Travel

Siegfried Buby Schieber
Wien
Österreich
Datum des Interviews: Juni 2003
Name des Interviewers: Tanja Eckstein

Meine erste Begegnung mit Buby Schieber findet im Kaffeehaus Sacher statt. Er möchte mich erst einmal kennen lernen und dann entscheiden, ob er mir ein Interview über sein Leben gibt. Ich lasse die lange Schlange, die sich vor dem Kaffeehaus Sacher wie gewöhnlich gebildet hat hinter mir und betrete, ohne auf die eventuell bösen Blicke der Wartenden zu achten, das Kaffee. Dann bitte ich den auf mich zueilenden Kellner, mich zum Tisch des Ingenieurs Schieber zu geleiten. Daraufhin lächelt mich der Kellner wohlwollend an und führt mich zum Tisch eines stattlichen, gutaussehenden, sehr gepflegten älteren Herrn, der sich höflich erhebt, um mich zu begrüßen. Einige Zeit später ahne ich bereits, die Prüfung bestanden zu haben, denn wir befinden uns in einem anregenden Gespräch. Das nächste Treffen findet in seiner Wohnung, im 3. Wiener Gemeindebezirk, statt. Seit dem Tod seiner Frau fühlt er sich sehr allein. Der Kühlschrank ist leer, wie er mir zeigt - das Sacher ist seit Jahren sein zu Hause. Er erzählt mir seine und die Geschichte seiner Familie, und wir telefonieren in den nächsten Wochen miteinander. Unsere letzte Begegnung findet wieder im Kaffeehaus Sacher statt, wo auch ich mich, in seiner Gesellschaft, beinahe schon zu Hause fühle.
Am 8. Juli 2005 stirbt Buby Schieber in Wien.

Meine Familiengeschichte
Meine Kindheit
Während des Krieges
Nach dem Krieg
Wien
Glossar

Meine Familiengeschichte

Mein Urgroßvater väterlicherseits hat Moische Schloime Salman geheißen. Ich wurde nach ihm benannt, denn bei den Juden gibt man den Kindern die Namen von Verstorbenen.
Sein Sohn, mein Großvater, hieß Chaim Suchar Schieber. Er wurde 1859 in Wiznitz [heute Ukraine], geboren. Wiznitz gehörte zur damaligen Bukowina und war eine sehr große berühmte jüdische Niederlassung - eine große rabbinische Stadt. Mein Urgroßvater blieb in Wiznitz, aber mein Großvater kam 1895 nach Kimpolung [Rumänien], dass auch in der Bukowina lag.

In Kimpolung lebten ungefähr 12 000 Menschen, davon waren ungefähr 1 500 Juden, circa
10 000 orthodoxe Christen und circa 500 Katholiken und Protestanten.

Meine Großmutter, die ich leider nicht kennen gelernt habe, hieß Bella Ruchel. Sie kam auch aus Wiznitz und war in Kimpolung als eine große Wohltäterin bekannt, denn sie ist immer zu den ärmeren Leuten gegangen, um zu kontrollieren, ob sie auch genug Essen haben, um den Schabbat 1 zu feiern. Wenn die Leute arm waren, hat sie ihnen etwas gebracht, denn Wohltätigkeit war ein Brauch bei den Juden. Heute geht man nicht, um zu fragen: ‚Hast du genügend Geld, dass du in Ehre den Schabbat feiern kannst’, aber so war das damals.

Mein Großvater war Kaufmann und besaß in Kimpolung ein Möbelhaus mit den berühmten Thonet Möbeln 2 aus Wien. Die Großeltern flüchteten während des 1. Weltkrieges in die Tschechoslowakei, nach Mährisch Ostrau [heute Tschechien], wo meine Großmutter starb.
Als der Großvater allein, ohne die Großmutter nach Kimpolung zurückkam, war das Möbelhaus ausgeraubt. Seit dieser Zeit hatte er kein Geschäft mehr.
Mein Großvater war in unsere Gemeinde Vizepräsident im Kultusrat. Er war immer sehr gefragt und sehr respektiert, er war ein Balabat, ein balabatischer Mensch, ein Herr, wie man im jiddischen sagt.

Bei den Juden wird man im Tempel aufgerufen zur Thora. Und dort wird man gefragt: ‚Wie heißt du?’ Da muss man seinen Namen sagen und Ben, das heißt Sohn, den Namen des Vaters. Es gibt eine sogenannte Hierarchie: Ist er religiös? War sein Vater ein sehr religiöser Mann? War er sehr angesehen? Und da gab es auch Ehrentitel, im Sinne von: War er ein guter Mensch? Mein Großvater war ein Balabat, mein Urgroßvater ein Zaddik 3. Ein Zaddik war ein anerkannter Gelehrter im Vergleich zu den Katholiken wie ein Kardinal - religiös gesehen.

Meine erste große Liebe war ein schönes blondes Mädchen, aber sie war keine Jüdin.
Irgendeiner von den besseren Menschen aus der Stadt, ein angesehener Bürger, ein Balabat, ein Herr also, ist zu meinem Großvater Chaim Suchar gegangen und hat zu ihm gesagt:
‚Wie akzeptierst du das? Dein Enkel, der den Namen nach unserem Zaddik, dem heiligen Zaddik hat, der geht mit einer Schickse!’
Das war gar nicht böse gemeint, das heißt nur, er geht mit einer Christin. Wenn man damals mit einer jungen Frau gegangen ist, ist man seriös gegangen. Die Kinder waren noch so erzogen: Wenn man ein Mädchen verehrt hat, hat man sie ernsthaft verehrt. Deswegen war dieser Herr so aufgeregt: Der verehrt eine Christin? Der wird heiraten eine Christin? Und mir hat das ein Arzt erzählt, der meinen Großvater behandelt hat und der ein Freund von meinem Vater war. Mit der Zeit habe ich die Freundschaft mit dem alten Herrn übernommen, denn ich wirkte ein bisschen älter wie mein Jahrgang, und man hat mich akzeptiert. Und er hat mir gesagt, was der Großvater geantwortet hat. Der Großvater hat gesagt: Wenn man ein älterer Mensch ist, soll man auch Verständnis haben für die jungen Leute.
‚Aber du kannst beruhigt sein, er wird mich nicht beschämen.’ Und außerdem hat er noch diesen Satz betont: ‚Gott hat die Liebe gegeben den Menschen, nicht der Religion.’ Ich war sehr stolz, dass mein Großvater so modern war. Als wir Matura machen wollten, mit 17 Jahren, wurden wir ausgeschlossen aus dem Lyzeum, weil Buben und Mädchen nicht zusammen gehen durften. Wir wurden angeklagt, weil wir in einem kleinen Park gesessen sind, wie viele andere Schulkollegen auch und uns vorbereitet haben auf die Matura. Das ist eine Geschichte, die für mich sehr wichtig ist, aber sonst vielleicht uninteressant. Ich habe eine Maturasaison verloren. Nachher ist mein Vater nach Bukarest [Rumänien] gefahren und hat einen Skandal gemacht im Ministerium. Da ist speziell ein Minister gekommen, und man hat dann sogar die Lehrer bestraft, weil sie uns ein Jahr gestohlen hatten.

Vor der Deportation meiner Familie nach Transnistrien [heute Ukraine] ist eine Gruppe von 15 bis 16jährigen Nazis, in Rumänien haben die Legionäre geheißen, zu uns nach Haus gekommen. Das waren Kinder - junge Buben - größtenteils in Nationaltracht. Die rumänische Nationaltracht ist der griechischen sehr ähnlich, auch mit dem Hemd über der Hose. Es war um vier, fünf Uhr in der Früh, es ist gerade hell geworden. Sie sind in das Schlafzimmer meiner Eltern gegangen und haben gesagt: ‚Bleibt liegen!’ Einige sind in mein Schlafzimmer gekommen. Einer hat auch zu mir gesagt, ich soll liegen bleiben, also bin ich liegen geblieben. Auf einem Sessel lagen meine Sachen. Nicht so sehr Sessel, sondern ein Kleidergestell war das: Rock, Hose und das Hemd hingen darauf. Einen dieser Sessel habe ich hier in meiner Wohnung und einen habe ich in Israel. Sie fragten, ob sie die Sachen untersuchen dürfen. Ich gestattete zu schauen, was ich in den Taschen habe, und sie fanden meine Brieftasche und in der Brieftasche ein Kuvert. Einer nahm es heraus und las den Brief.
In Rumänien war es Tradition, dass die Mädchen am 1. März den Buben irgendetwas schenkten. Zum Beispiel eine Blume, die sie mit einem ganz dünnen rot-weißen Faden mit Fransen wie ein Pinsel am Ende, umwickelten. Das nennt man Märzischor. Nicht nur eine Million, mehrere Millionen hat man verkauft, weil das alle Rumänen machen. Aber heutzutage schenkt auch ein Bub einem Mädchen, sie schenken sich gegenseitig einen Märzischor. Damals aber bekam man das nur von einer intimeren Freundin geschenkt. Meine Freundin war blond und hatte ein Haar mit diesem Faden eingewickelt und auf eine Visitkarte schief angepickt. Und was habe ich gemacht als ich das bekommen habe? Ich habe auch eine Visitkarte genommen und habe ein Gedicht geschrieben für sie. Wenn man die ersten Buchstaben des Gedichts senkrecht liest, dann stand da ihr Name. Sie hieß Valeria Georgian, also war das ein ziemlich langes Gedicht. Und ich hatte den Märzischor und mein Gedicht zusammen in einem Visitkartenkuvert in meiner Anzugtasche. Da erinnerte sich einer der jungen Nazis, dass einmal ein Bursche aus dem Bezirk - es gab nur ein einziges Lyzeum und diese Buben waren auch von diesem Lyzeum - eigentlich waren sie meine Nachfolger, mit einem rumänischen Mädchen ging und es einen Skandal gegeben hatte. So etwas hat sich natürlich herumgesprochen. Dieser Bub erinnerte sich an den Skandal. Ich bin im Bett gelegen, es war Tag geworden, aber es war noch nicht ganz hell. Und ich hab die Augen geschlossen und gehört, wie die geflüstert haben. Einer von diesen jungen Buben sagte zu den anderen:
‚Schaut dieses Gedicht an, wie schön. Und außerdem, erinnert ihr euch nicht? Er war unser Rechtsaußen, er hat immer so gut gespielt.’
Ich war ein sehr guter Fußballspieler. Im Lyzeum war das sehr wichtig. Es gab damals einen großen Fußballer der hieß Dobei [Anm.: Stefan Dobei], und viele hatten gesagt, ich sei wie der Dobei. Und ich hörte, wie der eine zu den anderen sagte:
‚Lassen wir sie in Ruhe.’
‚Alle’, fragte ein anderer.
‚Ja’, sagte er zu den Kollegen.
Ich erzähle das gerne, weil das in einer gewissen Art zeigt, dass die Deportationen nicht von der Masse der Nazis gemacht wurden. Das rumänische Volk hat die Deportationen der Juden nicht gewünscht und hat das auch sehr bedauert. Und diese kleinen Lausbuben, ich war damals 22 Jahre alt, haben gesagt: ‚Lassen wir sie in Ruhe!’ Dann sind sie alle weggegangen.

Mein Vater hieß Abraham Isak Schieber. Er wurde am 2. März 1885 in Wiznitz geboren. Er besuchte das Lyzeum in Kimpolung und die Oberschule für Kunst und Handwerk. Dann ist er für ein Jahr nach Wien gegangen und hat Innenarchitektur studiert, denn die höhere Fachschule für Kunst und Handwerk war identisch mit einer Kunstschule. Mein Vater hatte viele Ideen und war sehr talentiert. Er hat sehr schön gezeichnet und hat zum Beispiel auch Holzschnitzerei studiert.

Mein Vater hatte einen Bruder und drei Schwestern. Der Bruder hieß Simon. Er war Offizier im 1. Weltkrieg und mit dem Regiment in Lemberg stationiert. In Lemberg hat er sich in ein Mädel verliebt und sie geheiratet. Wie sie hieß, weiß ich nicht, denn mein Großvater hat ihm nicht verziehen, dass er in Lemberg geblieben war und geheiratet hatte, ohne ihn zu fragen.
Das hatte er ihm unter anderem deshalb nicht verziehen, weil er nach dem 1. Weltkrieg komplett ausgeraubt und arm war, und mein Vater ihn erhalten musste, und der andere Sohn, der Simon, auch dazu verpflichtet gewesen wäre. Aber er hatte sich nicht gemeldet. Was mein Onkel in Lemberg gearbeitet hat, weiß ich nicht. Zehn Jahre lang gab es überhaupt keinen Kontakt zwischen meiner Familie in Kimpolung und dem Onkel Simon in Lemberg. Nach zehn Jahren ist Onkel Simon zu Besuch nach Kimpolung gekommen. Onkel Simon und seine Frau hatten einen Sohn, der Siegmund hieß. Die Familie wurde sehr schön empfangen, es gab kein böses Wort. Mein Vater und Onkel Simon trugen Anzüge aus demselben Anzugstoff und beide ein Schmucktüchlein in der Jackettasche. Obwohl sie überhaupt keinen Kontakt zueinander hatten, waren sie ähnlich gekleidet. Einer war in Lemberg und der andere in Kimpolung, aber der Anzugstoff war derselbe. Nach diesem Treffen ist man in brieflichem Kontakt geblieben, aber eine große Annäherung ist nicht entstanden, denn auch um die zwei Schwestern, für die Onkel Simon ebenfalls hätte sorgen müssen, hatte er sich nicht gekümmert. Miriam und Cirl waren nicht verheiratet und lebten zusammen in einem Haus in Kimpolung. Auch wegen Miriam und Cirl hat die Familie dem Simon nicht verziehen, denn er hätte helfen sollen, sie zu verheiraten. Dadurch hat mein Vater allein seinem Vater und seinen Schwestern helfen müssen, und die Zeiten waren nicht immer gut. Lea, die dritte Schwester, war mit Hermann Rennert verheiratet. Sie hatten eine Tochter Sofia. Gemeinsam mit Miriam und Cirl betrieben Lea und Hermann eine Konditorei in Kimpolung. Onkel Simon und seine Familie, Miriam, Cirl, Lea, Herman und ihre Tochter Sofia starben im 2. Weltkrieg in irgendeinem Lager in Transnistrien.

Mein Vater heiratete meine Mutter Sarah, geborene Josiper, und war während des 1. Weltkrieges Kadettaspirant. Am 6. Oktober 1916 wurde ich in Kimpolung geboren. Dieser 6. Oktober war der Tag von Kol Nidre 4. Das ist das größte Gebet im jüdischen Sinne, das wird am Abend vor Jom Kippur 5 gebetet. Also bin ich geboren am Jom Kippur. Mein Vater ist geboren zu Pessach 6 und ist auch zu Pessach gestorben, meine Schwester ist auch an einem Feiertag geboren und gestorben, und meine Mutter ist zu Schawuot 7 geboren und zu Schawuot gestorben.

Ich erzähle gerne die Geschichte meiner Geburt so, wie meine Mutter mir das erzählt hat: Es war der Abend von Jom Kippur und mein Vater hatte sich den Smoking angezogen, um in den Tempel zu gehen, weil die Herren früher im Smoking an diesem hohen Feiertag in den Tempel gingen. ‚Als er wieder nach Hause gekommen ist, bist du da gewesen’, hat sie gesagt. 
Ich wurde zu Hause von einer Hebamme entbunden, das hat man früher so gemacht.

