My father’s father was Emanuel Marmorstein, I don’t know what my grandmother’s name was. They had a large bakery in Nagyborosnyo, they baked so many bread that they distributed them to villages too. Nagyborosnyo was considered a large village then, with its 1500 inhabitants.
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Displaying 48901 - 48930 of 50826 results
Alice Kosa
We organized an engagement ceremony one year before the marriage, it was a little greater [than our wedding], but not much. I was bride for a long time, well Jeno had to acquire an employment, otherwise my father wouldn’t [have given his consent].
The engagement was kept in our apartment, we rented a nice apartment with my father in 1929, when I went home. My husband’s close relatives came too: his parents, his sibling – his two brothers and their wives, then Rozsika and her husband.
The engagement was kept in our apartment, we rented a nice apartment with my father in 1929, when I went home. My husband’s close relatives came too: his parents, his sibling – his two brothers and their wives, then Rozsika and her husband.
And when I came home for Christmas holidays, I heard that Jeno was courting my sister. I was very upset that a grown-up man was interested in such a young girl. Well, she was still young, twelve or thirteen years old – but she was more developed than me – and he was around twenty. So I took him for an unreliable person, and I couldn’t stand him because of my sister, I didn’t fancy him, and since I behaved towards him accordingly, he didn’t fancy me either.
He noticed I couldn’t stand him. This Frank family was raising an orphan girl, they took a great advantage of her. One night, at twilight, I don’t know why, but I went to this family. Nobody was at home, just this adopted girl.
And I entered, because I liked talking to her, I was also sorry for her, because she was orphan, and she was so exploited. And as we were talking, once somebody is knocking at the door, and who came? Mister Kosa. I don’t know how this idea came to my mind, I thought I would be nice, let’s see what would happen.
I tell you honestly, just for fun. And I received him very nicely. He was telling me stories, finally I don’t know how we came to this, but I wrote something on a paper, and he wrote me back [we were corresponding]. We were sticking them to each other. How did this develop, from a joke, that finally [we got married]… it’s unbelievable. This happened in 1929, and we got married on 25thDecember 1930.
He noticed I couldn’t stand him. This Frank family was raising an orphan girl, they took a great advantage of her. One night, at twilight, I don’t know why, but I went to this family. Nobody was at home, just this adopted girl.
And I entered, because I liked talking to her, I was also sorry for her, because she was orphan, and she was so exploited. And as we were talking, once somebody is knocking at the door, and who came? Mister Kosa. I don’t know how this idea came to my mind, I thought I would be nice, let’s see what would happen.
I tell you honestly, just for fun. And I received him very nicely. He was telling me stories, finally I don’t know how we came to this, but I wrote something on a paper, and he wrote me back [we were corresponding]. We were sticking them to each other. How did this develop, from a joke, that finally [we got married]… it’s unbelievable. This happened in 1929, and we got married on 25thDecember 1930.
My husband was born on 12thFebruary 1905. He and his father had the same name, Jeno Kosa. The old man [my husband’s father] was well-to-do, he had a tannery. But it went well, because the villagers liked to wear boots and brogue made to order. I wasn’t well up with leather, but people told me they were producing very good, soft leather.
His [my husband’s] mother was raised as a Hungarian, but she came from a Romanian orthodox family. Their mother died while giving birth, and my mother-in-law was taken by a Romanian aunt, whose husband was a wealthy man called Karoly Zoldi, well I don’t know if he was a landowner, but he was an educated man, they took her [raised or adopted her] when she was three or even smaller.
His [my husband’s] mother was raised as a Hungarian, but she came from a Romanian orthodox family. Their mother died while giving birth, and my mother-in-law was taken by a Romanian aunt, whose husband was a wealthy man called Karoly Zoldi, well I don’t know if he was a landowner, but he was an educated man, they took her [raised or adopted her] when she was three or even smaller.
Well, I went there in 1929, but my husband started to court me already, so I don’t know precisely, I stayed with my father for about two years, because on 25thDecember 1930 I got married, and I moved to Sepsiszentgyorgy, my husband was from here. My father died at a young age, when he was fifty-five years old [in 1943, in Nagyborosnyo].
