When the holiday began, I spent the summer holiday at my uncle’s – I went by myself there. This was my second home. Together with the friends we went to excursions to Petrozseny's neighborhoods, the Zsil valley was beautiful, wherever one went. We went on excursions for an afternoon or a whole day, we didn't spend the night there. Nobody had a car, but we rented one, so we got to the location. There we climbed the mountain, but we didn't do much climbing, we preferred eating. We ate cold meal then, I remember there were delicious salamis and cheeses. I don't know whether we drank alcohol or not, but it was a very jolly company, and we had fun.
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Zsuzsa Diamantstein
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My parents had a very nice life. There were many young people then. There were no pools then, but at the lumber mill there was tennis court for the clerks, and they used to play tennis. There was a canteen, a shared kitchen, a woman cook, so mom didn't have to cook. There was a jolly life, they used to go with a two-horse carriage to Petrozseny to the candy store and cafe. I don't know if there was a cinema or not, but it was a casino and they also used to get together there to play cards. They had a lot of fun, they lived well.
My mother couldn't feed me because there were no nutriments then, so I had a foster nurse. My grandmother found out in the meantime that in Vasarhely there were nutriments, some Swiss ones, called Nestle. This product appeared then and my grandmother sent it to my mother, to try to feed me with it, because I was starving a lot, so I cried almost all the time, because I had nothing to eat, the babies were raised by breast-feeding then. Later I had a governess called Grete, she was a girl from Szaszsebes and she remained with us until I started to go to school. I learned German from her.
We had an apartment, too, in the building where the clerks lived. I don't remember exactly if we had one or two rooms. My dad managed the whole lumber mill while he was healthy. All the people had an extraordinary respect for my father.
Her story is very interesting: considering that grandpa was a bank manager, thus an important person in a small town like Marosvasarhely, he was invited to the balls. During the war – as far as I know it happened in 1918 – there was a very high-class ball in Marosvasarhely, where archduke Jozsef also made his appearance [Editor's note: archduke Jozsef Habsburg (Alcsut, 1872 – Rain bei Straubing, Bavaria, 1962) field-marshal, governor, member of the Hungarian Academy (corresponding from 1906, full between 1917-1945), nephew of palatine Jozsef, participated in World War I as constable.] and he asked mom the first dance. It meant that mom was a very beautiful girl, she wasn't invited for her social position, but for her aspect, indeed. Mom related this proudly. I think the Palace of Culture already existed, and the ball was surely held there.
My mother's maiden name was Paula Mittelmann. There was no Jewish school at the time my mother was a child, therefore she finished the four classes of elementary school and the four classes of middle school in Marosvasarhely in a Catholic denominational school.
Grandpa went to the synagogue on holidays and we had the afferent dinner [at home], what was prescribed to eat: meat-soup, kremzli, 'yellow cake' with caudle, I didn't like it, but my mother baked it for those who liked it. The yellow cake was in fact a sponge-cake, flushed with a flavoring sauce to prevent it from being clammy. The sauce was made from sugar, egg and wine, this was the caudle. Not to mention the delicious dinner on Rosh Hashanah. The meat-soup was made before Yom Kippur, together with the apple-sauce and the apple-pie – this was the evening before the fasting. On the next day, when the fast ended, when we came back from the synagogue, after Yom Kippur, everybody got on an empty stomach – including the children – a drop of spirit, to keep them from eating immediately. They told this is the healthy way, and we all drank the coffee with milk and ate the delkli with curd then, and later, after a while, when we digested the first meal, we had paprika chicken. When grandpa's sister stopped taking care of the household, this habit disappeared [the family gathering to observe the Jewish holidays].
Grandpa married Viola Tavaszi in 1928, she was an extremely decent woman, she adapted herself to the family very well. She lived in Marosvasarhely, she was a clerk when my grandpa married her. She was single before, grandpa was her first husband, but she wasn't young when she got married. They lived happily together until grandpa was deported. It didn't matter that his wife was Christian, he remained naturally Jew. They observed the Jewish traditions, Viola was already familiar with the ways how to do them, but because grandpa had his birthday on 24th December, my step-grandmother made her little Christmas three, and then the family came to greet grandpa and to celebrate Christmas. Our family did it very, very nicely. On holidays, on any kind of holiday, my grandparents used to cook always the meals adequate to the occasion. At the Jewish holidays my grandparents observed the adequate traditions, and on the Christian holidays, Christmas or Easter, they used to cook delicious dinners, as well. There always was a state dinner – auntie Viola cooked it. I didn't call her grandma, I called her auntie Viola.