Einige Zeit arbeitete mein Vater in einem Sägewerk, wo er einen guten Posten hatte.
Für damalige Verhältnisse hatte er eine wunderbare Ausbildung. Wenn jemand nur zwei Volksschulklassen hatte, hat er schon einen Posten bekommen. Wenn man die ganze Matura hatte, war man schon gut ausgebildet. Und wenn man studiert hat an einer Hochschule, dann war das sehr viel. Aber sein Schwiegervater hat zu ihm gesagt: ‚Schau, von deinen Phantasien kann man nicht leben. Aber weißt du, wovon man gut leben kann? Von dem was ich mache.’ Und was hat er gemacht? Er war der Verwalter von dem sogenannten Beamten Casino in Kimpolung. In diesem Casino hat man nicht Karten gespielt, sondern gut gegessen. Das war ein Restaurant, wo nur die Beamten, also die Angestellten von Österreich, essen durften. Ein Beamter früher war eine anerkannte Persönlichkeit. Beamte waren unter anderem: der Bürgermeister, der Landeshauptmann und die Beschäftigten in der Landeshauptmannschaft und im Bürgermeisteramt. Nur die durften dort hinein. Oder zum Beispiel der Bahnvorsteher, das war auch eine Persönlichkeit. Sie hatten dort im Casino auch wahrscheinlich gute Konditionen.

Mein Großvater mütterlicherseits hieß Jakob Josiper. Ich weiß nicht genau, aber ich glaube, er wurde Ende der 1850er- Anfang der 1860er-Jahre, in Warschau geboren. Vielleicht ist er aber auch in Lemberg [Ukraine] geboren. Er hatte Brüder und Schwestern, Nichten und Neffen, aber keinen von denen habe ich gekannt; denn alle sind in jungen Jahren aus Warschau nach Amerika ausgewandert. Sie haben dem Großvater regelmäßig Geld geschickt, das weiß ich.
Der Großvater hatte eine Jeschiwa 8 besucht, das war seine Ausbildung. In der Jeschiwa in Warschau war ein Cousin meines Großvaters, der auch Josiper geheißen hat. Beide sind dann zusammen nach Kimpolung gegangen, und mein Großvater hat den Posten in Kimpolung als Verwalter vom Beamtencasino bekommen. Ein Neffe von diesem Cousin wohnt jetzt in Bukarest. Er hat mich einmal aufgesucht und gesagt, dass wir miteinander verwandt sind.
Nach dem 1. Weltkrieg war mein Großvater außerdem Vertreter einer Bierfabrik und besaß eine Abfüllanlage. Er hat von der Fabrik einen Waggon mit Fässern bekommen, vielleicht
Tausend Liter Bier. Mit Apparaten wurde das Bier in Flaschen abgefüllt, und er ist dann mit Pferd und Wagen in die Dörfer und Provinzen im Kreis Kimpolung gefahren und hat die Leute mit Bier versorgt. Damit ist er sehr reich geworden. Er war ein guter Kaufmann. Er hatte zwei Häuschen, sie waren nicht groß, aber es waren Häuser. Um die Häuser herum war ein Garten - also war er ein wohlhabender Mann.

Der Urgroßvater meiner Mutter mütterlicherseits hieß Wagner, den Vornamen weiß ich nicht. Er lebte von 1802 bis 1918 in Suczawa [Rumänien], wurde also 116 Jahre alt. Er war zweimal verheiratet und hatte 14 Kinder. Als seine erste Frau sehr krank war, fuhr er mit einem Ochsengespann nach Wien sie untersuchen lassen. Alle Kinder hatte er auf dem Ochsengespann mitgenommen, alle fuhren mit ihm und ihrer kranken Mutter in diesem Wagen. Die Ärzte in Wien sollten seine Frau gesund machen, aber sie ist gestorben. Ein Rabbiner in Wien stellte dem Urgroßvater seine Tochter zur Betreuung der Kinder zur Verfügung. Und als er zurückgefahren ist nach Suczawa wurde sie seine Frau. Als er 76 Jahre alt war, wurde sein letztes Kind geboren. Und damit man nicht sagen sollte, dass der Nachbar daran schuld gewesen wäre, war die Tante Honora meinem Urgroßvater wie aus dem Gesicht geschnitten - sie hat ausgeschaut wie ihr Vater. Sie wurde eine berühmte Schneiderin in Suczawa und war verheiratet mit Onkel Rotkopf. Wenn noch in Suczawa eine alte Frau lebt, weiß sie bestimmt, wer Honora Rotkopf war. Das waren sehr liebe, feine Leute - Tante Honora und der Onkel. Honora war mit meiner Mutter befreundet, beide waren gleich alt, aber Honora war die Tante und meine Mutter ihre Nichte. Tante Honora und ihr Mann haben den Holocaust überlebt und sind in Suczawa gestorben. Sie haben noch viele Jahre zusammen dort gelebt. Eine Tochter hatten sie, sie war sehr krank. Sie ist verkrüppelt gewesen. Auch sie hat den Holocaust überlebt. Es leben noch viele Enkel, und Enkel der Enkel von so vielen Geschwistern meiner Großmutter in Israel. Mit einer Enkelin von ihnen habe ich Kontakt, auch mit meiner Schwester hatte sie noch Kontakt.

Die Großmutter hieß Rachel. Sie hatte mit meinem Großvater Jacob zwei Töchter: Sarah, meine Mutter, die 1888 in Kimpolung geboren wurde und Regina, die Schwester meiner Mutter. Der Großvater hatte als Verwalter von dem Casino sehr viel mit Christen zu tun. Die Beamten in der Bukowina wurden aus Wien geschickt. Österreich war ja ein riesiges Land - von Wien über Budapest, Klausenburg [heute: Cluj-Napoca, Rumänien], Czernowitz [heute Ukraine] bis nach Lemberg [heute Ukraine] hinauf. Die Beamten von Wien bis Lemberg waren größtenteils Österreicher, aber nicht Juden; die Juden waren hauptsächlich Kaufleute. Mit diesen österreichischen Beamten hat mein Großvater die ganze Zeit zusammen gearbeitet. Ich glaube, das hat abgefärbt. Ich kann das niemandem sagen, man glaubt es mir nicht, aber deshalb waren meine Großeltern wirklich nicht so orthodox religiös. Sie haben alle Traditionen eingehalten, denn wenn man ins Haus hineingegangen ist, gab es Mesusot 9 und es wurden alle Feiertage festlich begangen. Der Großvater hat gedavnt [Anm.: jidd. gebetet], mit dem Tallit 10, und er hat Tefillen 11 gelegt und hat die Kippa 12 getragen.

Ich erinnere mich, die Großmutter hat oft Kartoffelsuppe mit Knoblauch für uns Kinder gekocht, denn zu Hause haben wir keinen Knoblauch bekommen. Sie war sehr angesehen bei den Bauern. Die Bauern sind am Tag der Deportation gekommen, weil sie gehört hatten, dass ich sie nach Transnistrien mitnehme. Sie haben gesagt, ich soll sie dalassen, weil sie die Großmutter verstecken wollten. Auch sie wollte bleiben. Und das kann ich mir im Leben nicht verzeihen, dass ich sie trotzdem mitgenommen habe, obwohl ich glaube, es hätte ihr nicht geholfen.

Meine Eltern waren beide Intellektuelle. Das sehe ich, wenn ich mir die Briefe von meinem Vater oder von meiner Mutter ansehe. Meine Mutter hatte die Schule in Kimpolung gemacht und ist dann nach Czernowitz auf die Hochschule gegangen und hat dort studiert, denn Universitäten gab es nur in den großen Städten. Meine Mutter hatte eine Lehrerinnenausbildung, aber sie hat danach geheiratet und ihren Beruf nie ausgeübt. Sie war eine noble Dame und für die heutigen Begriffe eine Schönheit. Sie war religiös, aber auch nicht mehr so streng religiös. Zum Beispiel hat sie heimlich Schinken für mich gekauft, obwohl Schinken doch trefe 13 ist, aber Schinken ist sehr gesund, und ich sollte natürlich gesund sein. Auch mein Vater war ein moderner Mann, aber er wollte seinem Vater keinen Kummer machen. Zum Beispiel hat er geraucht, und obwohl er schon ein älterer Herr war, hat er vor seinem Vater nie geraucht.

Meine Tante Regine, die Schwester meiner Mutter, war ein extravagantes Mädchen. Mein Großvater, also ihr Vater, war mit ihr sehr konziliant, weil sie die ersten sieben Jahre ihres Lebens nicht gesprochen hat - sie war stumm. Deswegen haben die Eltern ihr alles nachgegeben. Dann plötzlich ist sie hinausgeschossen und ist eine Intellektuelle großer Art geworden. Sie ist in Kimpolung zur Schule gegangen, hat die Matura gemacht und wurde auch Lehrerin, wie meine Mutter. Aber meine Tante hat in ihrem Beruf gearbeitet. Die Kimpolunger haben meine Tante sehr geehrt, denn alle Kinder waren ihre Kinder sozusagen. Geheiratet hat sie nie.

Viele Juden in der Bukowina waren Zionisten: die Czernowitzer, die ganze Studentenschaft, auch meine Tante, mein Vater und meine Mutter und meine Tante Regina. Meine Mutter und Tante Regina waren Mitbegründerinnen der zionistischen Frauenorganisation WIZO 14 in Kimpolung. Damals entstanden viele jüdische Organisationen, rechte und linke. Tante Regina war bei den Sozialdemokraten, mit ihr war nicht zu spaßen. Meine Mutter und Tante Regina gründeten und finanzierten auch den ersten zionistischen Kindergarten. Die Kinder lernten dort Hebräisch und die Liebe zu ‚Eretz Israel’. Es gibt ein Foto meines Vaters, da trägt er den Magen David [Davidstern], das war das Zeichen der Zionisten. Auf seinem Nachttisch standen ein Bild von Theodor Herzl und ein Bild vom Kaiser Franz Joseph. Ich habe damals auch Land in Palästina gekauft, aber wir hatten keine Beweise, dass wir das Land gekauft hatten.

Meine Kindheit

Meine Kindermädchen waren Kinder der Schulkolleginnen meiner Mutter. Die rumänischen Bäuerinnen haben ihre Kinder zu den Juden gegeben, damit sie lernen, wie man kocht, wie man ein Bett macht und wie man einen Tisch deckt. Die Mädchen waren elf oder zwölf Jahre alt und die Bäuerinnen waren glücklich, die Kinder in jüdischen Familien unterzubringen. Bei mir waren drei Mädchen. Die haben nicht waschen müssen oder so etwas, für die Wäsche war eine Frau da. Die Mädchen haben mit mir gespielt, mein Essen gebracht, mich gefüttert, haben mich angezogen – obwohl ich mich immer selber anziehen wollte. Meine Mutter hat ihnen gesagt: ‚Lasst ihn, er soll sich aussuchen, was er anziehen will.’
Eines Tages kam eines dieser Mädchen, sie hat Olympia geheißen, zu meiner Mama und hat gesagt:
‚Ich weiß nicht, aber es verschwinden die Sachen von dem Kind. Er hat einen Anzug gehabt, und der ist nicht mehr da.’ Das Mädchen hatte Angst, meine Mutter könnte glauben, dass sie meinen Anzug gestohlen hätte. Meine Mutter hat geantwortet: ‚Du brauchst dir keine Sorgen zu machen und auch die anderen zwei Mädchen brauchen sich keine Sorgen zu machen. Ihr seid doch die Töchter meiner Freundinnen und ich verdächtige euch nicht, die Sachen gestohlen zu haben.’ Nach einiger Zeit kam das Mädchen wieder zu meiner Mutter, denn es waren wieder Anziehsachen von mir verschwunden. Die Sache war so: Wir hatten einen großen Hof und mein Vater hatte auf diesem Hof Sand zum Spielen für mich aufschütten lassen. Aber es sind auch andere Kinder gekommen, unter anderem waren da auch Zigeuner. Über die Zigeuner hat man damals gesagt, dass sie Kinder stehlen. Sie bekamen nur auf einem Platz außerhalb der Stadt die Genehmigung zu wohnen. Manchmal sind sie in die Stadt hereingekommen und haben Sachen verkauft, Dinge aus Bronze zum Beispiel. Die Kinder der Zigeuner kamen auch auf unseren Hof. Sie waren entweder nur mit einem Hemderl bekleidet oder nur mit einem Höschen, so sind sie herumgelaufen. Und da sah meine Mutter eines Tages, wie ich mich auszog, alles - die Strümpfe, die Hose und die Unterhose - und die Sachen den Zigeunerkindern anzog. Danach bin ich in die Wohnung gelaufen und habe mir einen anderen Anzug angezogen. Meine Mutter hat das meiner Frau erzählt und gesagt: ‚Schau was für einen Sohn ich dir erzogen habe.’ Sie war stolz auf mich.

Ich habe mit vier Jahren das erste Volksschulbuch ins Hebräische übersetzt, und heute kann ich nicht einmal mehr zwei Worte. Aber ich lerne auch nicht mehr, nicht aus Protest, ich lerne einfach nicht.

Alle jüdischen Buben haben mit drei Jahren begonnen zu lernen, entweder zu Hause oder im Cheder 15; die Gebete, die Buchstaben und das Zählen. Ein jüdischer Bub mit drei, vier, oder fünf Jahren, bevor er in die Schule kam, ging in den Cheder. Ich habe zuerst zu Hause gelernt. Und dann, mit vier oder mit fünf war ich auch im Cheder. Ich war sehr beliebt bei dem Lehrer - auf jiddisch heißt er Melamed. Er hat uns hebräisch gelehrt und weil er mit meinem Großvater in derselben Jeschiwa war und ich sehr gut gelernt habe, hat er mich nicht geschlagen. Aber die anderen Kinder hat er, wenn sie nicht gelernt haben, oder irgendetwas angestellt hatten, mit einem dicken Stock auf die Hand geschlagen. Die Kinder haben gewusst, dass er mich protegiert, und wenn sie etwas angestellt hatten und er ist hereingekommen und hat gefragt: ‚Wer war das’, haben sie gesagt, dass ich das gewesen wäre. Und ich habe geschwiegen, weil er mich nicht geschlagen hat; ich war ein großer Spitzbub. Ich erinnere mich so an Sachen, die waren sehr schön.

Nach dem Cheder bin ich in die normale Volksschule gegangen. Ich habe sehr gut gelernt in der Volksschule, ich war immer ganz oben mit den Noten. Dann kam ich aufs Lyzeum. Ich habe nie schlecht gelernt, aber da war ich nicht besonders gut, außer in Mathematik. Mathematik habe ich sehr gern gehabt, da hatte ich immer die beste Note. Und Latein hat mir sehr gut gefallen, da habe ich auch sehr gute Noten gehabt, und ich hatte auch noch sehr gute Noten in Gymnastik.

Meine Schwester Bella wurde am 27. September 1920 in Kimpolung geboren. Bis zu ihrem Tod habe ich für meine Schwester gesorgt. Ich habe sie sehr geliebt, und wenn die Kinder meine Schwester nur berührten, habe ich sie sofort geschlagen - so schlimm war ich.

Im Jahre 1920 eröffnete mein Vater ein Bodega - Restaurant [Anm.: span. Weinstube, Weinkeller, Weinlager] auf der Hauptstrasse, gegenüber dem Rathaus. Das Restaurant war für die Verhältnisse damals was hier in Wien das ‚Sacher’ [berühmtes Wiener Kaffeehaus] ist. 
Es war wunderschön eingerichtet mit Sachen, die heute nur in besonders eleganten Geschäften verkauft werden. Was mein Vater an Ware hatte, das kann man sich nicht vorstellen, so gut ist es ihm gegangen. Für dieses Restaurant, an das ich mich genau erinnere, hatte mein Vater ein Radio gekauft, das sehr viel gekostet hat. Es war eines der ersten Radios, die es in der Bukowina gab, denn im Jahre 1920 hat nicht jeder ein Radio gehabt. Oben war ein Lautsprecher, aber diesen Lautsprecher durfte man nicht benützen, denn man musste eine besondere Bewilligung haben für ein Radio.

Mein Vater hatte zuerst dieses Restaurant und dann hatte er ein noch größeres Restaurant, das nur im Sommer wegen der Touristen geöffnet war. Er war außerdem der Besitzer des Restaurants im Rathaus; Rathaus heißt rumänisch Primaria. Auch unsere Wohnung befand sich im Rathaus. Da hat mein Vater gezeigt, dass er Innenarchitekt ist. Was er aus diesem Haus gemacht hat! Er hat die Vorhänge in der Tschechoslowakei eingekauft und nach dem Muster der Vorhänge hat er die Tapeten ausgesucht. Die Maler, die das Haus renoviert haben, waren seine Schulkameraden, mit denen er aufgewachsen war. Der eine ist später ein Restaurator geworden, die anderen sind Maler geblieben und haben sehr gut verdient.

