milord, everything was so formal. [Editor's note: Presumably the title of 'milord' wasn't 'officially' due to the director of the sugar works of Kaposvar; yet it is conceivable that his milieu promoted him informally.] I tell you honestly, I couldn't fit in this milieu, after two weeks I told them I could come no more. They knew too why I was there, and so they packed me all kind of things.
We arrived in Kaposvar in December 1942; in the beginning we had a lot of trouble. Policemen came [Editor's note: presumably gendarmes came, since Kaposvar wasn't a municipal town] to inquire what we were doing there, why we went there. We explained to them that for us it was a forced domicile, we didn't come on our own free will. To this they said we had to present ourselves daily at the police station, all of us. Later they reduced this obligation so that we only had to go weekly. The police acknowledged that we weren't that sort of dangerous people, so why should they bother us to make us go there and call on us. Then they didn't bother us anymore. They weren't evil-minded at all. Until the very moment when deportation began. We spent one year and a half in Kaposvar, from December 1942 until 7th July 1944.
Jutka was a nice little woman, she was twenty-two. Her voice, just as her mother's was marvelous, they were both singing in the synagogue. There was a very nice synagogue in Kaposvar. [Editor's note: The synagogue in Kaposvar was built in the first half of the 1860s; it was restored according to the designs of Lipot Baumhorn, but in 1980 it was demolished, more precisely blown up. Only part of the two and a half meter high bronze table situated 12 meters high, on the top of the building was left, with the starting lines of the Ten Commandments.] And there was a rabbi too. On high holidays we went to the synagogue as well. The rabbi delivered a nice speech, and he spoke in Hungarian too, but he prayed in Hebrew as well. He was young.
Hermin brought a sewing-machine from Bucharest to Gyergyoszarhegy, and it was transported to Kaposvar together with the two wardrobes. Somehow we managed to pack up the Pesach dishes, we sent those to Kaposvar as well. Not any other dishes, only the Pesach ones. This was all we brought with us. Yet I don't remember whether we used the seder dishes in Kaposvar. I know, however, that there was a kind of storeroom in the back of the apartment, and when we got there, we put the box with the dishes there. But I presume we didn't observe Pesach there.
So when they let us know that we had to move from Gyergyoszarhegy, we went to Kaposvar. My brother, who did work service, was near Kaposvar. He was already acquainted with the place, and he knew a family, who could get us an apartment. We sent there two wardrobes by freight train. One could transport no matter what by freight train, even furniture. This wasn't about deportation yet.
The apartment we could move into belonged to a young Jewish woman. She was called Judit Frisch, her husband was doing work service. She let us a room, a glassed-in vestibule, we could use the kitchen, but had no bathroom. I can't recall how we organized beds, because we had only one room. There was a couch in the glassed-in vestibule, I was sleeping there, the others in that single room. We were five there from the family: my mother, my father, Dorika, Hermin and me. My father was seventy-six years old then, my mother fifty-six.
The apartment we could move into belonged to a young Jewish woman. She was called Judit Frisch, her husband was doing work service. She let us a room, a glassed-in vestibule, we could use the kitchen, but had no bathroom. I can't recall how we organized beds, because we had only one room. There was a couch in the glassed-in vestibule, I was sleeping there, the others in that single room. We were five there from the family: my mother, my father, Dorika, Hermin and me. My father was seventy-six years old then, my mother fifty-six.
In Marosvasarhely lived my brother Joska, the architect. Some of the more valuable furniture, the dining room's was brought here, to Marosvasarhely, and the villagers bought what wasn't of great value. Joska placed them somewhere. From the things that we could bring to Marosvasarhely, we found the dining room furniture without the armchairs and the small table; we found only the big table and the six chairs. Perhaps a mirror wardrobe too. My brother Joska didn't return from deportation.