On holidays, at the Pesach dinner, there wasn't a great strictness in my grandfather's house, the youth was joking, there was a good atmosphere, and considering that there were no boy-children, I was the young child who said in Hebrew the ‘Mah nishtanah’. I attended the Jewish elementary school, but now I don't even know a letter today, although I could read well in Hebrew. Unfortunately we did not know the language, we learned automatically [memorized] the prayers, but we didn't understand what we were reading. We just said the prayer for the respective occasion, without understanding it. I had to hide the matzah [the afikoymen]. I remember I had a medallion with Moses and the Torah, I asked for it on one of these occasions, and once I asked for a pair of shoes, as well.
My grandparents' house was in Marosvasarhely, grandpa stayed in Regen only until my mother and his brother, Sandor were born. My grandfather had five children, the other three were born in Vasarhely. I don't know which year they moved to Marosvasarhely, but mom went to school there, so it means they moved when she was still very young. My grandparents didn't have their own house in Vasarhely, they lived in the Mestitz house, on the Dozsa Gyorgy street – today it's the dermatology clinic. The Mestitz family lived upstairs [Editor's note: Centropa made an interview with Julia Scheiner (nee Mestitz). Zsuzsa talks about her parents here] and my grandparents downstairs, they were on very, very good terms. When mom remained a widow, we lived there together with the grandparents, until mom, after two years, got married for the second time. My grandparents – interestingly, I remember very well the apartment – had three big rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. Grandma took care of the household. There were two maids [helping her], Hungarian girls, they came from the countryside, one of them helped out in the kitchen – there were three normal meals and a hot supper, so they had to cook – the other girl cleaned, and she probably supervised the children.
My grandparents were Neologs. Grandpa didn't pray at home, at least while I stayed there. He probably did it when he was young, but the Jews from Arad's neighborhood were usually assimilated who stayed with their religion, but they grew up in the Hungarian culture. Grandpa Mittelmann used to go to the synagogue on high holidays with a hat on his head, they had a kosher household at home while grandma lived, but after she died, when he got married for the second time, he married a Protestant woman so they didn't have a kosher household anymore, but he always observed the high holidays.
When my father wanted to get married, he came to Marosvasarhely, mom was introduced to him, and they ended up together somehow and mom got married in 1919. The fact is they were brought together. The marriage took place in Marosvasarhely, I don't know if it was a religious wedding with a rabbi, but I'm sure it was. I'm pretty sure because my mother's youngest sibling wedded there as well, and it was a normal wedding with a rabbi and chuppah. Mom never related about the wedding, I don't know why. It was such a short and sad marriage, they lived together only nine years of which four or five they spent going from one hospital to the other.
Armin's daughter, Marta, fled to Budapest when Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia [in 1939], thinking that there would be no problems, but the Arrow Cross [2] men caught and killed her there. My uncle Sandor found out [all these], so Marta didn't survive the Holocaust, neither.
He had a kosher household, even now I feel the smell of the cake with cinnamon they baked for Sabbath. His wife didn't wear a wig, but they were religious people. When they arrived to us in Lonya – I know this from family stories, I was too little then – my mother changed all the dishes, because they were kosher. We weren't kosher, but in their honor they observed the kosher rules.
I remember that at my grandfather's home we discussed in German, not in Yiddish, because none of us knew Yiddish.
My grandfather was an observant Jew, he had no payes, but he observed strictly the Jewish rules, he used to put on the tzitzit. I remember, he prayed every day. I remember the chamber my grandfather used to pray in the morning, it was a cool, big room. He observed the holiday rituals there. I can't tell whether there was a synagogue or not, but he prayed at home and I also remember that he was a well-respected man. The people from the village came for advice to my grandfather, because he was a smart, clever, old Jewish man, and they gladly listened to his opinions and advice.