Ich bin aufgewachsen wie ein Königssohn. Es gibt hier in Wien eine Dame, die eine Schulkollegin von meiner Schwester Bella war. Ihr Sohn ist Arzt, und sie ist sehr bekannt. Sie hatte sehr nahe zu meinen Großeltern gewohnt. Sie hat mir einmal erzählt, dass es für sie als 14jähriges Mädchen ein Ereignis war, am Nachmittag oder am Vorabend in das Restaurant meines Vaters hinein zu schauen, in dem auch getanzt wurde. So ein elegantes Restaurant mit einem großem Orchester und Tanz existiert nicht einmal in Wien.

Mein Vater war ein religiöser Mann, er legte jeden Tag Teffilin und betete jeden Morgen, andererseits war er auch modern. Er war ein sehr gescheiter Mann, er hat weggeschaut, wenn ich nicht gebetet habe, denn er hat gesehen, dass ich nicht unreligiös war, Gott behüte, im Gegenteil! Er war Vizepräsident der National Liberalen Partei und sehr eng befreundet mit dem Präfekt Leonties, der der Präsident der National Liberalen Partei war.

Wir waren eine wohlhabende Familie, nicht im Sinne von Rothschild oder dergleichen, aber wohlhabend und zwischen den Bestverdienenden im Städtchen. Meine Eltern waren immer sehr beschäftigt, haben immer viel gearbeitet, denn da waren das große Restaurant, ein Hotel, ein großer Weinkeller und eine Bierabfüllerei. Nicht nur mein Großvater hatte eine Bierabfüllerei, auch mein Vater hatte eine. Im Urlaub war bei uns in Kimpolung Hochsaison. Kimpolung war ein Kurort und in der Urlaubszeit hat man am meisten verdient.

Ich war als Kind im Haschomer Hatzair 16, der zionistischen Jugendorganisation. Die Aktivitäten im Haschomer waren so ähnlich, wie die heute. Wir haben gesungen, Ausflüge gemacht und viel über den Zionismus gesprochen; Theodor Herzl war unser großer Held. Mit 13 hatte ich, wie jeder jüdische Junge meine Bar Mitzwa 17. Meine Familie war sehr stolz über meine Rede.

Nach der Matura, 1935, begann ich in Bukarest Technische Chemie zu studieren. Im selben Jahr starb mein Großvater Chaim Suchar Schieber.

Als ich ans Lyzeum kam, begann die Legionärsbewegung. Am Anfang waren die Legionäre in der Minderheit, später schlossen sich aber viele meiner Kinderfreunde diesen Legionären an. Auf der Universität griffen die Legionäre der ‚Eisernen Garde’ oft die jüdischen Studenten an, verprügelten sie und stießen sie die Treppen der Universität hinunter. Eine Schweizer Studienkollegin, Rotmund Johanna hieß sie, pflegte uns oft rechtzeitig zu erzählen, wann die Nazis, meist Studenten der Fakultäten für Recht oder Medizin, kommen wollten, um uns zu schlagen. Da sind wir ganz einfach an diesem Tag nicht zur Universität gegangen, und die sind umsonst gekommen. Ich habe das alles nicht ertragen und meldete mich zur Armee.

Während des Krieges

Ich diente in der Armee von 1938 bis 1940. Die Offiziere benahmen sich den jüdischen Soldaten gegenüber sehr anständig. Da ist es mir sehr gut gegangen. Als mein Regiment 1939 an die Front geschickt wurde, mussten die jüdischen Soldaten zur Zwangsarbeit.  

Nachdem mein Vater als Jude nach 1938 keine Konzession für ein Restaurant oder Hotel mehr in Kimpolung erhalten hatte, hatte er mit seinem Freund Leonties das ‚Hotel-Restaurant Palace’, das unter Leonties´ Namen eingetragen wurde, eröffnet. Als die Rassengesetze gegen Juden aber immer stärker wurden, mussten wir aus dem Haus, in dem sich das Hotel befand und in dem wir gemeinsam mit Leonties und seiner Familie in tiefer Freundschaft zusammen gelebt hatten, ausziehen. Der Präfekt Leonties wollte keine Probleme bekommen und brach den Kontakt mit uns ab. Unser gesamtes Eigentum blieb in seinen Händen, aber er unterstützte uns später nicht in Transnistrien. Das war für meinen Vater ein schwerer Schlag. Das Haus existiert noch heute dort; es ist ein sehr schönes Haus.

Am 12. Oktober 1941 wurden die Juden aus Kimpolung in Viehwaggons nach Transnistrien deportiert. Damals war Rumänien das Land am Dnjestr. Die Grenze zwischen Rumänien und Russland war der Dnestr, ein großer Fluss, der ins Schwarze Meer fließt. Auf der Seite vom Dnjestr bis zum Dnjepr gibt es noch einen anderen Fluss, der heißt Bug. Das Gebiet zwischen diesen zwei Flüssen, dem Dnjestr und dem Bug, war in der Verwaltung der Rumänen, weil Rumänien sich den Deutschen im Krieg gegen Russland angeschlossen hatte. Auf diesem Gebiet befand sich das Lager Transnistrien. Dorthin wurden die rumänischen Juden deportiert. Es wurden keine Baracken für die Deportierten gebaut, sondern die Städte und Dörfer eines gewissen Gebietes von Transnistrien wurden zum Lager. In diesen Städten oder Dörfern lebten vorher fast ausschließlich Juden wie in Kimpolung.

In Shargorod, einem kleinen Ort, lebten 1 000 Einwohner. Dann kamen 5 000 Deportierte dazu und die mussten mit den Einwohnern zusammen leben. Es wurde ein Ghetto, im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes. In allen diesen Städtchen, wo Juden gewohnt hatten, wurden Ghettos errichtet. Zusammengepfercht mussten wir zusammen in den Häusern leben. Diese Juden waren schon so ausgehungert, dass wir sie gerettet haben, nicht sie uns. Dort war nicht ein einziger Jude der etwas hatte, um zu überleben. Aber gegenüber den anderen Lagern wie das KZ Auschwitz und wie die alle hießen, war es ein Paradies, das kann man nicht vergleichen.

Wir hatten das Quartier Nummer acht. Zuerst haben wir viele Sachen verkauft um zu heizen und zu essen. Dann bekamen im Frühjahr elf von zwölf Mitgliedern meiner Familie Typhus, auch ich bekam Typhus. Zuerst starb meine Großmutter Rachel und innerhalb kurzer Zeit mein Vater Abraham Schieber, meine Tanten Miriam und Cirl Schieber, Lea Rennert, geb. Schieber, mein Onkel Herman Rennert, meine Cousine Sofia Rennert und mein Großvater Jacob Josiper. Mein Vater ist zwar wie die anderen Mitglieder meiner Familie an Flecktyphus gestorben, aber seelisch war er schon tot. ‚Wieso konnten sie mir das antun?’ hatte er immer wieder gefragt.

Ein Kinderfreund, der Sohn eines rumänischen Pfarrers, hat mir sehr geholfen zu überleben. Ich musste beim Straßenbau arbeiten und eines Tages, es war im Sommer 1942, kam ich zurück nach Hause in dieses Shargorod, da sagte man mir: ‚Es war ein Rumäne hier, er heißt Mircea Breaban. Er hat gesagt, dass er ein Kollege aus der Jugendzeit ist, und er wird sich noch einmal melden. Mircea und ich waren Kinderfreunde, hatten uns aber auch einmal wegen dieses blonden Mädels, das ich verehrt hatte, gestritten.

Am nächsten Tag war ich wieder bei der Arbeit, da erschien die Sekretärin des Chefs. Prätor Dindelegan war ein Rumäne und Chef über alle Lager, die dort waren. Die Sekretärin sagte:
‚Du hast großes Glück, es war ein Freund aus deiner Kindheit beim Chef und hat gesagt, dass er dir helfen soll. Auf einem Lastwagen hat mich der Prätor eigenhändig zurück gefahren nach Shargorod. Ich musste nicht mehr zu meiner Arbeit am Straßenbau, sondern ich wurde in der Zuckerfabrik in Derebcin der Berater des Fabrikverwalters. Mircea hat mich dann auch in der Zuckerfabrik besucht. So ein Glück wie ich hat nicht jeder gehabt.

Der Chef der Zuckerfabrik war ein Rumäne, ein wunderbarer Mensch, der mich sehr unterstützt hat. Als Gehalt bekam ich Geld und Zucker. Bei der Zuckerherstellung entsteht als Nebenprodukt Melasse. Aus Melasse kann man Alkohol herstellen, genauso wie aus Getreide oder aus Kartoffeln. Die Arbeiter der Zuckerfabrik bekamen monatlich zu ihrem Gehalt Zucker und Melasse. Die Melasse verkauften sie an die Ukrainer, die in kleinen Kesseln daraus das alkoholische Getränk Samagon herstellten.

Eines Tages kam ich aus der Fabrik und sah, wie sich die Arbeiter mit den Käufern der Melasse gestritten haben. Sie stritten nicht über den Preis, der war festgelegt, aber die Ukrainer haben versucht, sie zu betrügen. Ich machte den Arbeitern den Vorschlag, ihnen die Melasse abzukaufen, womit sie einverstanden waren und verkaufte die Melasse en gros an die Ukrainer. So verdiente ich viel Geld, half meiner Familie und vielen anderen, denn ich gab das Geld der Kultusgemeinde für die Kantine. Wenn es in der Kantine Brot und Suppe gab, hatten tausende Menschen eine Überlebenschance. Ich pflegte das Geld in einem Sack in die Kultusgemeinde zu bringen. Dort war ein kleiner siebenjähriger Bub, den die Kultusgemeinde schützte vor der schweren Arbeit. Er durfte Staub wischen und wenn ich das Geld brachte, hat er es gezählt und gebündelt. Was ich erlebt habe, ist ein Wunder: Ein Mann, der nichts gehabt hat, wird auf einmal ein reicher Mann und gibt viel Geld den Armen. Ich habe vielen Familien geholfen. Zum Beispiel: Isidor Kreisel wurde zum Tod von den Rumänen verurteilt, weil er Ware zum Überleben von den Soldaten gekauft hatte. Sein Schwager kam zu mir und sagte: ‚Ich brauche 400 Dollar, damit ich das Leben des Bruders meiner Frau retten kann.’ Ich habe ihm die 400 Dollar geborgt und man hat kleine Goldstücke hergestellt, Napoleons. Das sind berühmte Münzen, so berühmt wie der Dollar. So eine Münze kostet zehn Dollar. Die Schwester vom Isidor, die eine Tochter Sascha hat, hat die Münzen in einen Gürtel aus Stoff genäht. Der Vater von Sascha ist mit diesem Gürtel nach Tiraspol gefahren, das am Schwarzen Meer liegt, um seinen Schwager zu retten. Das war wirklich heldenhaft. Er hat das Bakschisch gegeben [Bestechungsgeld] und seinen Schwager nach Hause gebracht. Wenn nicht, hätte man ihn erschossen. Später ist Isidor Kreisel in Israel gestorben. Sascha ist Universitätsprofessorin, lebt in Bukarest und ist mir sehr dankbar, dass ich ihren Onkel gerettet habe.

Für mich ist ein Beweis, dass Gott existiert, weil ich den Menschen helfen konnte. Wenn man so nachdenkt, ist es nicht so einfach zu sagen: Ich glaube an Gott und nicht an die Religion. Ich habe Beweise dafür, dass Gott mir geholfen hat. Dieser Junge, der das Geld gezählt hat, das ich gebracht hatte, ist heute eine Persönlichkeit in Israel und befreundet mit meinem Freund, dem Professor Allerhand. Ich habe das nicht gewusst und eines Tages sagt er:
‚Weißt du, dieser Mann kennt dich.’ Er war sieben Jahre alt damals, ich war 17 Jahre alt. Das war ein großer Unterschied, aber heute sind wir befreundet. Ich habe vielen Menschen geholfen zu überleben. Ich hatte so einen Charakter und ein Herz, schon damals, als junger Mann. Es ist für mich wunderbar mit diesem Bewusstsein zu leben, das ist mir sehr viel Wert.

Meine Schwester Bella machte nach dem Holocaust in Rumänien eine Ausbildung als Diplomkaufmann und arbeitete als Buchhalterin. Sie war verheiratet mit Dr. Merdler und hatte zwei Töchter: Ruth und Anita. Seit 1982 lebte die Familie in Israel. Sie wollten alle zusammen nach Israel gehen, aber meine Mutter konnte nicht mehr. Meine Mutter ist einen Monat, bevor sie mit der Familie meiner Schwester nach Israel ausreisen wollte, in Suczawa gestorben. Alle Papiere waren schon fertig und plötzlich ist sie gestorben. Sie hatte schon einen Pass zu Hause - das war eine große Sache, so ein Pass damals in Rumänien. Meine Schwester ist vor zwei Jahren in Israel gestorben. Vor zwei Jahren war ich wie ein junger Mann, seither bin ich alt.

Nach dem Krieg

Nach dem Krieg bin ich nicht mehr nach Kimpolung zurückgegangen. Ich bin nach Bukarest gegangen und habe meine Frau geheiratet, die als Mitgift sozusagen, ihre Eltern mitbrachte. Aber Gott hat mir dafür geholfen. Als junger fescher Bursche hat man ein reiches Mädchen gesucht, aber ich war damals nicht so. Auch meine Mutter war mit der Heirat einverstanden.

Meine Frau Mariana Sas wurde am 24. März 1922 in Budapest geboren. Ihr Vater war Direktor in einer der größten Gummiwarenfabriken in Budapest. Er wurde vor dem Krieg von Budapest nach Bukarest geschickt, weil in Bukarest auch eine Gummiwarenfabrik gebaut wurde. Als im Jahre 1938 in Rumänien die Naziregierung an die Macht kam, gingen sie zurück nach Ungarn. Sie haben mit falschen Papieren den Krieg in Budapest überlebt. Als die Russen nach Ungarn kamen, sind sie wegen der Fabrik nach Rumänien zurück. Mein Schwiegervater war der große Direktor der Fabrik, aber die Familie war arm - sie hatten alles verloren.

Meine Frau wurde Professorin für Choreografie und besaß eine große Tanzschule für Kinder.
Im Jahre 1947 wurde die Volksrepublik Rumänien gegründet und 1948 war die Nationalisierung. Da sind alle Eigentümer nationalisiert worden.

Bis 1960 arbeitete ich in einer ganz großen Lebensmittelfabrik und war der Chef einer der größten Weindestillationen. Zwölf Jahre arbeitete ich dort, so lange, bis ich nach Österreich ausgewandert bin.

Ich hatte keine Probleme im Kommunismus, weil ich sehr seriös war. Ich habe immer eine sehr gute Ehe geführt und habe auch beruflich keine Probleme gehabt. Ich war sehr tüchtig, habe dann sogar eine Innovation gemacht und ein Riesenvermögen legal verdient; 500 000 Lei, das war damals wirklich ein Vermögen. Auch meine Frau hat als Choreografin gut verdient. Trotzdem wollten wir weg aus Rumänien. Der Bruder meiner Frau ist Zahnarzt in Wien. Dadurch bekamen wir die Einreise nach Österreich, die Ausreise haben wir durch Protektion bekommen. Der Schwiegervater war in Rumänien gestorben. Meine Frau, meine Schwiegermutter und ich haben bis zum Tod meiner Schwiegermutter zusammen gelebt und ich habe das Geld für uns verdient.

Als meine Tante Regina aus Transnistrien zurückkehrte, kümmerte sie sich um das kulturelle Leben in Kimpolung und um den jüdischen Kindergarten. Viele der heute noch in Israel lebenden Kimpolunger waren Kinder von meiner Tante Regina. Sie bemühte sich sehr, ein jüdisches Leben wieder herzustellen. Tante Regina schrieb auch Theaterstücke. In vielen Städten in der Umgebung von Kimpolung wurden sie aufgeführt, aber ab 1948 verboten ihr die Kommunisten alle zionistischen Aktivitäten, auch die Theateraufführungen.