Though I finished this two-year commercial school in Brasso, I didn’t start to work, it wasn’t fashionable back then [for women to work]. And women could hardly get a job in offices. I didn’t try hard either. I lived at my grandmother’s for a while, until 1929, when my father rented a nice big house in Nagyborosnyo, he wanted me to go there.
And then there was a two-years reformed school of commerce in Brasso, and I attended it, I finished my studies in 1926. I don’t believe there are any former classmates left in Brasso. I don’t think they would live for so long.
I would have preferred to go to Kolozsvar, to the Jewish gymnasium, and then to become a doctor. I would have liked to become a doctor by all means – though I wouldn’t have been capable for it –, I don’t know why my father sent me yet to Brasso, to the two-year commercial school.
I would have preferred to go to Kolozsvar, to the Jewish gymnasium, and then to become a doctor. I would have liked to become a doctor by all means – though I wouldn’t have been capable for it –, I don’t know why my father sent me yet to Brasso, to the two-year commercial school.
But I finished there only one grade of primary school, because my grandmother sent me back to the convent in the first grade, because she wasn’t satisfied with the things they had taught me here.
It was also my grandmother who wanted me to learn to play the piano – she was so ambitious, she would have liked to do everything –, so she sent me to the nuns, to the catholic school. And there one of the nuns taught me to play the piano. But she taught me in vain, if I didn’t have a piano.
So I finished four years in the convent, only the primary school.
It was also my grandmother who wanted me to learn to play the piano – she was so ambitious, she would have liked to do everything –, so she sent me to the nuns, to the catholic school. And there one of the nuns taught me to play the piano. But she taught me in vain, if I didn’t have a piano.
So I finished four years in the convent, only the primary school.
So my grandmother arranged [so that we went to school together]. I was six years old in May [1915], and I was enrolled to the first degree, and my brother wasn’t even five, but she said: ‘If you fight, he will go too [to the school].’ And she enrolled him so that we wouldn’t only wrangle. And I don’t know how, but they accepted him. Thus we weren’t in the same class, but in parallel classes, he in a boys’ class, because girls and boys had separate classes.
We [I and my little brother]went to the Jewish kindergarten in Sepsiszentgyorgy, I know that. But I attended the Hungarian kindergarten too, it was compulsory. I liked the Hungarian kindergarten better, because there were more toys, we played more in the normal state kindergarten.
And I remember less the Jewish kindergarten, I don’t know how things were there. And we attended the Jewish school [cheder]as well, while we were in the four primary grades. I could read [in Hebrew], but I forgot.
And I remember less the Jewish kindergarten, I don’t know how things were there. And we attended the Jewish school [cheder]as well, while we were in the four primary grades. I could read [in Hebrew], but I forgot.
Things like this happened indeed. Well, these Hasidim were extremely religious, they preserved their 5,000 years old [customs]. They wore the same fur hat and kaftan summer and winter, as our ancestors did.
[Editor’s note: The specific Hasid attire developed from the Polish noble dressing of the 18thcentury.]
And they were dangling their payes. Orthodox too had a payes, but they put it up [behind their ears]. Well, Orthodox were religious as well, but not in the same manner as [Hasidim].
[Editor’s note: The specific Hasid attire developed from the Polish noble dressing of the 18thcentury.]
And they were dangling their payes. Orthodox too had a payes, but they put it up [behind their ears]. Well, Orthodox were religious as well, but not in the same manner as [Hasidim].
And Haneli – that’s how they called Ilonka [Ilona Schonberger, one of the daughters of the maternal grandmother’s sister who lived in Szatmarnemeti]by her Jewish name – said: ‘Now I’m going to take you to a Hasid wedding.’ And they related me the story as well.
The wedding was nearing, but they [the bride and the groom]didn’t see each other yet. And they told me that the men, the fathers were negotiating about what the bride, respectively the groom would add as a dowry. The two fathers were negotiating as if it was an object. But they had never seen each other. They were a very young couple, the boy was virgin as well, the Hasid boy with his big payes. At the wedding they had a kippah above their head too.
The kippah was installed in the yard where the synagogue was. And the guests were there too. I don’t remember in what language the ceremony was conducted, in Yiddish or in Hebrew, maybe in both languages, but maybe in Hebrew.
Two women led someone wearing a thick veil under the kippah, and they brought there the boy, he broke the glass. They [the grooms]break a glass by stepping on it, so that they would live happily for as many years, as many splinters result.