My grandfather had a nice three rooms apartment, the local building style is very interesting. As I remember it, it was a direct entrance from the street into the house, there was a long corridor, and the rooms opened from the corridor, moreover, there was a stove in the corridor they used to bake bread during the winter. At the end of the corridor there was a door which gave onto the yard. There was a little garden, they even had a cow. A maid was hired to take care of these things.
Elza Fulop
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I, Elza Fulop, was born in Aghiresu, in 1922. I was always the best in my class at school. I went to elementary school in Aghiresu. Then I attended the junior high school in Huedin for four years. The school was for boys, and there wasn’t another one in town at the time, so I only went there for my exams. Finally, I went to high school in Cluj for four years.
Tibor would stand in the courtyard and the chickens, geese and ducks would sit on his shoulder and on his head. He knew the names of every calf or cow our neighbors had, and he behaved no differently from those people when in their presence. The peasants loved him. If he was in the street and saw an elderly man, he would take his hand and help him get to the other side. He was an extraordinary child!
When he got older, his parents took him to Cluj. He was 15 when they deported him. He got to a place where he met a schoolmate of his from Aghiresu, who’s still alive today, in Israel, and a neighbor, who’s now in Israel too. When the order was given to exterminate the children, they took them to the gas chambers. This boy who survived hid in a furnace and got away. All the others died.
When he got older, his parents took him to Cluj. He was 15 when they deported him. He got to a place where he met a schoolmate of his from Aghiresu, who’s still alive today, in Israel, and a neighbor, who’s now in Israel too. When the order was given to exterminate the children, they took them to the gas chambers. This boy who survived hid in a furnace and got away. All the others died.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
Her little boy, Tibor, was the only nephew my sisters and brother had. You can imagine how much love he got from all of us! He wasn’t sure whom he loved most; was it his aunts, his mother, his father or his grandparents? However, his favorite was my father – at least this is what Tibor claimed.
At the age of 13, boys become members of the community. In Israel, girls celebrate this event too. The custom requires the child to hold a speech and say farewell to his childhood. So Tibor thanked his parents for raising him and, when he got to my father – even now, remembering this makes me cry – the poor child was overwhelmed with emotion: ‘As for you, Grandpa – we all used informal ways of addressing in our family – I don’t know how to say good-bye to you...’ And the child was unable to go on; he hugged his grandfather and they were both crying, and the whole audience was crying, there were many people present, because my mother had organized a feast.
This was Tibor. He didn’t try to flatter people; he just expressed his feelings as they were. He would come to us, kiss us, give us a hug, saying, ‘Oh, I love you so much!’, and he made sure everyone got an equal share of his love.
The boy was still in Aghiresu even when we were no longer there. He stayed with his grandparents and he went to elementary school there. We lived in the countryside, so we had hens, chickens, geese, dogs and the likes of them.
At the age of 13, boys become members of the community. In Israel, girls celebrate this event too. The custom requires the child to hold a speech and say farewell to his childhood. So Tibor thanked his parents for raising him and, when he got to my father – even now, remembering this makes me cry – the poor child was overwhelmed with emotion: ‘As for you, Grandpa – we all used informal ways of addressing in our family – I don’t know how to say good-bye to you...’ And the child was unable to go on; he hugged his grandfather and they were both crying, and the whole audience was crying, there were many people present, because my mother had organized a feast.
This was Tibor. He didn’t try to flatter people; he just expressed his feelings as they were. He would come to us, kiss us, give us a hug, saying, ‘Oh, I love you so much!’, and he made sure everyone got an equal share of his love.
The boy was still in Aghiresu even when we were no longer there. He stayed with his grandparents and he went to elementary school there. We lived in the countryside, so we had hens, chickens, geese, dogs and the likes of them.
Margit was born in Aghiresu, in 1908. She was a loving person and she was the frailest of us all, always ready to catch a disease. After she got married, she had a little baby boy and the whole family was watching over her. She married an employee from a store in Aghiresu, Jozsef Szinetar.
He was a hard-working and handsome man. He was sent to forced labor in Germany, but not to the same place where my brother was, and he died there. He sent us a standardized postcard: ‘I’m well, I’m in Walsee’, he had encrypted the name of the place. This is probably all they allowed them to write.