Tante Regina übersiedelte Ende der 1940er-Jahre aus Rumänien, was damals nicht einfach war, nach Jerusalem in ein Altersheim. Später lebte sie in einem Altersheim in Natanya.
Auch im Altersheim war sie kulturell sehr aktiv. Es gibt ein Theaterstück, das zu Purim 18 gespielt wird: Ein König hat sich in eine jüdische Tochter verliebt, aber der König war kein Jude. Und der Vater hat ihr gestattet ihn zu heiraten, weil sie durch die Heirat das jüdische Volk retten sollte. Und sie beeinflusste den König, dass er das jüdische Volk nicht töten soll, denn es gab einen Premierminister Haman, der das jüdische Volk töten wollte. Und sie hat dem König gesagt: ‚Er will das Volk töten, weil er das Geld stehlen will.’ Und da hat der König dem Haman hinterher spionieren lassen und ist draufgekommen, dass das stimmt.
Meine Tante hat das Stück modernisiert und hat Moshe Dayan 19 zum König ernannt. Das Stück wurde im Altersheim von den Heimbewohnern gespielt, die alle über 80 Jahre alt waren und General Moshe Dayan kam persönlich zur Aufführung. Die ehemaligen Kimpolunger in Israel blieben meiner Tante Regina treu und besuchten sie regelmäßig. Sie starb in den 1980er-Jahren in Israel und hat in Jerusalem ein Ehrengrab.

Wien

In Wien habe ich mich sofort sehr gut gefühlt. Ich habe sehr viel Glück gehabt im Leben. Ich habe einen Posten mit einem unglaublichen Gehalt für damalige Verhältnisse bekommen.
Zuerst, als ich noch kein Geld in Österreich hatte, sind meine Frau und ich in der Innenstadt spazieren gegangen. Bei der Oper wurde Eis verkauft, und ich habe Eis sehr gerne gehabt. Ein Becher kostete einen Schilling. Und ich habe so geschaut und wieder geschaut, da hat meine Frau gesagt:
‚Geh kauf dir Eis!’ Sagte ich:
‚Aber das kostet doch einen Schilling.’ Sagte sie: ‚Macht nichts, wir werden woanders sparen.’
Eine Langstreckenkarte mit der Tramway hat drei Schilling gekostet und eine Kurzstrecke einen Schilling. Da pflegten wir einen Teil zu Fuß zu gehen, so dass wir nur einen Schilling zahlen mussten. Das ging zwei Monate so. Dann habe ich mich bei einem kleinen Unternehmen, einem Likörerzeuger, vorgestellt. Ich habe gesagt was ich kann und schlug vor, ich würde einen oder zwei Monate auf Probe arbeiten, und er könnte sehen, was ich kann; dann würden wir über das Gehalt reden. Das hat ihm sehr gut gefallen und er hat gesagt:
‚Beginnen Sie sofort!’ Ich habe am Montag begonnen, am Ende der Woche hat er mich ins sogenannte Chefzimmer eingeladen.
‚Also Herr Ingenieur, man muss ja wissen, wovon man lebt.’ Und er fragte mich wie viel ich mir vorstelle und ich sagte:
‚Schauen Sie, jedes Gehalt, dass sie mir anbieten, nehme ich. Denn ich möchte Ihnen ein zwei Monate zeigen was ich kann.’
Hier in Wien gibt es Spezialisten für Liköre, Spezialisten für Weine, ein Dritter macht Champagner und so weiter. Und er wollte auch eine Weindestillerie. Und diese Weindestillerie war ein Kessel. Ich hatte von solchen Kesseln in Bukarest in der Fabrik zwanzig im Alteisen. Auf einmal war ich der Chefingenieur von diesem kleinen Kessel.
Ein Kollege aus Bukarest, der mich in Wien in der Fabrik besuchte, hat mich bedauert, aber ich hatte hier ein Gehalt im Monat, das hatte ich in einem ganzen Jahr in Rumänien nicht bekommen.

Vier Jahre arbeitete ich in der Firma. Der Chef und ich hatten auch eine Firma für Weinimporte gegründet. Ich fuhr mit ihm nach Spanien und habe dort Weine eingekauft. Dann gab es mit der Frau meines Chefs Probleme. Ich habe gehört, dass sie antisemitische Bemerkungen machte. Ich sagte, dass ich die Firma verlasse. Mein Chef wollte, dass ich etwas Gutes finde, denn wir mochten uns sehr. Er sprach mit seinem Konkurrenten, der Inhaber der Likörfirma ‚Mozart’ war. Der wollte gerade seine Fabrik verkaufen. Als er hörte, dass ich bei den Leuten, die seine Firma kaufen wollen, der Geschäftsführer sein werde, sagte er: ‚Ich muss die Firma nicht verkaufen, übernehmen Sie die Leitung der Fabrik. Ich gebe Ihnen 25%.’ So wurde ich Mitbesitzer einer Fabrik und verdiente viel Geld. Also hatte ich es wieder wunderbar getroffen.

Nach fast zwei Jahren wollte ich zu meiner Mutter nach Rumänien. Da ich in Rumänien gute Kontakte hatte, habe ich gewusst, dass ich dort gute Geschäfte machen kann. Ich habe die Fabrik zurückgegeben und begann nach Rumänien zu reisen.

In die Bnei Brith Loge bin ich eingetreten, und ich arbeite für die Loge bis zum heutigen Tag. Bnei Brith ist eine wettweite Wohltätigkeitsorganisation mit 500 000 Mitgliedern und mit einem sehr großen Prestige auf der ganzen Welt.

Zur jüdischen Kultusgemeinde habe ich überhaupt keinen Kontakt. Ich gehe aus Überzeugung nicht in den Tempel, aber ich bin ein hundertprozentiger Jude und ein hundertprozentig gläubiger Jude, aber kein Praktizierender. Ich glaube an Gott und nur an Gott. Ich brauche nicht an einem Feiertag mit einem dicken Gebetbuch im Tempel sitzen und von der Früh bis in die Nacht beten. Man steht auf bei einem Gebet, dann setzt man sich wieder hin, dann singt man usw. Ich kann mit meinem Gott direkt reden, ohne dass ich einen Rabbiner als Vermittler benötige, ich habe ein direktes Telefon. In diesem Sinne bin ich kein frommer Jude, aber ich respektiere alles, was die Juden machen. Ich lege keine Tefillin und ich ziehe keinen Tallith an.

Eine religiöse Überzeugung habe ich, aber ich stelle mir die Welt auf meine Art vor:
Wenn es wahr ist, dass Adam und Eva, weil sie ein Vergehen begangen haben, aus dem Garten Eden vertrieben wurden, dann sind sie ja auf die Erde vertrieben worden, denn woanders leben ja keine Menschen. Aber wenn sie vertrieben wurden aus dem Garten Eden, wurden sie vertrieben in die Hölle, denn zwischen Paradies und Hölle gibt es ja nichts.
Also, aus dem Paradies hat man sie vertrieben und die Hölle ist die Erde. Wir leben also hier in der Hölle. Und deshalb stirbt man, weil das hier nicht das Paradies ist. Keine Religion hat ihre Pflicht erfüllt. Wir Juden haben den Christen einen Gott gegeben, und sie töten uns. Sie sagen, wir haben den Gott getötet und deshalb muss man uns töten, deswegen sind sie Antisemiten. Und Antisemiten sein heißt, sie sind gegen uns.

Es gibt Gott, aber wer ist Gott? Ich denke, ein ewig lebender Mann und eine ewig lebende Frau. Das ist das Paar, welches die Welt beherrscht und das ist Gott. Und da stelle ich mir vor, im Garten Eden, im Paradies, regiert die Frau und in der Hölle regiert der Mann. Und ich, wenn ich etwas will, dann sage ich der Madame Fortuna: ‚Madame, schau wie er mich sekkiert. Sprich mit deinem Mann, er soll ein bisschen netter sein.’ Und sie hilft mir, denn ich bin ein Protege Gottes, weil es mir immer gut gegangen ist. Ich war nie ein reicher Mann, aber ich habe immer so viel Geld gehabt, wie ich benötigt habe, und ich habe immer sehr vielen Menschen helfen können.

Glossar

Leon Yako Anzhel
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Svetlana Avdala
Date of interview: January 2006

Larry always moves around with his wife Roza. They have been married for 62 years and have known each other for 68 years. Now, probably because of their advancing age, too, Roza is his second half, his connection with life and the world of the young people. He always insists on her presence and still feels pleasure when she touches him.
Because of his age, he has difficulties in collecting his thoughts but the recollections for his love for Roza illuminate not only his face, but his thoughts as well. When he’s talking about this period of his life his story becomes interesting, absorbing and behind it you can see Larry from the past times, Larry who was the engine of the parties of the workers from the Union of the Young Workers [UYW] 1 and later, after 9th September 1944, the organizer, the worker who kept in touch with so many people.

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

My name is Leon Yako Anzhel but I go by Larry. I was born in Yambol [South-East Bulgaria, 261km from Sofia] on 24th September 1921. I have three older brothers from my father’s first wife, whose name was Yafa. Their names are Isak, Hiskia and Marko. My mother was my father’s second wife and her name was Yafa, too. I’ve been married for 62 years to Roza Bitush Varsano.

I don’t have any recollections about my grandparents or distant relatives. I know that we are Ladino 2 Jews 3 both on my mother’s and father’s sides. When I was born my parents were already middle-aged. My father was 50 and my mother 37 or 38 years old.

My father, Yako Nisim Anzhel, was born in Aytos [South-East Bulgaria, 321km from Sofia] in 1870. He had elementary education and his main occupation was in the sphere of commerce. He had two brothers: Nisim and Yosif, and one sister: Niema. They were born in Aytos and dealt with commerce as well. From his first marriage he had three sons: Isak, Hiskia and Marko. This woman, his first wife, died in 1918 or 1919 and he remained alone. My mother Yafa was a cousin and had the same name as his first wife, Yafa. My mother’s relatives convinced him and arranged everything in such a way that he agreed to marry her. She had neither dowry, nor a wedding chemise. I don’t know any details about their wedding. [Editor’s note: Here the interviewee refers to the tradition in Jewish families, which is to look for a person from the same family after the death of one of the spouses in order to marry again. And he mentions the dowry typical for the Jewish girl, ‘ashougar,’ which consists of six sets of bed sheets decorated with hand-made embroidery, two counter-panes: one for the summer and the other for the winter, clothes for the bride, among them special garments for Sabbath as well as a special chemise for the first nuptial night, clothes for the baby, counter-pane for the bed of a woman who has given birth and so on].
 
My father was of medium height. My first memories of him are when his hair had already gone white. He was a very kind, soft and talkative person. He never told me off or hit me; I can’t even remember him making remarks; I will explain this later. I remember one such case. One evening he came home later than usual. He was in a very jovial mood. My mother told him off for coming home so late and accused him of drinking but he only laughed, made jokes, caressed and kissed us. It wasn’t true that he was drunk; this is what I thought then and still do so today.

He had a good reputation both among the Jews and Bulgarians in Yambol. They called him Uncle Yako. He used to have a grocery store in the center of town but he was also a representative of a gas company. Later because of the unfair competition, he went bankrupt. He was forced to sell the grocery store and afterwards, because of that, fell ill in 1930. In the next two years he often went to Sofia for medical treatment. In spite of the fact that the best doctors at the time in Sofia were taking care of him, he died in 1932 in Sofia.

My mother, Yafa Juda Anzhel [nee Moskona], was born in Pazardzhik [South-Central Bulgaria, 99km from Sofia] in 1884 and died in 1961 in Sofia. She had two brothers and two sisters: Bohor, Roben, Matilda and Naumi. She was the only one from all the children to finish a French school: Alliance Francaise 4. Apart from Ladino and Bulgarian, she also spoke French fluently. She married at the age of 38 in Yambol. My mother told me that she was from a poor family and didn’t even have dowry or wedding chemise. That was the reason why she hadn’t married the boy who she had loved before my father. His parents simply didn’t agree to give their blessings under these conditions. This is why she got married so late, to my father.

When I was born, my oldest brother Isak had already left for his studies abroad, I don’t know where. Hiskia [Harry] didn’t live with us either, I don’t know why, probably he was studying or working, too. Only the third son, Marko, was living with the family. He was born in 1906, which means he was fifteen when I was born. My mother treated us the same.

Our entire family lived in Yambol until my father’s death. My mother was a cultivated woman; she read and was interested in many things, literature in particular. She was extremely devoted to her brother Roben and his wife Rebecca and, especially after my father’s death, she looked for support from their family and felt safer when they lived somewhere around. And here I can share a small detail: Rebecca, Roben’s wife, was my father’s first wife’s sister.

My mother was of medium height and, no matter that she had lived with my father for only fourteen years, she was very devoted to him. When my father died she had the chance to marry, for the second time, a man with a good financial situation. I remember that my aunts, Matilda and Naumi, for a long time tried to talk her into it because the suitor, whose name I can’t remember, had two houses and a shop. Nonetheless he was much older than her. And so, she didn’t agree. The reasons for that were on the one hand, she couldn’t forget my father, and, on the other, the suitor was much older than her. And the third reason, may be the most important one, was that I, after hearing this conversation between my aunts and her, started crying and said that I would never live in that man’s house. It seems to me that she refused because of me as well. She didn’t want to hurt me. At that time, after my father’s death, I was eleven. My mother, like my father, was always very considerate of me.

I lived in Yambol until 1932. At that time it was a peaceful, provincial town. Only the central streets were paved with something resembling cobbles. The electricity lit the town in 1924 or 1925. I remember that there used to be cafes, garment shops, cosmetic shops, and the cinema was nearby. The ‘Tundzha’ textile mills existed at the time.

In winter you could buy ‘salep’ in the street. It was a very nice drink. The vendors would pour the drink into little cups, and in the evenings some Albanian guys with cans used to deliver boza 5 to the houses. In the summer they sold syrup. In the streets people sold different things: pumpkin seeds, ‘kebapcheta’ [oblong rissoles]. In the morning villagers would come on little carts and shout, ‘The milkman! The milkman!’ and we used to buy milk, or the villagers would simply fill the containers left by the doors of the people, who hadn’t woken up yet. I recall that a lot of villagers from the nearby villages used to come to supply goods. I have dim memories of the market place.

On the outskirts of Yambol, near the Tundzha River, there were the so-called ‘bahchi.’ The ‘bahchi’ are vegetable or fruit orchards, which are rented and taken care of by gardeners, Bulgarians, who had acquired their skills in Hungary and Central Europe. They had come from some place near Veliko Turnovo [North-Central Bulgaria, 195km from Sofia]. Very often in spring and summer the women would go to those gardens with their children, and went for walks there because it was cool under the branches of the trees by the river. Their main aim was to buy fresh vegetables but they often remained there longer because of the coolness. They used to take food along so the walk was actually an outing. The children used to play; the women would knit and talk to each other.

The Jewish quarter was near Rakovski Street, which was the main street, the so-called promenade in Yambol. At that time the Jewish community in Yambol was pretty big. For example, my father had both Jewish and Bulgarian friends but most of his friends were Bulgarians. Jews used to inhabit other parts of Yambol, too, they didn’t live in the Jewish quarter only, like the Bulgarians, some of whom had houses in the Jewish quarter.

In the Jewish quarter there used to be a Jewish public bathhouse and school, which was next to the synagogue. My father wasn’t a religious person but I remember that they organized a bar mitzvah for me. I can’t say anything about the circumstances at this ritual. I don’t remember anything.

Growing up

At first we had a house in a Bulgarian quarter, opposite the high school. I was born there but have very dim memories of the place. After some time my father sold it and he, with his own efforts, built a two-storey house in the Jewish quarter. The house was surrounded by a small yard, which we had cemented. On one side it was fenced off by grain silos. There were other houses around. Opposite the street there used to live one or two Bulgarian families with whom we were friends. I can even tell you a story here: Some time ago a man called me on the phone. He had tracked me down, his name was Vulchanov. We used to live in one of the adjacent houses. He had become a professor in Biology. He visited us and it was such a nice meeting, after so many years.