Men tried to crush it as much as they could, to have many splinters. Then Haneli told me that they would go home, and the boy would take down that dense thing from the girl’s head, and they would see each other only then. We don’t know how this marriage ended. But Haneli told me stories, for example about a bride who had jumped out from the entresol, when she had seen the groom, she had found him so repugnant.
The wedding was nearing, but they [the bride and the groom]didn’t see each other yet. And they told me that the men, the fathers were negotiating about what the bride, respectively the groom would add as a dowry. The two fathers were negotiating as if it was an object. But they had never seen each other. They were a very young couple, the boy was virgin as well, the Hasid boy with his big payes. At the wedding they had a kippah above their head too.
The kippah was installed in the yard where the synagogue was. And the guests were there too. I don’t remember in what language the ceremony was conducted, in Yiddish or in Hebrew, maybe in both languages, but maybe in Hebrew.
Two women led someone wearing a thick veil under the kippah, and they brought there the boy, he broke the glass. They [the grooms]break a glass by stepping on it, so that they would live happily for as many years, as many splinters result.
Men tried to crush it as much as they could, to have many splinters. Then Haneli told me that they would go home, and the boy would take down that dense thing from the girl’s head, and they would see each other only then. We don’t know how this marriage ended. But Haneli told me stories, for example about a bride who had jumped out from the entresol, when she had seen the groom, she had found him so repugnant.
It was a synagogue as it should be, it had a gallery, women were on the first floor, and in front of them a large plate was placed, like a riddle, so women could watch out over men through the holes, but a man wanted to in vain, he couldn’t see through those small dense holes. And they took me to the Hasidim as well. The Hasidim didn’t even have a proper synagogue.
Their synagogue consisted of two rooms only, two halls opening to each other, and a thick curtain between them. Women could see in shadows through the curtain that people, beings were moving over there, they [men and women]couldn’t see each other, they were separated by a curtain.
Their synagogue consisted of two rooms only, two halls opening to each other, and a thick curtain between them. Women could see in shadows through the curtain that people, beings were moving over there, they [men and women]couldn’t see each other, they were separated by a curtain.
My relatives from Szatmarnemeti were Orthodox, but it was a huge step towards modernity comparing to Hasidim. They took me to the Orthodox synagogue to see it. The Orthodox had a proper, very beautiful, large synagogue, I was there too, it was similar to the Neologs’ synagogue, but there wasn’t an organ.
My grandmother spent three-four months each year at her sister, in Szatmarnemeti. She always went there in the summer, when the school year was over; well, she had to be there when we had lessons, as I grew up at hers. And in the meantime I was in Nagyborosnyo, I spent the summers there, those three months. But sometimes they invited me as well [to Szatmarnemeti].
There was a mikveh, but in my childhood only people of my grandmother’s age went to the mikveh, later it was wound up too. I suppose only a few went there regularly. People like my grandmother, if they had taken an oath, but young people didn’t. And finally it was wound up, I don’t know precisely when, because I never went there.
The few Jews who returned were managed [guided]from Nagyvarad, most of them too left directly for Israel – it wasn’t Israel then, well, who wanted to emigrate to Palestine –, and thus there were just a very few Jews in Sepsiszentgyorgy.
,
After WW2
See text in interview
There was a rabbi in Sepsiszentgyorgy, he was carried off as well. He was a young, modern rabbi, who committed suicide in the concentration camp. Those who came home told us that he put his hand on the electric wire, and he killed himself with the electricity. He was a handsome and clever young man, around 28-30 years old, he wasn’t even married.
Romania
I didn’t go to the synagogue in Sepsiszentgyorgy, only on high days, I went there a little on autumn holidays, for one hour or two. I had to go then, my grandmother told me to do so. The cantor had two sons, they were children yet, 12-13 years old, but they could sing so beautifully, they had wonderful voices, they could even have become opera singers. And I went there also to listen [to them].
Romania
The synagogue was demolished in the 1940s, I think the state required it to be demolished. And nothing was built there, the lot still exists. The [Jewish] house of culture is still there, as far as I know the state uses it.
Romania
There was a beautiful synagogue in Sepsiszentgyorgy, in the Csiki street. In the same area where the synagogue was, lived the cantor, the shochet, there was the prayer house, and in front, on the square in front of the synagogue a large and beautiful house of culture was built.