This young, robust boy was the same age as my oldest sister. He had been born on 31st December 1899, and she had been born on 2nd January 1900. We always made fun of that: they had been born only two days apart from each other, but in different years.
After she gave birth to her son, Margit became the strongest in our family. Her hands were very skilled. She learned the craft of tailoring from a very good lady tailor who lived in our commune. She was so good that, although no one had taught her – her ‘teacher’ was a women’s tailor – she was able to make men’s shirts and pants, underwear and overcoats.
He was a hard-working and handsome man. He was sent to forced labor in Germany, but not to the same place where my brother was, and he died there. He sent us a standardized postcard: ‘I’m well, I’m in Walsee’, he had encrypted the name of the place. This is probably all they allowed them to write.
This young, robust boy was the same age as my oldest sister. He had been born on 31st December 1899, and she had been born on 2nd January 1900. We always made fun of that: they had been born only two days apart from each other, but in different years.
After she gave birth to her son, Margit became the strongest in our family. Her hands were very skilled. She learned the craft of tailoring from a very good lady tailor who lived in our commune. She was so good that, although no one had taught her – her ‘teacher’ was a women’s tailor – she was able to make men’s shirts and pants, underwear and overcoats.
Romania
My sister, Iren, was born in Baia Mare, in 1904. She was very intelligent. Like every one of us, she went to high school too, but she had something extra: she was a self-taught girl, she read all the time, she had an amazing general culture, and she spoke of things that were unknown even to college graduates.
And she owed all this exclusively to the books she read and to her ambition to know more. Had she lived in another environment, or had she had the material resources, she would have become at least a researcher, I think. She had a special personality. She resembled our mother, as she was determined and knew what she was doing. I respected her and her opinion weighed the most because of that remarkable inborn intelligence.
Poor her, she was unlucky in life: she married the wrong man. This is how fate had its revenge; my sister couldn’t live with a man who was far below her level. They simply didn’t manage to adjust to each other.
There was no room for argument, for she was very intelligent and told him, ‘Look, the two of us can’t get along, we don’t think alike, so why torture ourselves?’ He was rich and had everything he wanted, but he lacked the proper degree of intelligence. So they divorced. Then my sister moved to Cluj, where she lived with our sister, Margit. She got a job and she provided for herself.
And she owed all this exclusively to the books she read and to her ambition to know more. Had she lived in another environment, or had she had the material resources, she would have become at least a researcher, I think. She had a special personality. She resembled our mother, as she was determined and knew what she was doing. I respected her and her opinion weighed the most because of that remarkable inborn intelligence.
Poor her, she was unlucky in life: she married the wrong man. This is how fate had its revenge; my sister couldn’t live with a man who was far below her level. They simply didn’t manage to adjust to each other.
There was no room for argument, for she was very intelligent and told him, ‘Look, the two of us can’t get along, we don’t think alike, so why torture ourselves?’ He was rich and had everything he wanted, but he lacked the proper degree of intelligence. So they divorced. Then my sister moved to Cluj, where she lived with our sister, Margit. She got a job and she provided for herself.
Romania
There was a colonel in Baia Mare named Reviczky. He was a short man with a great soul who treated the members of his forced labor detachment like human beings. He wasn’t even promoted afterwards. Most of those who returned moved to Israel, and they took this colonel there, they saved him and they made him rich.
My brother, Erno, was born in Cheia, in 1902. He was a handsome boy. He went to school in Oradea, where he lived with one of my father’s brothers. After graduating, he returned home and worked as a clerk. There was this doctor, Ede Schnabel, who was in charge of the miners; my brother helped him with administrative work.
The doctor lived in Cluj, but had been assigned to work at the mines in Aghiresu. He was a good friend of my brother’s and he even ate at our place. My mother was a famous cook; she wasn’t just good – she was famous in the entire region. So the doctor said that, if she didn’t mind, he would very much like to eat with us. My mother said that where there is room for seven, there is also room for eight. So the doctor was like a new family member.