We let out the upper floor of the house. There used to live a family from the White Guards 6 who had fled the Soviet Union. We used to live on the ground floor, two stairs below, and had a room, a little corridor and kitchenette. I used to sleep in the corridor. I remember that my brother Marko lived with us, while the other brothers, Isak and Hiskia, had already left for Sofia. The toilet and sink were outside. The furniture was modest. I remember that in the kitchen we had a table, a cooker on wood, and beds.

I used to be a very poor eater as a child; I usually didn’t finish my meals. No matter whether I wanted to eat or not, the family would gather for dinner every evening around the table. I recall that once I was late for that ritual. My mother had cooked rice with tomatoes and I hated that dish, but she pulled me aside and told me that I had to eat it all so that my father wouldn’t be angry.

I remember another story. My father liked to eat garlic with walnuts and salt. One evening on returning home he asked my mother to give him walnuts, garlic and salt. He invited me to join him but I refused, of course. But he was eating with such appetite that I changed my mind and wanted to take a bite. I liked it so much that my appetite whetted and it seems to me that afterwards I wasn’t such a poor eater any more.

This was the way my parents brought me up: they didn’t tell me what to do; they gave me an example with their actions. Due to the fact that I was very choosy in my childhood, I don’t remember much about the dishes that my mother prepared. I have memories about her dishes from a later period when I had already married Roza and my mother was living with us. I remember that while Roza was at work she would prepare a very nice ‘agristada:’ a sauce with flour as the main ingredient, with brains or fish, ‘inchusa di lechi,’ pasty with milk, ‘apiyu,’ an appetizer from celery, ‘kizadikas,’ and aubergine with cheese. Every Friday a pastry was prepared: pastry with meat.

We spoke Bulgarian at home but when my parents quarreled or shared secret bits of information they used Ladino. My parents were friends with some families. They gathered and visited each other. They were Jews but there were some Bulgarians among them who would invite us for roast lamb. My mother had some Bulgarian lady friends with whom she met but I don’t know anything more about their meetings. We kept the Jewish holidays mainly at school but sometimes we celebrated at home as well. I can’t remember any particular celebration.

I was friends mainly with Jews from the Jewish school but had some Bulgarian contacts as well, mainly from our neighborhood. At that time, after World War I 7, and after the establishment of fascism in Italy at the time of Mussolini 8, there existed an organization called ‘Homeland Protection’ 9 and in that organization there were some fascist ideas. It was the predecessor of the organizations Brannik 10 and Otets Paisii 11. It existed until 1934 after the coup on 19th May 12 and after that it wasn’t on the agenda. I can’t say what happened to it. I remember we had a neighbor who was its member. They used to wear black shirts and were under the strong influence of Mussolini. Their slogan was ‘Bulgaria, Liberate Yourself!’

I received my elementary education at a Jewish school. We studied different subjects and Hebrew. I used to love Mathematics and Geography. I recall two of my teachers: Leo Cohen and Miss Rashel. After the fourth grade there came a commission from the Ministry of Education and they tested our knowledge. There was a sports organization as well called Maccabi 13 and I was a member. I remember the exercises we did and the pyramids we built by stepping on each other’s shoulders. I can’t remember anything else. The only other thing I can recall is that there was one more organization: Hashomer Hatzair 14, but I can’t say exactly what it was about.

We kept the Jewish high holidays at school and synagogue. Very often specialists from Sofia would come here to deliver speeches and read lectures. And every Friday my mother and father met with one or two other Jewish families. Neither my mother nor father was religious but the whole family gathered for some of the traditional holidays and kept some of the rituals.

We used to go hiking. There are nice places around Yambol, which I visited with my parents. One of them was Bakadjik from which you could see as far as the White Sea [Bakadjitsi – from the Turkish bakmak: to watch. These are a line of hills in the Tundzha undulating district. They are separated into three groups: Golyam [Big] Bakadjik, Maluk [Small] Bakadjik and Voynishki [Soldier’s] Bakadjik. From a geological point of view they belong to the region of Sredna Gora Mountain. And they are rich in copper-polymetal ores. The Bakadjitsi are twelve kilometers long and ten kilometers wide. The highest points in these hills are Mount Asanbair: 515 meters, and Mount Sveti Spas: 500 meters].

My father died in 1932 and was buried in Sofia when I was eleven years old. I didn’t attend the funeral. The ritual was conducted by my mother and her brothers. I remember that my mother spent seven days in Sofia. After that she came back to Yambol. After my father’s death our family became very poor and we decided to move to Sofia. The capital was a quiet and peaceful town at that time; there wasn’t much traffic and somehow you could feel safe. The children used to play in the streets untroubled. It wasn’t possible for them to be run over by a car, for example. Later, our house in Yambol was sold, probably by my brothers. I don’t have information about that. On several occasions, but much later, I visited Yambol with Roza. I know that nothing has remained from the house, it doesn’t exist any more. There are apartments in its place.

My two brothers, Isak and Hiskia, had already settled here. We rented the attic rooms of a massive house on 21 Kiril i Metodii Street, between Bratya Miladinovi and Hristo Botev Streets. In the house and on the street lived more Bulgarian families. The house still exists today. After that we moved to another house on the same street, afterwards we lived on Pirotska Street and later on Bacho Kiro Street.

When we arrived, my mother was fifty years old. She was a housewife, and had never worked before and it remained like that despite our difficult financial situation. It was too late for her to start working and to change from then on.

My two brothers were already working. They had their own deli shop and a little later they bought a winery. They covered some of our expenses but that was insufficient and I was forced to work after school. At first I worked in a little bookshop for five levs per day and studied at Konstantin Fotinov School on Hristo Botev Street. When I was at school in the morning I worked in the afternoon and vice versa.

During the holidays I worked as an apprentice at a mirror workshop and used to take the mirrors in a wheelbarrow around the streets of Sofia for seven levs per day. I had to leave them on Trapezitza Square and then walked back. Only for comparison: a loaf of bread was about five levs and a kilo of cheese was seven levs.

After finishing school in 1935 I immediately enrolled at an evening high school and at the same time I worked in a bookstore until 1943, although I was sent to labor camps 15 several times. There my salary was gradually rising. I started with 400 levs and reached 3,000.

My everyday life wasn’t rich in events. In the morning I would go to school, and in the afternoon I was in the bookshop. There I studied and prepared my lessons for the next day. I finished my homework in the evening at home. My brother Marko used to live with us, too, until 1942 or 1943, until the internment [of Jews in Bulgaria] 16 during the Holocaust. We used to live very modestly. The rooms we inhabited were very small, in the attic. We had a room, kitchen and corridor furnished with a table, bed, and chairs. We didn’t even have a wardrobe or cupboard. The people who were closest to my mother were her sisters Matilda and Naumi. Matilda lived on 54 Stamboliiski Street and Naumi on Osogovo Street. Matilda was a young widow with two sons: Leon and Albert, and because of that she was forced to work as an insurance agent.

Naumi worked: she had a stall in the marketplace, because her husband Isak Alkali was unable to work. He went deaf and blind too early. They had two children: Leon and Rebecca. Although my aunts were too busy working, they found the time to meet my mother every day. And, in general, they used to spend a lot of time together. My mother was a sociable woman, in due time she made some Bulgarian friends but continued meeting with her sisters every day. Sometimes she and her sisters, or her Bulgarian friends, would go for a cup of coffee in a confectionery and there they usually served the coffee with a glass of water. There was one such confectionery on Hristo Botev Street, on the corner with Stamboliiski Street. There’s an office of Mobiltel Communication Company there now.

We moved house several times and, as I have already told you, wherever we lived, near us were always my mother’s brother Roben and his wife Rebecca. When we lived on Kiril i Metodii Street, they lived on Exarch Yosif Street; when we were on Pirotska, they came to live somewhere near us on Simeon Street and when we were on Bacho Kiro Street, they lived a block away on Tetevenska, nowadays called Budapeshta Street. Their financial situation was better than ours because their two sons, Hiskia and Sason, worked and their salaries were good. They often helped us with money. [The streets mentioned above are in the central part of Sofia. The situation was as follows: at the time of the Liberation of Sofia from Ottoman Rule and its selection for the capital of Bulgaria on 4th January 1878, there were about 20,000 inhabitants of the town who lived in about ten quarters and the number of the Jewish inhabitants amounted to about 1,800 households. Normally, these households used to be exactly on these streets: in the square between the synagogue, the women’s marketplace, Sveti Nikola Passage and Sharen [multi-colored] Bridge].

The financial situation of the family of my other brother, Isak, was better than ours, too. They had their own apartment on Stefan Karadzha Street, today opposite the Satire Theater and at that time it was opposite the Italian School. They used to live on the last floor. I remember that they had a built-in fireplace in their apartment. His wife’s name was Kler. There was an air of softness about her and she always had a smile on her face. They had two children, Yafa and Isak, who, when I wasn’t at work, for example on Sunday, I would take to the cinema. Isak also used to help my family: me, my mother and Marko, with small sums.

The perimeter of my movement was very limited: from home to school, afterwards to work and the same on the following day and that’s why I don’t have a lot of recollections about the city and its life. I couldn’t play a lot in the street because I didn’t have the time but I remember that the children kicked rag-balls in some of the yards.

I didn’t feel any expressions of anti-Semitism; I didn’t feel different in elementary or high school. I worked in the bookstore with two other boys of my age but, maybe because I was small-sized; nobody picked on me or behaved rudely with me.

The anti-Semitic unrest began later: in 1938 or 1939. Then I became a member of the Union of the Young Workers [UYW]. I remember that in the Jewish Chitalishte 17 which didn’t have a name at the time and was known simply like that, a lot of us, young Jewish people used to gather there, but some gangs used to come, they threw objects at us, and shouted slogans against us. In 1939 there were assaults against the Jewish shops. They broke the shop windows and chased and bullied the Jewish shop assistants. Later we put on the badges 18 and a curfew was introduced. We couldn’t afford any willfulness.

During the war

In October 1942 a decree was published which limited the access of Jews. Jews were supposed to live on the left side of Hristo Botev Street and the direction was towards the Central Railway Station. All their property: factories, shops, were confiscated.

I was lucky. They didn’t sack me from work and even more, the owner of the bookstore gave me permission not to wear my badge. He just came and told me one day that he felt it wasn’t obligatory for me to wear the badge. They called me Lalyo in the bookstore anyway. His name was Radoslav Liskov and he was rolling in wealth. His bookstore was a big company at the time: the Ivan Liskov joint-stock company. He supported me financially very often. He helped some of my poorer colleagues as well. He gave them sheets of paper free of charge and they sold them, because they were communists, too.

I became a member of UYW in 1939. I got involved in the organization without realizing it at first. I was friends with Izidor Benbasat, Isak Talvi, Aaron Meshulam and we frequently met in the Chitalishte. The others who were older than us were already members of the Party. An entertainment party was organized every Sunday in the Jewish organization. We visited each other and organized dance parties at our places, too. Everyone would sit wherever possible. We would play the gramophone. The Comparsita tango was popular at the time: Asparuh Leshnikov 19 and Albert Pinkas. We used to dance tango, foxtrot, waltz, ‘horsey’ – a dance which involved standing in a line and lifting our feet, something similar to letkiss. During the breaks between the different records there were some lectures, we read poems, made some issues clearer and tried to attract the disoriented youngsters who we called ‘boulevard youngsters.’

As a matter of fact, beside these general enlightening activities, a lot of communist and socialist ideas about social equality were put through and these ideas actually made us join the UYW movement with our older friends who were already members. Everything was illegal and took place in secret. In that way, with some of my closest friends, we created several UYW groups. On completing such activities I made some friends. One of my friends, Aaron Galvi, became my brother-in-law when he married Stella, my future wife Roza’s sister, and the other one, Yosif Galvi, became a partisan and died afterwards.

With our dance parties and meetings in the evenings we carried out a lot of activities because it was a great achievement to attract two or three of the abstract minded, disoriented people from the Jewish youth. We acted very actively and were increasing the number of the UYW groups all the time. Beside that we wrote appeals and slogans, usually on the houses. We wrote ‘Death to Fascism’ on the slogans and ‘Out the Fascists from Bulgaria.’ We distributed them mainly among the inhabitants of Iuchbunar 20. We wrote on the walls, and left appeals under the doors. Usually we moved around in groups of two: one of us would look out for trouble-makers or policemen and the other would spread the appeals. We had a variety of musical signals. In case of danger we whistled.

I remember an incident with my friend Izidor Benbasat. We usually distributed the appeals at dusk. One evening, on Tundzha Street, Izidor was distributing the appeals and I was supposed to watch out and whistle the signals. But I simply hadn’t noticed that a policeman had been following us and had been hiding on top of that. Izi saw him at the last moment and at the same time I started giving out the signal but he was already running. The signal froze on my lips but I succeeded in overcoming my fear and, pretending that everything was okay, went to talk to the policeman about insignificant things. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about.

I remember that we went to the houses in Iuchbunar to whip up support for the Sobolev’s Action 21, for Bulgaria’s detachment from the military union and for declaring its independence. We were collecting signatures.

We used to go hiking to the Starcheski Polyani [Old Men’s Fields], for example, or the Kremikovtsi Monastery [situated not far from Sofia, near the village of Kremikovtsi, one of the most noteworthy Bulgarian monasteries from the 14th century with unique murals]. We used to meet there to have enlightening lectures. Very often on these excursions there were trouble-makers and that prevented us from starting an immediate open communist propaganda, but among ourselves and in narrow circles we used to conduct our propaganda activities.

We also used to meet often in the Jewish Chitalishte, which was on Stamboliiski and Opalchenska. There I met my future wife Roza. It was a regular activity to organize lectures and other events, speeches, and so on. Again, we were organizing meetings in order to create an assisting organization, to collect money, clothes, food for the partisans, outlaws and political prisoners. And here, in the Jewish Chitalishte we were again making attempts to attract and organize, how shall I put it, abstract-minded youngsters, not oriented. This Chitalishte often organized outings to Vitosha. Then there weren’t trams, there were no buses. We used to go on foot.

We walked like that: a group of boys, my friends and I, and a group of girls, Roza and some of her friends. She kept her distance. We talked a lot and that was how the excursion finished. In the Chitalishte there were often discussions about love. What is, and what should be love? There were several theories on that topic. There was a theory which belonged to the Soviet ambassador to Sweden, Elena Kolonty, through which she presented her views about free love. There was another theory: ‘Running Water.’ For example, you go to a dormitory for boys and girls, men and women, and you are thirsty, so you knock on the door, ‘Give me a glass of water, please.’ If they give you water, you drink. If you are sent away, you go to another room and ask for water again. In other words, no matter whether you are married or not, if you want to sleep with somebody, you should feel free to go to bed with her, if the woman agrees and doesn’t mind. That would be entirely natural and is called free love.

At that time the Soviet Union was already developing a broad discussion on that topic but, on the other hand, there were a lot of people who were of the opposite opinion and didn’t think that was the right kind of behavior: that the boy should be trusted, women should be trustworthy as women, men should be trustworthy as men, they shouldn’t be treated as sheep or cattle and it’s wrong to fall into such biological passions. And Roza and I met on several occasions in the Chitalishte, we talked about different things and we, of course, talked about love as well.

One day, it was in September 1939, while we were walking and talking about love again, I told her, ‘Do you want us to become comrades?’ Yes, yes, that was the question. She blushed, of course, and said, ‘I’ll think about it, I’ll see.’ I was nervous for several days. We met again and became comrades in that way. That was in September 1939.

I liked Roza very much. There were other girls around me but they seemed very frivolous, naive, etc, whereas Roza was mature and she was thinking in the right way. She wasn’t that talkative, she was quieter, shy. She was very sensible and hadn’t turned fifteen yet, I was nineteen, and hadn’t turned twenty. She seemed very serious to me. She appealed to me the most. It wasn’t because of her beauty, or appearance, but because of her soul, cordiality, carefulness, joviality. She could walk, jump, sing, have fun, and laugh in a happy manner. This is the way our friendship began, and how we used to meet. We would walk somewhere in Borisova Gradina Park [Boris’s Garden] and at some point, at the end of the walk; I would allow myself to barely touch her hand. And that was all. And that was how it continued, we didn’t allow ourselves any kisses, caresses.