Romania
Just a few observed them [the commandments]in a religious way. A few elder persons – my grandmother and about two other persons – had the poultry cut by the shochet, because they said that was the religious way. All the other[Jews]ate pork, observed nothing. Then there were Jewish families, who had the poultry, the goose cut by the shochet, but they also ate pork.
This was a kind of ritual, the shochet. He cut the poultry, and there was sand, they always had sand brought, and he threw it there [the killed animal], so that all its blood would flow out until the last drop.
Because they considered blood to be unclean. I think in villages there weren’t families who had the poultry cut [by the shochet]. There wasn’t any shochet in the villages, and they cut the animals themselves. And it’s not kosher anymore, well, they [religious Jews] considered it treyf.
This was a kind of ritual, the shochet. He cut the poultry, and there was sand, they always had sand brought, and he threw it there [the killed animal], so that all its blood would flow out until the last drop.
Because they considered blood to be unclean. I think in villages there weren’t families who had the poultry cut [by the shochet]. There wasn’t any shochet in the villages, and they cut the animals themselves. And it’s not kosher anymore, well, they [religious Jews] considered it treyf.
The community [in Sepsiszentgyorgy] was the simplest one, a status quo community [5]. I heard on TV that this religion [religious trend]doesn’t exist anymore [in the surroundings], because it has no followers. It has almost no followers.
In Brasso, when we were living there, both Neologs and Orthodox lived. Here in Sepsiszentgyorgy Jews from the whole county weren’t religious at all. My father couldn’t even read in Jewish [Hebrew]. None of his siblings could speak Jewish.
They learnt how to pray, but I think they didn’t know what it meant. I attended the cheder as well. That’s how they called the kindergarten, Jewish children attended the kindergarten at the age of two already. I was going to the kindergarten as well.
Even if they were irreligious, they still sent the children to the kindergarten. In villages they didn’t even have this [cheder], though many Jews lived in the villages too. Well, only in Nagyborosnyo there were five or six Jewish groceries.
In Brasso, when we were living there, both Neologs and Orthodox lived. Here in Sepsiszentgyorgy Jews from the whole county weren’t religious at all. My father couldn’t even read in Jewish [Hebrew]. None of his siblings could speak Jewish.
They learnt how to pray, but I think they didn’t know what it meant. I attended the cheder as well. That’s how they called the kindergarten, Jewish children attended the kindergarten at the age of two already. I was going to the kindergarten as well.
Even if they were irreligious, they still sent the children to the kindergarten. In villages they didn’t even have this [cheder], though many Jews lived in the villages too. Well, only in Nagyborosnyo there were five or six Jewish groceries.
Romania
My sister got married in 1932, my brother-in-law is called Feri Citrom, Ferenc. They lived in Brasso, then [after World War II] they asked for permit to go [to emigrate]to Israel. Everybody who wanted to go was allowed to leave.
And Jews were running from Romania. Just a very few stayed. Well, just Sepsiszentgyorgy had more than 300 Jewish inhabitants. They gave [passports]to everybody, to Jews who wanted to leave forever, well, everything was left to them [to the Romanian state], each of them had a house, you couldn’t find a Jew who didn’t have one. And on top of it all, it was a demand that it [the house]had to be renovated completely.
The Romanian state accepted the gift only if it was perfectly arranged, everything painted, doors and windows, the floor, everything. Here my brother-in-law was a tradesman, but in Israel – since he didn’t speak Hebrew – he was the aid of a butcher from Romania, he was carving the meat. My sister died in February 1999 in Israel.
And Jews were running from Romania. Just a very few stayed. Well, just Sepsiszentgyorgy had more than 300 Jewish inhabitants. They gave [passports]to everybody, to Jews who wanted to leave forever, well, everything was left to them [to the Romanian state], each of them had a house, you couldn’t find a Jew who didn’t have one. And on top of it all, it was a demand that it [the house]had to be renovated completely.
The Romanian state accepted the gift only if it was perfectly arranged, everything painted, doors and windows, the floor, everything. Here my brother-in-law was a tradesman, but in Israel – since he didn’t speak Hebrew – he was the aid of a butcher from Romania, he was carving the meat. My sister died in February 1999 in Israel.