Erno was a gifted boy. He sang, he was esteemed, he looked good, he was the center of attention wherever he went, and he was single. He was a good man, and I remember he supported me when I was a child. But I did things for him too; when I grew up, at the age of 14-15, I began to iron his shirts. Back then, shirts were not made from synthetic fiber, but from poplin, which was a very sensitive fabric. For each shirt I would get 5 lei. That was a lot of money.
Then Erno married a widow from Dej who owned a store. She was a very nice woman and loved my brother a lot. As he was hard-working and intelligent, his wife wanted him to take over the store. He did such a good job running it, that the income doubled.
During the deportations, he was sent to forced labor in Germany. There he met a brother-in-law – his wife’s sister’s husband. The man was much more weakened than him. One day, the detachment had to go to work in another place, but this man couldn’t walk. So my brother tried to carry him.
He didn’t abandon him; this is how things went in my family – we liked to help one another. As a result, they were both shot to death. The sick did not receive any medical treatment; if they couldn’t walk, they were simply shot. My brother was killed too, because he was carrying a sick man in his arms.
The doctor lived in Cluj, but had been assigned to work at the mines in Aghiresu. He was a good friend of my brother’s and he even ate at our place. My mother was a famous cook; she wasn’t just good – she was famous in the entire region. So the doctor said that, if she didn’t mind, he would very much like to eat with us. My mother said that where there is room for seven, there is also room for eight. So the doctor was like a new family member.
Erno was a gifted boy. He sang, he was esteemed, he looked good, he was the center of attention wherever he went, and he was single. He was a good man, and I remember he supported me when I was a child. But I did things for him too; when I grew up, at the age of 14-15, I began to iron his shirts. Back then, shirts were not made from synthetic fiber, but from poplin, which was a very sensitive fabric. For each shirt I would get 5 lei. That was a lot of money.
Then Erno married a widow from Dej who owned a store. She was a very nice woman and loved my brother a lot. As he was hard-working and intelligent, his wife wanted him to take over the store. He did such a good job running it, that the income doubled.
During the deportations, he was sent to forced labor in Germany. There he met a brother-in-law – his wife’s sister’s husband. The man was much more weakened than him. One day, the detachment had to go to work in another place, but this man couldn’t walk. So my brother tried to carry him.
He didn’t abandon him; this is how things went in my family – we liked to help one another. As a result, they were both shot to death. The sick did not receive any medical treatment; if they couldn’t walk, they were simply shot. My brother was killed too, because he was carrying a sick man in his arms.
Romania
Since I was employed, I received a salary, which constituted a guarantee, an insurance, so I could afford a studio. In 1945, I got married, but it’s not worth speaking about this: we divorced shortly after. In her turn, my sister re-married, but her second try wasn’t luckier than the first: she divorced again. So, the two of us stayed together. I didn’t let her work anymore – I thought it was the right thing to do considering what she had gone through.
Between 1944 and 1963, we encountered serious difficulties, economical and of other nature, but we never regretted the fact that we supported each other. In fact, I wish those times came back, but, unfortunately, this is impossible; and I got used to this idea. She was like a second mother to me – maybe a better one.
This is what she always said: you are my child. I don’t think a real mother would have made as many sacrifices as she did for me. For instance, she would bring me food to the hospital every day. She died in 1963, poor her. She suffered from an incurable disease.
Between 1944 and 1963, we encountered serious difficulties, economical and of other nature, but we never regretted the fact that we supported each other. In fact, I wish those times came back, but, unfortunately, this is impossible; and I got used to this idea. She was like a second mother to me – maybe a better one.
This is what she always said: you are my child. I don’t think a real mother would have made as many sacrifices as she did for me. For instance, she would bring me food to the hospital every day. She died in 1963, poor her. She suffered from an incurable disease.
Romania
We were deprived of everything during the Holocaust – houses, possessions. All we were left with were the things we were wearing. My sister had some friends of hers – who were Christians – store some of her things. They were very honest and kept those things for her until she returned, so we did have some basic items.
In short, we were a model family, and we were respected not only by our relatives, but also by our neighbors, and – I dare say – by the entire village. We set an example by the way in which we had been raised.