We even walked one day down Graf Ignatiev Street towards Slaveykov Square. And suddenly we saw one of her aunts, Sarina, the wife of Roza’s uncle, walking directly towards us and she saw us hand in hand and went to Granny Olga [her mother] to brag, ‘Olga, I saw your daughter, the modest one, as you say, with a boy.’ ‘So what?’ ‘Well, they were walking hand in hand.’ Roza got home from work. At that time she used to work as a seamstress in Mrs. Zvuncharova’s workshop and in the evening she studied at ORT 22: a Jewish vocational school. So scandals began, thrashing began.

Granny Olga didn’t let Roza go away with anything. Granny Olga was even trying to find her suitors. But she wanted suitors with proper jobs, money, and social status. Not someone like me, who worked hard and was a hired laborer like her, and nobody knew who I was and why I was like that. That was what I heard from friends. That was the way our relationship began.

Before Roza met me, Granny Olga was extremely strict with her. She didn’t let her out. There was even one case on 22nd June 23 when World War II was beginning. It was Sunday and I had an arrangement with her to go and see a friend who had been called to the Jewish labor groups in 1941 along the Iskar River. His name was Zhak Benbasat. We had to meet at the corner, in front of her place. I was waiting for her to come, but she didn’t show up. Suddenly her sister came out. She said, ‘Larry, she can’t, mum will not let her out, go alone.’ I went alone, took the train to Svoge [South-West Bulgaria, 32km from Sofia] or some other place, to Bov Station and they announced on the radio that the German forces had invaded the Soviet Union. And that was one reason why they didn’t allow her to come. It was as early as 1941.

Her mother insisted on my introducing myself to her with my mother and in that way declaring my serious intentions. On the other hand, I was wondering how to tell my mother about my relationship. At that time I had two friends: Aaron Galvi, the future husband of Roza’s sister Stella, and Yosif Galvi. They both accompanied me to my mother because I was a little scared. They started convincing her that she should give her consent and that she should go to Roza’s house, to meet her mother Olga but it turned out that she was already aware of our relationship and had nothing against it. So my friends, my mother and I went to Granny Olga. Roza’s brother Isak was getting married the following day. It was January 1943. So, to summarize it all, I met Roza in 1939 and in 1943 our relationship became official. We got married in March 1944. We had been friends and comrades for five years before the official wedding. From the moment her mother gave her blessing Roza officially became ‘my girl.’

We were aware that we were Jews and the official attitude towards us was different because of the Tsar’s Decree, State Decrees and Regulations of the Ministry of the Interior then but it wasn’t stated in the documents that the men should be sent to camps and their families interned. [The interviewee is talking about the restrictions imposed by the Law for the Protection of the Nation 24 in 1941, Regulations for its application, Decree for the creation of a Commissariat on the Jewish Issues in 1942 as well as all the other laws and decrees published by the government of Bogdan Filov which were created to restrict the rights of the Jews. The next phase from the development of the Jewish issue in Bulgaria was in 1943 when Alexander Belev and Theodore Daneker signed the agreement for the internment of Jews abroad.]

The first mobilization of Jews took place in 1941 along the Iskar River from Kurilo to Lukatnik. They were building the railway tracks. At every railway station there were Jewish groups, they were given labor uniforms, and military officers were appointed. And in every labor group there were one or two Bulgarian military officers. Another labor group was created that same year. They weren’t a military group; they were like us and worked in a place called Trunska Klisura.

I left in 1942. Before that I was called upon to appear before a military commission to decide whether I was fit for military service. And when they decided that you were fit for military service, you received a call-up order and they mobilized you. You took only the most necessary clothes.

I was in the labor camps from 1942 until 1944. I received four call-up orders. I was in the village of Rudnik [North-East Bulgaria, 364km from Sofia], the village of Chuchuligovo near our border with Greece, Belitsa, Vratsa [North-Western Bulgaria, 112km north of Sofia], Svishtov [North-Central Bulgaria, 195km from Sofia]. We were working during the summer; in November they would let us go home for the winter period and in January would mobilize us again. We would sleep in tents and cabins. We worked hard everywhere. We mainly built roads and railroad tracks. In Varna district our group was taking out and crashing rocks in a quarry in the forest. We loaded the stones on a cart drawn by oxen. The mobilized Bulgarians would take the cart to the road Varna – Burgas. The other laborers from other groups covered the road with the broken stones.

In Chuchuligovo near our border with Greece, we were also building a road: Gorna Dzhumaya – Kulata. There were a lot of groups from Simitli at the border. We worked on the railway tracks, too. In Chuchuliogovo we were accommodated in the building of the police department: in one half of it. We were mainly given beans and lentils; the soup was very thin and smelled foul. Often we found different small animals floating on top. Since then I haven’t been able to eat lentils. We were also entitled to half a loaf of bread for 24 hours. On rare occasions we were given a dessert: rice with water and that was something we accepted as luxury.

We worked for ten or twelve hours a day and everybody had a quota but if you finished the quota it didn’t mean you had finished for the day. They very often found something else for you to do. We had a day off on Sunday but that, too, wasn’t always the case. Very often we worked on Sundays. Our superiors would often beat the people who didn’t obey the discipline and did something wrong in one way or another. For my entire service in the labor camps I was slapped only once because I talked during the retreat but it was such a slap that I saw stars in broad daylight.

When we were on the bank of the Struma River, 98 percent of us got sick from different kinds of malaria. Instead of giving us quinine they treated us with some German medicines that were ersatz. The Bulgarian population in the different places remained indifferent to us perhaps because we didn’t have the chance to be in contact with the locals. I heard later from my friends that in some places the Bulgarians helped with food and clothes.

Life was extremely difficult. There seemed to be no escape from the situation but we, the UYW members, pulled our weight together. We exchanged information; we were giving each other courage and created a variety on our own.

In another labor camp, five kilometers away, worked Roza’s brother Isak. Bentsion Eliezer was in his group. We used to call him Bitsko. He played the accordion wonderfully. Later he became a professor at the Conservatory. We used to meet: we’d sing, play musical instruments, laugh, etc. We made our own theater in which we performed different arias from operas and operettas. I took part in it as well as Etienne Levy’s father: Hertsel Levy. Some of the boys played the violin, others, like me, would sing, but the inspirer, the main organizer was Bitsko. He used to sing the arias in all languages: he danced and made us feel calm. Our audience was the rest of the laborers. We would usually present our performance on Sundays, during the day. And we used to forget about the quarries and rocks, and the enormous flies that bit us till we were bleeding. That was a breath of fresh air, a breath of life, which gave us the certainty that we were still alive and there was still something good in life.

When we were in Chuchuligovo near the border with Greece we worked near the railway tracks. The trains to Kulata and Greece and back went there. We saw trains with Greek Jews passing. Those were tiny open carriages. They were overcrowded with men, women, and children; old and young people. On both sides of the carriages there was a policeman and military man with rifles to guard them.

They were passing in the evening in order to keep them unnoticed and not to be very conspicuous. They reached Dupnitsa [South-West Bulgaria, 49km from Sofia] and afterwards were sent further on. First, they were led to some barracks and later on, sent to Germany and Poland.

We, the young members of UYW, pulled our weight and started collecting food from the things they gave us for breakfast. We put everything in packets and gave them to the people secretly. And when they passed they would shout ‘Pensense’ [Calmness].

I don’t know if they realized where they were being taken. I didn’t have the chance to talk to them. We didn’t know where they were being sent either. We found out much later.

While I was in the camps, I kept regular correspondence with Roza, my friends and my mother. I hadn’t received a letter for ten days, neither from her, nor my mother, or friends. Then a friend of mine came to see me in Chuchuligovo. His name was Sasho. At the railway station he told me that Roza had been arrested. He gave me a letter from my friend Aaron Galvi which explained the whole situation. Roza had been a member of UYW, like me, since 1939. When we, the men, were sent to labor camps, she became a sub-sector person in charge of UYW, which meant a leader of four autonomous UYW groups. The members of one group didn't know the members of the others; neither did they have any idea about their activities. Roza was the connection between the four groups and was supposed to monitor and coordinate their activities. From the letter I found out that there was a trouble-maker in one of the groups who betrayed the members of the whole group.

The leader of the group didn’t know anyone else, so he betrayed only Roza. The policemen arrested her and took her to the Police Directorate where she was kept for a whole month. I was very worried about Roza and additionally, because she had letters from me, and it was possible for her to give in during the torture and give out information about our UYW activities. But I knew that if she happened to betray me it would have been because I had written those letters to her. I was edgy and started wondering what to do, whether to escape or become a partisan. There were some hills around but without a secret meeting place and people to help you it was very difficult. You can’t walk on the mountain just like that. I was on the edge all the time.

Some of us became partisans although the chances for that were slim. And I was looking for some way to save myself. One of our people who was in the same camp was a student. They gave him a leave of absence to go to Sofia for three days and I told him what the situation was but he didn’t come back for ten days. I still didn’t get any letters and kept wondering what to do. I sought advice from two of my friends. One of them told me to wait. The other one wanted us to escape but where to, we didn't know.

Several days passed and I got a whole heap of overdue letters from my mother and friends who had written that Roza had been arrested and kept in custody, but there had been no failure and my student friend, who was in Sofia, came back and told me that Roza had betrayed no one, that there had been a trial at which she was acquitted because of the fact that she hadn’t betrayed anyone and there was no evidence for her activities. We used to have a code and instead of writing that she had been arrested, we wrote that she was ill or something else. We used to say, ‘She’s in hospital, Roza’s ill, she’s in hospital.’ It was enough to make it clear that she was arrested. The date was 19th February 1943. And after that I was calm that there would be no problems.

In winter 1942, when we were usually released from the camps to go home for the winter, I introduced myself to Roza’s mother. In May 1943 Roza’s entire family, without her brother Isak and her father, who were sent to labor camps too, were interned to Vratsa. My mother was interned to Lom [North-West Bulgaria, 128km from Sofia].

In July 1943 they let everybody from the labor camp in Chuchuligovo leave the camp for six days, to go and visit our already interned families, and as a matter of fact their main goal was for us not to return to the camps but to leave with our families for the concentration camps. We found that out much, much later.

I went to Vratsa, saw Roza, passed through Lom to see my mother, then returned to Vratsa again and from there went back to the labor camp.

A little later Roza and her family made a lot of efforts to receive permission for my mother to move from Lom to Vratsa so that she wouldn’t be alone. They had found lodgings for her just opposite theirs on the premises of the Turkish Public Bath. My mother’s moving from Lom wasn’t difficult because Lom and Vratsa were in one administrative unit.

Until November 1943 I was in a labor camp and after November I returned to Vratsa. I spent some time in Vratsa. Roza lived in a tiny room, in a basement with five relatives. Roza worked secretly as a seamstress. They had taken the sewing machine from Sofia and her, and her sisters, who helped her, cut out and sewed clothes for people from the Vratsa elite. When we returned, her brother, and father were there; there were even more people in the tiny room in the basement. She used to come to our place; to me and my mother, to sleep every evening. During the day we all ate together, my family and hers, in their lodgings. My mother would take some food in a pot so that we would have something to eat for dinner in our lodgings. And before the curfew Roza, my mother and I would go to our place. Roza used to share a bed with my mother. Before marriage there wasn’t supposed to be any intimacy between Roza and me. On the other morning, very early, her mother would come, allegedly to take the pot but indeed her aim was to see where her daughter was sleeping, in my bed or my mother’s.

In January 1944 a bombing took place and we were mobilized again in Vratsa to clear up the debris and dig graves for the deceased Bulgarians. We didn’t sleep in our houses but in the building of one school and we were allowed to go home from time to time. At such a moment, in March 1944, in the hardest time, we got married. We told the rabbi in Vratsa, and set the date. We had the wedding between eight and ten o’clock because in these hours we could move about freely. Otherwise there was a ban on the movement of Jews. A lot of young people came to our house. Roza’s mother, Olga, had prepared some sweets with jam and some simple dishes so that we would have something to put in our mouths at the wedding. Her father, Bitush, was released from the camp. He had returned. Otherwise what kind of a wedding would we have had?

It was 16th March 1944, the bombing before our wedding continued during our first nuptial night. The alarm was sounded twice. The first time we ran away because that was a bombing after all, but the second time we remained home: three people in the bed. My mother lay on one side of the bed. The woman was scared. We all survived after 9th September 25.

I married Roza because she was extremely laborious; she was providing for her entire family, and helped her brother and father.

In May or June we were mobilized from Vratsa to Svishtov. The year was 1944. There we worked on the dike which was against floods. There were some things, which they told us, that there were some changes coming and we saw the direction in which things were changing. A lot of ships from the USSR would float on the river and on 23rd August 1944 26 the victory over fascism in Romania was a fact.

There was one more interesting fact. Our labor group was put up in the building of a Turkish school outside the territory of the town and in the town itself there was another labor group. They were soldiers from the advanced detachments: Bulgarians, communists, outlaws. They were sent there, not to the army. Their commanding officers were very strict and bullied them a lot. They wouldn’t let us communicate with them. But at that time they became more liberal. All the time we got information that someone had escaped from the camp. Every night about three people on average would escape. Roza’s brother, Isak, escaped, too. We felt the changes and that gave us the courage to organize our own escape. I had three or four friends in the labor group and we decided to leave the camp at the end of August.

During our escape we traveled by train and whenever we saw a policeman at the stops we would get off the train and after that secretly, while the train was almost moving, got back on it. That’s how we reached Vratsa.

In September a telegram was received in Vratsa. All the runaways had to be returned under escort to their units. Our unit then was military headed by a captain and an NCO to beat the people. My friend Shaoul Perets, whose relatives were interned to Vratsa, too, and I decided to go somewhere in order not to be returned. We decided to leave for Pazardzhik. My aunt Naumi and cousin Leon Alkali were interned there. Let me remind you that my mother’s sister and my mother were born in Pazardzhik. They weren’t interned there by chance, so we left for Pazardzhik but I didn’t have any money on me. I had a pair of overshoes, sold them and got 100 levs. So we traveled from Vratsa through Sofia to Pazardzhik. We arrived in Sofia and while we were waiting for the train to go to Southern Bulgaria there was some unrest because one or two German soldiers were arrested and escorted by Bulgarian soldiers but two other German soldiers tried to give the arrested something to eat and drink.

At the station immediately other people started protesting because they were bullied and chased by them as soldiers. A fight began. On 8th September 1944, my friend and I arrived in Pazardzhik. We got off the train and saw that there, too, was some unrest in progress. We found out that the partisans would be in Pazardzhik any minute now. My aunt and cousin who were waiting for us were worried because they didn’t know what was to come. And moreover, the Germans who were leaving the country set everything behind them on fire.

With Shaoul Perets we went back to Vratsa via Sofia. I met some of my comrades in Sofia. We arrived in Vratsa with him and remained there until 25th September 1944 with my mother, Roza and her family.

We waited for the Soviet army to come and every day we stood as if on duty at the station to meet them but there wasn’t such a welcome as there was in Sofia. We just greeted the partisans who came back from the mountains. On 25th September 1944 we returned to Sofia.

Post-war

After returning to Sofia, we were put up by one of Roza’s aunts. Afterwards we lived in an apartment on Rakovski Street, then in Zaharna Fabrika quarter where we still live. My mother lived with us until her death in 1961. My mother and her daughter-in-law lived with great understanding. They never quarreled or had loud disputes. While Roza was working hard at the Ministry of the Interior immediately after 9th September, my mother, who was living with us, was taking care of the house and the upbringing of the children. My son, Zhak, was even unable to recognize his mother when he was young. He was so used to being with his grandmother. My mother was getting on very well with Roza’s mother Olga, too. Granny Olga lived near us. The two of them saw each other every day, did the shopping together, and organized all kinds of activities.