My sister, Annus was born in 1912. She finished primary school in Nagyborosnyo. But in Nagyborosnyo the school had only six grades [so it was a primary school], and after that she finished four years of higher elementary school here in Sepsiszentgyorgy, in the Miko [Szekely Miko Colleague], and she stayed at grandma.
My brother, Andras Molnar, Bandika was born on 12thFebruary 1911. He attended four years of gymnasium at Sepsiszentgyorgy, after that, since he was orphan, he went to Szatmarnemeti to the sister of our maternal grandmother, who had a wholesale business, to learn that.
He registered at the school of commerce and finished it, but he attended the evening classes, and he helped at the shop during the day. They were trading only with wholesalers, they packed in rolls what people needed, so that’s what he did.
His marriage was a recommended one. Her wife, Piroska Schwartz had a popular shop in Gyergyoszentmiklos [after the marriage Andras was managing it]. They had a son born prematurely, at 5 months, but he died after the birth.
The poor baby, he lived, he breathed for a short time, but he died. He [my brother]had to do forced labor with yellow armlet on his clothe [during World War II], they were taken to a village in the surroundings of Gyergyoszentmiklos.
His wife was deported, but she got home alive. Bandika finished a three-months course in Bucharest [after World War II], after that he became chief accountant in Csikszereda.
He registered at the school of commerce and finished it, but he attended the evening classes, and he helped at the shop during the day. They were trading only with wholesalers, they packed in rolls what people needed, so that’s what he did.
His marriage was a recommended one. Her wife, Piroska Schwartz had a popular shop in Gyergyoszentmiklos [after the marriage Andras was managing it]. They had a son born prematurely, at 5 months, but he died after the birth.
The poor baby, he lived, he breathed for a short time, but he died. He [my brother]had to do forced labor with yellow armlet on his clothe [during World War II], they were taken to a village in the surroundings of Gyergyoszentmiklos.
His wife was deported, but she got home alive. Bandika finished a three-months course in Bucharest [after World War II], after that he became chief accountant in Csikszereda.
Romania
Well, my grandmother was the same. She was engaged in many things, I don’t remember quite precisely, I know that she was selling sweets, she bought delicious sweets, and she put it in a glass chest on a table – its top, its side, everything was made of glass, only that thing holding it was made of timber – in front of the entrance door. But I told you, my father gave [money]anyway.
My maternal grandmother lived here in Sepsiszentgyorgy, the other grandmother, at whom my brother was, in Nagyborosnyo, and my aunt in Nagyborosnyo too.
But my brother lived at my grandmother [from Nagyborosnyo] just for a very short time, because some people came to us and said: ‘Aunt Fanni, you ought to bring here that child! How was that child taken care of with her mother? And there are those two girls – the two daughters of my paternal grandmother –, those two lazy girls, and the boy is dirty all the time.
But my brother lived at my grandmother [from Nagyborosnyo] just for a very short time, because some people came to us and said: ‘Aunt Fanni, you ought to bring here that child! How was that child taken care of with her mother? And there are those two girls – the two daughters of my paternal grandmother –, those two lazy girls, and the boy is dirty all the time.
I was sent to my maternal grandmother [to Franciska Feder], my brother to the other grandmother, and my aunt, the younger sister of my father [aunt Iza], who didn’t have any children, took my sister. This is my childhood. My grandmother lived of moderated means, but my father paid my grandmother for my clothing, so my father provided for all the three children. He never married again.
My mother died when she was 23. A nice family, as one might call it, disintegrated within hours. We lived in a village, in Nagyborosnyo, and my mother came in with the three children [to Sepsiszentgyorgy, to grandma]and with the domestic – of course we had a domestic, as there were three children.
And she died in two or three days. She must have had appendicitis, because they dissected her, and she was full of pus inside, I suppose they couldn’t discover it then. I met many people during my long life, whose parents died in a similar way. Well, appendicitis wasn’t known, and due to poultices it turned into peritonitis.
She left behind three little children. When she died, I was 3 years old, my brother one and a half and my sister six months old.
And she died in two or three days. She must have had appendicitis, because they dissected her, and she was full of pus inside, I suppose they couldn’t discover it then. I met many people during my long life, whose parents died in a similar way. Well, appendicitis wasn’t known, and due to poultices it turned into peritonitis.
She left behind three little children. When she died, I was 3 years old, my brother one and a half and my sister six months old.