My mother made sure we didn’t go soft. She used to say: ‘If you’re lucky to end up living a life of plenty – and luck is something a mother cannot give her children – you will have servants, so you should know how to run them. If you should spend your life in poverty – and this is something I cannot guarantee against – then you must be prepared, so that you won't find things too difficult and will be able to cope with hardships.’ This is why she had us do any kind of work.
Having a maid didn’t make any difference, as we had to do everything that she did: ‘The maid is no excuse for you to do nothing. The maid is just an aid to help me handle such a large family. And I consider her a member of this family.’ This is how my mother always treated maids, like they were part of the family. I can say that most of them stayed with us until the time they got married.
We had one named Nastasia, who came from a neighboring village, my mother’s native village, Nadasu. She spoke Hungarian too, because she had worked in a nearby village that was entirely inhabited by Hungarians. When she got married, I was about six years old.
I cried for one or two days, begging her not to get married. I was so naive, like any child. Until the day she died, she kept calling me ‘my girl.’ She would come to me after I was left alone in the world, bringing me all sorts of things, and we would cry together. This is how close she felt to me.
My mother made sure we didn’t go soft. She used to say: ‘If you’re lucky to end up living a life of plenty – and luck is something a mother cannot give her children – you will have servants, so you should know how to run them. If you should spend your life in poverty – and this is something I cannot guarantee against – then you must be prepared, so that you won't find things too difficult and will be able to cope with hardships.’ This is why she had us do any kind of work.
Having a maid didn’t make any difference, as we had to do everything that she did: ‘The maid is no excuse for you to do nothing. The maid is just an aid to help me handle such a large family. And I consider her a member of this family.’ This is how my mother always treated maids, like they were part of the family. I can say that most of them stayed with us until the time they got married.
We had one named Nastasia, who came from a neighboring village, my mother’s native village, Nadasu. She spoke Hungarian too, because she had worked in a nearby village that was entirely inhabited by Hungarians. When she got married, I was about six years old.
I cried for one or two days, begging her not to get married. I was so naive, like any child. Until the day she died, she kept calling me ‘my girl.’ She would come to me after I was left alone in the world, bringing me all sorts of things, and we would cry together. This is how close she felt to me.
There were seven of us plus the maid sitting at the table. Like any other child, or even adult, we were picky eaters – we didn’t like this or that. My mother would not have this kind of behavior.
Then we had a stone quarry in Nadasu, where my mother was born. All that was left from the estate was this quarry; its stone was good in constructions and for tombstones. We had a company, as they’re called today, with one employee who had been an apprentice and had learned to make tombstones.
He worked for Jews, for Romanians, for Hungarians. He was very industrious, his name was Sos, and he was a Hungarian from Huedin. The Hungarians there were called Tartars – they were said to be the successors of the Tartars who had invaded our country, which might have explained why most of them were so rough.
My father would carve the Hebrew inscriptions without wearing any glasses. We weren’t rich, but my father earned money and did everything he could so that we wouldn’t go short of anything.
He worked for Jews, for Romanians, for Hungarians. He was very industrious, his name was Sos, and he was a Hungarian from Huedin. The Hungarians there were called Tartars – they were said to be the successors of the Tartars who had invaded our country, which might have explained why most of them were so rough.
My father would carve the Hebrew inscriptions without wearing any glasses. We weren’t rich, but my father earned money and did everything he could so that we wouldn’t go short of anything.
My father was the kind of man who took up butchery at almost the age of 50. Him, an intellectual! Jews only eat the front part of an animal. The rear part is forbidden from consumption. Why is that? My father once explained to me that there are veins and arteries with blood and the Jews have to remove them, as they are not permitted to eat blood.
They can’t be removed from the rear, where there are more of them than in front. In order for the meat to be kosher, clean, ritually pure, these veins and arteries must be removed without damaging the meat. It requires a certain technique, and it is actually an occupation. Imagine that my father was able to learn it. He had two Hungarian associates who sold the meat from the rear part. And this is how we had a butcher’s shop.
They can’t be removed from the rear, where there are more of them than in front. In order for the meat to be kosher, clean, ritually pure, these veins and arteries must be removed without damaging the meat. It requires a certain technique, and it is actually an occupation. Imagine that my father was able to learn it. He had two Hungarian associates who sold the meat from the rear part. And this is how we had a butcher’s shop.