My first child Yafa, who was named after my mother, was born on 2nd June 1945 in Sofia. We call her Zhanni. She finished high school and got a university degree in engineering. She worked as an engineer-designer. Now she is a pensioner. She married Yozhi in 1968. She has two children: Isak and Roza. The family spent two years in Cuba because of Yozhi’s work. Their son Isak Behara has a daughter Zhanni. My granddaughter Rozzi also has a son, who is my great-grandson. His name is Yulian.

My son Zhak was born on 23rd April 1949 in Sofia. He has a secondary education of technology and is an electricity-technician in the trade system. He has been married to Emilia Dimitrova, a Bulgarian, since 1975. He has a son: Leon. I have a great-grandson [Leon’s son]. His name is Zhak.

We brought up our children in Jewish self-awareness. We kept the Jewish high holidays: Rosh Hashanah, Pesach, Purim but we didn’t always observe all the ritual details. For example, at Purim we didn’t disguise, we didn’t fast at Yom Kippur. We attended the synagogue but rarely. The most important thing was that we were together with the entire family on holidays, and it was always fun. We don’t have Bulgarians in the family with the exception of my daughter-in-law, Emilia Dimitrova, and that’s why we remained indifferent to Christmas and Easter.

Very often for all the holidays the whole big family gathered here: 25 or 26 people in the dining or living room. We wanted to turn that into a tradition for the younger people as well but it’s difficult to fulfill.

Roza was an excellent housewife, hard-working, organized and meticulous. She used to cook very nice dishes, but not kosher. I started work at the Ministry of the Interior as a policeman but for a short period of time. At that time my brother Isak had already obtained a winery in which I worked for a while but the work was very hard, on coming back home I smelled of alcohol without having drunk. After that I started work in ‘Voroshilov’ works as a technologist and afterwards I worked for the trade unions as an organizer. Roza, too, started work in the Ministry as a telephone operator and after that became a head controller in ‘Voroshilov’ works where she retired. Although we were very busy at work we went on holiday to the seaside or mountain during the children’s vacations and our leaves of absence.

I didn’t have any problems with my Jewish origins at any of my places of work, but there was a more reserved attitude. For example, I never received any punishment but when a person was to be promoted in the hierarchy it was never I; nonetheless I was never punished or reprimanded.

Our neighbors in Zaharna Fabrika quarter were Bulgarians. We were close friends with three Bulgarian families. Roza’s relatives lived opposite us as well. Most of my colleagues and friends at work were Bulgarian, too; of course, we have had a lot of Jewish family friends and mixed marriages, too. I have never treated people differently depending on whether they are Bulgarians or Jews.

At that time, 1948 – 1949, all my brothers went to live in Israel. One day I came back from work and was having a nap. My wife's relatives lived opposite us: her parents and the whole family. And that evening I overheard a conversation of the two in-laws: my mother and Granny Olga. I was in bed and they thought I was asleep. So they were talking: Granny Olga said, ‘Dear neighbor, what are we going to do? We have to think. If you intend to go to Israel soon, what are we going to do? From our family nobody wants to go to Israel. What will you decide?’ I heard this and laughed to myself. And my mother answered, ‘It’s up to them to decide what to do.’

I didn’t have any intentions to leave the country. I had discussed that issue with Roza. We felt so exhausted from all the suffering and had already made our home, we had work and had simply got used to the way of living we had achieved with so much effort. We had decided that we wouldn’t go, at least for the time being and at that time the emigration wave was rather serious. We knew that travel was ahead, that nothing would be arranged and so on. My mother was ready to stay and, apart from that, she had become very devoted to our new family and Olga’s relatives. My brothers had had their own lives for a long time; their paths were different from ours. I even discontinued my relations with my brothers in Israel because the authorities made us, as communists, put a stop to our relations with our kin abroad because they were believed to be Zionists, chauvinists and so on, in Israel.

Once I got from my brother Isak a little case with oranges, even without a letter. My brother Marko disappeared. Afterwards, in the 1970s, we started writing to each other and he invited us to Israel. He had married his wife Dora, they had a son, Nisim, and had their own grocery store. We invited him to Bulgaria. So, despite the official government policy, which wasn’t friendly, we left for Israel, because at that time there was certain warming in the diplomatic relations between the two states.

We didn’t have any connection with my other brother, Hiskia, even before his internment, and hadn’t seen each other. After 9th September [1944] I visited him one time, and saw his wife and children, and that was it. I lost his traces completely and we didn’t keep in touch at all. Much later I found out when exactly Isak and his wife, Marko and Hiskia died.

I haven’t thought very much about the problem of the creation of the state of Israel and whether it was a completely just and correct cause but I have always had a reserved attitude towards the official policy of Bulgaria towards Israel. On one or two occasions I even made a mistake. On one of them we were in a meeting in ‘Voroshilov’ works against the invasion of Israeli forces in Egypt. I was a party secretary then. The people from two or three shops were together. And I, not deliberately, appealed, ‘The people who agree with the policy of the Jewish state, please vote.’ And they immediately started reprimanding me, ‘Hey, what do you think you are doing?’ Because I was supposed to ask only for votes ‘against,’ not ‘for.’

The second case was here in the neighborhood. I was party secretary then. We had a party meeting once and while we were talking about the Zionists, that they were chauvinists, conquerors, Zionists, there sounded the conclusion ‘That filthy Jewry.’ The hall was full. And I interrupted, ‘The comrade lecturer doesn’t talk about the problems in a correct way. How could he say filthy Jewry? He can criticize the Zionists but to say filthy Jewry, to insult the whole Jewish people like that, I don’t agree.’ And the most interesting thing was that the hall applauded me, which means that the Bulgarians agreed with me. Afterwards I was even praised for finding the courage to say that.

I don’t completely agree with the changes that happened after 1989 27. I can see how the facts are distorted; everything is being turned upside down. Too much emphasis is being placed on the things that were bad whereas the positive things, which were achieved, aren’t displayed publicly. This can be confirmed by anyone who lived before 10th November.

Our life didn’t change that radically after 1989 due to financial reasons, and we were already pensioners at that time. In the past we used to live in poverty, under incessant restrictions. Our wedding took place during the Holocaust in 1944. It was quite an improvisation although it was in compliance with the tradition. Roza and I decided to celebrate our Golden Anniversary in 2004 in the way young people celebrate today: in a restaurant, with a lot of guests and grandeur.

I’m in contact with the Jewish community all the time. We have been visiting it regularly for seven years and I keep on thinking that if it wasn’t for the things these people have done, if it wasn’t for the rehabilitation center 28, we wouldn’t be among the living because there are only the two of us at home. This is boring and leads to quarrels over insignificant things. Our children don’t live here and they are very busy, they go to work. It has never been such a desert in this house before in our entire life. There were always a lot of people and life was very intense around us. We were rather nervous. Our big walk was to go from here to the market place and come back. Well, we went to the synagogue on holidays.

But it’s a good thing that this rehabilitation center was opened and we started going there. In the health club we exercise, we sing in the choir, you saw the pictures, didn’t you; we dance some national dances in the dance group. Life became more varied in general. And no matter what the weather is, it may be very cold or too hot, we are always there. And additionally, I got some financial compensation which greatly improved our way of living and I’m grateful for that.

Glossary:

Eshua Aron Almalech
Bulgaria
Sofia
Interviewer: Zelma Almalech
Date of interview: August 2002

Eshua Almalech is a handsome man of 79. He is one of the most prominent Bulgarian sports journalists, although he has already retired. He is also known in the international sports circles. He has many friends, not only among the Jews. He still reads very much and takes an active interest in the problems around the world. He loves classical music and art. Now he lives alone, but his children and grandchildren visit him very often. At the moment he is experiencing a very difficult period, because his wife, Nedyalka, passed away while this interview was being prepared. Every week he meets with his retired sports colleagues. He still keeps in touch with his classmates from the French College and they meet in Plovdiv every June.

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

The Almalech kin, my paternal ancestors, is a famous family name, not only in Bulgaria, but also in Turkey and France. There is a legend that is handed down from generation to generation that they originate from the Jews who were banished by the Romans more than 2,000 years ago, after the Temple in Jerusalem was burned down. Most of them settled on the Mediterranean lands in the Roman colonies. The Almalechs do not originate from the so-called Spanish Jews, who were banished by the Spanish King in the end of the 15th century and who settled in Southeast Europe. The Almalechs lived on these lands even before Bulgaria was founded in 681. These Jews are also known as Romaniots (the name comes from Rome). My hometown Stara Zagora existed even in the Thracian times and in the time of the Roman Empire. It was called Avgusta Trayana then. The many archeological sites, which are still being researched, prove this. Some ancient Roman buildings were discovered in the small town of Nikopol on the Danube. And, interestingly, there was a synagogue among them in which the Almalech family name could be seen among the Hebrew inscriptions. During the Turkish rule and in present-day Turkey you can come across our family name as Azmanoglu, and they were also famous Jews, working mostly in trading. On the other hand, my mother’s family name, Behar, is very typical of the Jews who came to the Balkan Peninsula after they were driven out of Spain. They were mostly craftsmen – leather-workers. Both families were religious, but not to the extreme. They observed the Jewish traditions and rites and valued very highly the holidays and the family. They did not live in a closed Jewish community, but were also in contact with the Bulgarians and the Turks.

My paternal grandfather, Eshua Avram Almalech, was born in the first part of the 19th century. He was a relatively well-off merchant. He was a well-known figure in Stara Zagora even before the Russian-Turkish War, which liberated Bulgaria (1877-1878). During the April Rebellion 1 in 1876 he hid one of its leaders Stephan Stambolov in his home. After the liberation of Bulgaria Stambolov came to Stara Zagora a number of times, firstly as Speaker of the Bulgarian Parliament, later as Bulgarian Prime Minister and he stayed at my grandfather’s house. Although my grandfather was a Jew, he took an active part in Bulgarian politics. My paternal grandmother was illiterate and she just looked after the children. My father, Aron Almalech, told me that she was a very nice woman, but he only had some childhood memories of her. Their house was visited by many people, not only Jews.

My grandfather had four sons and two daughters. My father Aron Eshua Almalech was the youngest. My uncles were all very easy-going and traveled a lot. And my grandfather, after whom I am named, used to tell my father, his youngest son, ‘Aroncho, Aroncho, you are the youngest and the smartest, but your brothers spent all our money throughout Europe. What am I going to leave you?’

The eldest was Avram, born before the Russian-Turkish Liberation War, that is, before 1878 and he died in 1924. His two daughters moved to Palestine before the Holocaust. The second one, Solomon, left for France very young and lived in Avignon, and he married a French Jew. He was killed during the Nazi occupation of France. His children managed to escape. My father’s third brother Mordu married a Jew from Sarajevo during one of his travels. He had two sons and two daughters. They lived in Stara Zagora, but during the Holocaust were interned to Byala Slatina. His elder son left for Palestine in 1938. My uncle died in 1945 on a ship on his way to Haifa. His younger son Iosif and two daughters Roza and Luna took an active part in the movement against the fascist government in Bulgaria and were sent to prison. Because of the harsh conditions there Roza developed a serious illness and died in 1948. Iosif left for Israel in 1948 and Luna remained in Plovdiv. All except Roza have children living in Israel, but all my four cousins have already passed away. My father’s sister Ester also left early for Palestine with her family – two sons and four daughters -- to build the new Jewish state. They all died already, but their children and grandchildren are still living. My father’s youngest sister Marie lived in Plovdiv and had one son Mois. They left Bulgaria in 1948 and shortly after that Marie died. Mois married and became one of the founders of the agricultural cooperative movement in Israel. He also died, but he has two daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

My maternal grandmother was Bohora Behar. She married twice and both times widowers, who had children from their previous marriages. So I had a lot of aunts and uncles. From her first marriage my grandmother had a daughter Hana. Her second marriage was with my grandfather Michael Behar, who had one son Isak from his first marriage. Later Hana and Isak got married. So, my mother was a sister to them both. From her second marriage my grandmother gave birth to my mother, my aunt Marie and my uncles Mushon and Solomon. Their families moved to Israel and they have children and grandchildren. But the most interesting story is that of my aunt Marie. She became a widow during World War I and she had two little girls Sola and Ester. She didn’t receive any news from her husband Haim Almor for a very long time. It was 20 years after the war ended that she was told that he had been killed and buried in the soldiers’ cemetery in Skopje, where he probably died as a prisoner of war. But there was no evidence proving that. My cousins, Marie’s daughters, moved to Palestine in 1932 and were among the founders of one of the kibbutzim, Miselot, and helped build contemporary Israel. Marie moved to Israel in 1948. 

In the family we, the children, called my grandmother Manacheto. Bulgarian was difficult for her and we picked up Spanish (i.e. Ladino) being around her. From all my grandparents I knew only her; all the others had died long before I was born. When I was a little child I used to go to her place, she lived with one of my mother’s sisters, Marie. When I went back home, I always found a clove of garlic in my pocket. Every time she hid some garlic in our pockets, mine and my sister’s and cousins’, against evil eyes and to keep us healthy. I remember vividly taking her to see ‘Ben-Hur’ in the 1930s, an American movie about the legendary Jewish hero who rebelled against the Roman Empire. She was much excited by the story and by the mystery of the moving pictures. During the Holocaust she lived with us, she didn’t go out at all, but she wore the yellow star and was always worrying about us. She was very old when she left to Israel with my aunt Marie, my mother’s sister. Marie’s daughters left for Israel in the 1930s and lived in the Miselot kibbutz, near the town of Beth Shan. My grandmother lived with them and passed away in the mid-1950s at the age of 102. She was buried in the kibbutz cemetery. My grandfather died very young and my grandmother Bohora had to rely only on herself. I only know that he was a very skilled leather-worker.

My father was born in 1885. He was orphaned very young. His father died in 1898 and his mother Roza Almalech soon after him (in 1901). At the age of 16 he started working as an accountant in a Bulgarian company in Stara Zagora and was attracted to the socialist ideas. The Bulgarian Socialist Party was set up in 1892. But there was a congress in 1903, at which one part of the party proclaimed itself left-wing socialists [these were the future communists] and the other right-wing socialists [these were the future social democrats]. My father was present at that congress and joined the latter group. He took part in the two Balkan wars and in the First World War as an infantryman in the 12th Stara Zagora infantry regiment of the Bulgarian army. He told me that he used to shoot in the air, thinking that if he didn’t kill anybody, he would not be killed either. He married my mother Zelma Michael, nee Behar, in 1919 after he returned from the war.

My mother was born in Stara Zagora and graduated the junior high school in her hometown. It is interesting to note that she was in the same class with Marina, the mother of my wife Nedyalka, and they were friends from childhood. But my mother did not get to know my wife because she died while I was still in college. She was a very nice and beautiful woman. She was a housewife and took very good care of us. She was also deeply attached to the families of her sisters and their children. Everybody, our neighbors, Bulgarians, Jews or Turks (many Turks lived in Stara Zagora then) loved her. She dressed very elegantly and paid a lot of attention to her appearance. I was very naughty as a child and I remember that when I used to go out on a walk with her, dressed in my new clothes, I would spoil them playing outside in the very first minutes. Then she would start to laugh and quickly changed my clothes. My father was the stricter one at home.

My father had a shop for textile and tailoring materials. It was one of the most visited shops in Stara Zagora. His partner was Angel Dikov, a Bulgarian. They were very good friends. When the Law for the Protection of the Nation 2 was passed, our property was confiscated and his partner became the sole owner of the shop. But he did not forget us and helped us financially. Later his daughter Stefka Dikova married a Jew. I also helped sometimes in the work in the shop together with some other children, but it was mainly my father and Angel who worked there. At that time the trade union of the railway workers was very strong and my father had a good connection with its branch in Stara Zagora – they bought the textile for their working clothes from him.

My father was a well-read man. I remember from my childhood that he subscribed to a number of newspapers. There were always a lot of books at home, including books from private libraries [big home libraries]. Stara Zagora was a cultural center – it had the first opera in Bulgaria, many poets, writers, artists… I continued this tradition in my family.

Growing up

My elder sister Roza Aron Natan was born in 1920. She completed her secondary education in Stara Zagora. I was born in 1924. My sister Joana was born in 1932. She was a sick and mentally undeveloped child and died in 1939 in Stara Zagora. It was very difficult for my mother to get over the death of my little sister. She was a very quiet child, who loved us all very much.

My parents respected the Jewish religion and, most of all, the Jewish nation. But we had an atheistic upbringing. [The duality of not being religious yet observing the religious traditions is typical of the whole Bulgarian population regardless of their ethnicity. There are many explanations for this. The main one is that during the Turkish rule people who were not muslim were forbidden many things, including the observance of the religious rites. Thus, the rites gradually lost their religious meaning and took on a more secular meaning.] I was a member of the Hashomer Hatzair, a leftist Zionist organization, since my childhood. My father was a distinguished social democrat ever since his youth and read lots of scholarly work and political literature, mostly Plehanov and Kautsky, but he admired most the French Jean Jaures. Yet, my father was a Jew before all and observed the traditions. But he was not а believer. My mother Zelma Almalech was more religious in that she observed very strictly all religious rules. She never ate pork and the rare times the family went to a restaurant, she never ate, because the food was not kosher. At home she insisted most on observing the traditions for each holiday.

My father often took me to the synagogue for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Pesach. On Noche di Shabbat [the eve of Sabbath in Ladino] the whole family gathered at home and my father read the prayer. On Saturday morning he went to the synagogue, but after that, since he was a merchant, he went to work. All his life he chaired the board of the Jewish school in Stara Zagora. At that time there were around 30,000 people in the town, of which 400 were Jews from different organizations – Maccabi, the Zionist sports organization, Hashomer Hatzair, Zionists and more right-wing predecessor to the present-day Likud organization. There was a rabbi, who was also a shochet. His name was Tovia and everybody loved him. One of my most vivid memories is my Bar Mitzvah, which brought together almost the whole Jewish community in town. In the synagogue they gave me a tallit to put on, I went up to the kebat and gave a speech. [The kebat is the place in the synagogue where only the rabbis and the men were allowed to stand, this is a Sephardi tradition.]

I hadn’t started school yet, when, around 1929, the first car appeared in town. There were only carriages until then. In the following years we often went to a restaurant where we could listen to the radio and in 1936 my father bought a Phillips radio set, which was confiscated during the Holocaust. From my first until my fourth grade I studied in the Jewish school in Stara Zagora. The building also housed the synagogue and a canteen for the poorer Jewish families. Then I started studying in the First Junior High School in town. Every year we had to get enrolled in the school and when I was going to enroll for my third year there, the director, Mr. Ilkov, refused to accept my application, because I was a Jew. This happened in 1936. Then I enrolled in the Second Junior High School. Hitler had already taken the power in Germany and anti-Semitism was beginning to spread in Bulgaria. In 1937 my uncle Solomon, who lived in France with his family, visited us in Stara Zagora. He told my father that they should send me to the French College 3 and that he would pay for my education. So, I went to study in Plovdiv.   

During the war

There was a Jewish bank in Stara Zagora. Its director was Buco Assa, the father of my friend Berto Assa and all its employees were Jews. In 1940 the anti-Semitic [Law for the Protection of the Nation] was passed, which seriously violated the rights of the Jews. The Jews holding shares in the Jewish bank were forced to sell their shares to Bulgarians almost for free. As a distinguished social democrat my father was against Stalin’s policy of terror in the Soviet Union and despised the Nazi ideology. So, he started to fight actively against that law. That same year a representative of the government came from Sofia to give a speech against Jews in the Stara Zagora community center and there he proclaimed the ideas of Hitler and Mussolini. My father took the stage and publicly criticized the law and the government official in a very heated way. He was arrested, but since he was a very popular public figure in Stara Zagora, a social democrat and the chairman of the Jewish community, he was set free. Yet, he was forbidden to make public appearances. My little sister’s illness and the rising anti-Semitism seriously affected my mother’s health. Her health deteriorated considerably within the course of a week.

We had our own house with a yard, we had hens and a village girl came to help our mother. But with the adoption of the law we were allowed to have only one room and a kitchen. We were not allowed to have larger houses and we had to live in only one of the rooms. The rest of the house was confiscated by the municipality and other people were accommodated there. My sister and I, when I returned from Plovdiv for the vacations, slept in the kitchen, and my parents in the room.

Very often the members of the youth fascist organizations Brannik 4, Ratnik 5 and the Bulgarian Legions 6 broke our windows and wrote anti-Semitic slogans on our walls. In 1941 the authorities forbade my father to have his own shop and work in trade. In fact, he was not allowed to work at all any more. My mother’s health deteriorated even more and she died on 31st July 1942 in Stara Zagora.

After the adoption of the [Law for the Protection of the Nation] our rights were severely limited. All Jews had to wear the distinctive yellow star, we were not allowed to go out before 9 o’clock in the morning and after 8 o’clock in the evening and there were times when we were allowed to go out only for 3 hours a day. We were banned from working, except if they mobilized us for some heavy physical labor. My father’s shop was taken away, but his Bulgarian business partner continued to help us. We often gathered in the Jewish school, where we were not allowed to study, but still we met there, because it was dangerous for us to stay on the streets. It was our second home. But I returned to Stara Zagora only on my vacations because I was still studying in the [French College] in Plovdiv. My father and I had to put boards on the windows, because they broke them very often.

In March 1943 we learned that we were to be sent to the Nazi death camps, and more specifically to Treblinka. (We had information about the Nazi death camps, because at that time Bulgarians could listen secretly to foreign radio stations, such as the BBC. There was also an illegal Bulgarian radio station, ‘Hristo Botev’, which broadcast from Moscow. Some of the Jews had relatives, who lived in other European countries and who informed them of the latest news.) At that time I was still a student in Plovdiv. My father called me at the college immediately to tell me to go back to Stara Zagora, because our family was among the first 12 families to be deported. My father had friends, railway workers, many of whom visited regularly our shop, and they had warned him that they were ordered by the government to prepare a cargo wagon for 55 people or 8 horses with two barrels inside – one full of water, the other empty… The railway workers had been ordered to lead the Jews into the wagon and seal it, but they themselves did not know its destination [The workers did not know the concrete final stop, but they knew to what place the people would be transported. The Bulgarian Jews had many Bulgarian friends, who had information and who warned them. At that time even the deputy Speaker of Parliament Dimitar Peshev and the leadership of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, knowing what was happening to the Jews in the other countries occupied by Germany, informed the people and defended the Jews before the Bulgarian government.] When I heard this, I went to the Jewish school in Plovdiv, in the Jewish quarter called ‘Ota Mezar’, where I had many friends. They told me that 100 families from Plovdiv had been listed to be deported to Treblinka.

I want to clarify something at this point. The Bulgarian government at that time, which was an ally to fascist Germany, signed an agreement with Germany to send 20,000 Jewish families to the death camps. After Germany occupied Yugoslavia and Greece, their governments ‘returned’ Macedonia (which was part of Yugoslavia) and parts of Greek Macedonia to Bulgaria – territories, which Bulgaria lost under the Neuilly treaty after World War I. 12,000 Jews from these territories were deported to the Treblinka death camp, of whom no more than ten survived. But in order to make them 20,000 the fascist government decided to add 8,000 more families from the country, choosing the most elite and distinguished Jewish families. In accordance with that decision around a hundred Jewish families were locked in the Jewish school to prepare themselves for the road to Death. Just when I went there, the local Bishop Kiril 7 also came and declared that the Bulgarian Orthodox Church led by the Holy Synod would not allow the Bulgarian Jews to be deported. He added that he would shelter the Plovdiv Jews in the Bishop’s Residence (the town residence of the Orthodox Church in Plovdiv), but that he would never allow the trains of death to leave.

I returned to the college intending to go back to Stara Zagora the next day. Then my class teacher Père Gotie Damper, who was a French Catholic priest, called me to his room. He told me that the college director Père Ozon and he would not allow the Jewish students in the college to be sent to death. He offered me to stay in the college and said that I should not worry about food, accommodation and clothes. But there was one condition: I had to adopt the Catholic faith. He said that they had spoken with our parents and that they would issue us a document that this had happened when I enrolled in the school in 1937 so that the authorities would not be suspicious. I do not know what would have happened if I had accepted their proposal or if I would have accepted it at all. But the same day shortly before leaving for Stara Zagora the message came that the deportation of the Jews was postponed and they could go back to their homes. The Jews in Bulgaria were defended by the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, large groups of Bulgarian intellectuals, Macedonian organizations, including deputies from the ruling party in parliament.

After that the government adopted another strategy. All Jews from Sofia, who were around 30,000, were to be interned from the capital to other parts of the country. Around 100 families came to Stara Zagora; most of them were put up with local Jewish families, the others in a school. The Mevorah family came to live with us together with another young family, whose name I have forgotten. We lived together for a month, when a new governmental order came that all Jews from Stara Zagora had to be interned to other towns. This was also applied to all bigger cities in the country, but there was one more reason why it was also enforced in Stara Zagora –the headquarters of a Nazi General named List, the Commander-in-Chief of the German army for the Balkans were in our town.

In the beginning of July 1943 all Jews from Stara Zagora together with the ones who came from Sofia were dispersed to the small towns of northern Bulgaria. We were allowed only to take a few clothes. Our family was interned to the little town of Lukovit [located in northern Bulgaria, near Pleven] where we lived until September 1944. There the younger Jews, me included, were mobilized to do hard physical labor. We built roads, sometimes we were sent to do field work or to fell trees. When the people at whose place we lived found out that I had graduated from the commercial faculty of the [French College], they recommended me to the local co-operative as an accountant and I started to work there for almost no money. We lived together with my childhood friend Mony Dekalo, born in 1923. He lived with his mother, Luna Dekalo, who was widowed when he was only six years old. We felt as close as brothers and with our blessing my father and his mother married shortly after we were interned from Stara Zagora. His mother was a well-known tailor in our hometown. Mony was an active member of the UYW 8. He introduced me to the organization and I regarded my participation in it as my contribution to the fight against fascism. We all lived together – my father, my stepmother, my sister Roza, who did not accept easily the second marriage of our father and shortly after that she went to live with our aunt Marie (my father’s sister) and Mony.

Mony asked me to go to some acquaintances of ours interned in the town of Targovishte [a town near Varna] and take a gun from them. He wanted very much to have a weapon, because he wanted to join the partisans, who were led by the Communist Party. I went illegally to Targovishte, because we were not allowed to leave the town, where we were interned. I met our acquaintances, but I was not able to take the gun. I managed to get back in the same way – going from wagon to wagon to hide from the police. My friend, now my brother, found himself a gun anyway, but he never used it. His main activity was collecting clothes, food and money for the partisans. Mony had already been a famous [UYW] member back in Stara Zagora and as early as 1943 he was taken back to Stara Zagora where the police tortured him. When he came back, he was all scarred from the tortures and only said that now that he had endured all this pain, he could endure anything. 

Mony firmly decided to join the partisans. He was supposed to join a group on 1st May 1944, but there was some misunderstanding about the meeting, maybe because suddenly the weather got very cold and heavy snow started falling. He came back home, but the police identified him by the rucksack with his baggage, which he had prepared and hid in the mountain before and which he could not find on that day. They recognized his initials embroidered on his clothes, from the time when he was working in the labor camps. The police started searching for him and one night they arrested him. We never saw him again. On 23rd May 1944 somewhere near Lukovit he was shot without trial and sentence together with two more men and a girl, who was still a student. We tried to collect money to have his case reviewed in court, so that he would win some more time, but we failed. After that I was forbidden to work in the co-operative and they fired me without paying me anything. This went on until September 1944 when our civil rights were restored.

In August 1944 a lawyer from Sofia told my father, who was chairman of the Jewish municipality in Lukovit too, that the badges would be removed soon and that we would no longer be forbidden to travel, we would be able to work in other areas than only hard physical labor in the Jewish labor camps. But we would not have the right to return to our homes in the bigger towns. On 20th September 1944 we were all already back in Stara Zagora. I am sure that if it were not for this nightmare, my mother would not have died so young; my brother-in-law would be alive now, as well as many of my Jewish friends from Plovdiv who had joined the Communist Party, because it was against Nazi Germany.

While we were still interned to Lukovit, in August 1943, I received two call-up orders from the army – one from the region of this town and the other from the Stara Zagora garrison. But I ignored them both. I did not want to serve in the army of a country, which was persecuting Jews. They wanted to put me on trial in August 1944, but I did not show up in court. The Soviet armies had almost reached the Bulgarian borders and the end of the fascist rule in Bulgaria was near. After 9th September 1944 9 when we returned to Stara Zagora, I received once again a summons to appear in court, because I had not responded to the call-up orders. I explained why I did not go, that this was not a normal army and we Jews were tortured enough in the hard military labor camps. In the end I was not convicted. After two months, in December 1944 I received a call-up order from the  Bulgarian National Army and I served two months in the anti-tank brigade of the Stara Zagora garrison. Then the War Ministry, as it was called then, decided that all people who had suffered during the previous regime, who had been interned, sent to labor camps or to prison because of political reasons, were exempt from the army for one year to restore their health. I used that time to enroll as a student in the Higher Institute of Economics in Sofia. In this way I put off my military service for five years. But in 1950 I could put it off no longer. I served 10 months in the labor corps, only 10, because my previous two months served were also recognized. I also served one year less, because I had a family.

Post-war

I married Nedyalka Nikolova, nee Dineva, in 1948. She was born in 1928 in Stara Zagora. She is Bulgarian. Her parents and she herself were from Stara Zagora too. Our families knew each other; they had even done shopping in our shop sometimes. Her mother Marinka and my mother Zelma had been classmates as children. But I got acquainted to Nedyalka in the end of 1944 when she came to study in Sofia. We were inseparable after that and later we married. Our daughter Zelma Eshua Almalech was born in 1950 and our son Mony Eshua Almalech in 1954. My wife has a degree in history. We are both journalists. While I was still studying at the university in 1945, I started working as a journalist for the ‘Sotsialisticheska Mladej’ [‘Socialist Youth’] newspaper, then for the ‘Narod’ [‘Nation’] newspaper, published by the social democratic party and when it stopped appearing in 1947, I started working for the newly founded ‘Narodna Mladej’ [‘National Youth’]. I headed the Interior Affairs department and the Sports department there and worked there until 1958. From 1958 until 1971 I worked at ‘Naroden Sport’ [‘National Sport’] and then, until my retirement in 1986 at the illustrated sports weekly ‘Start’. I was one of its founders and headed the International Affairs department. Later I became its secretary-in-chief.

My father Aron Almalech was always an ardent Zionist. He was the chief secretary of the Mapai. [Before it became an Israeli party, Mapai was a Jewish social democratic party. It was represented in international bodies such as the Socialist International, for example.] He accompanied Ben Gurion when he came to Bulgaria for the first time in the middle of the 1940s. When the Israel state was founded in 1948, my father received an invitation by the Israeli government to become a ‘sheliach’, that is, the chairman of the Sochnut in Bulgaria. One of the first diplomats, Ben Zur, ambassador in Vienna and responsible for the whole of Eastern Europe, came to Bulgaria to hand him the invitation. My father exercised this duty until he left for Israel in 1954. My father was a distinguished social democrat, and as early as 1946 in Stara Zagora he was invited to run for MP from this party. But then came the heated division between the parties, which formed the coalition Fatherland Front 10 against the fascist government. After the 9th September victory the communists started following closely the Soviet and pro-Stalinist policy, while their other allies did not agree with it and formed an opposition, which my father joined. He did not manage to become an MP because many social democrats were sent to the communist jails. He was also sent to jail for a couple of days because he had spoken against the dictatorship in Stara Zagora. But I was able to have him released with the help of some friends of mine and of my friend Mony Dekalo. I took him to Sofia where he worked for the Jewish organization and no longer took part in politics. My father’s second wife, Luna Almalech, lived in Sofia with us until 1954. Then my parents left for Israel and lived in Tel Aviv until my father died in 1977. Luna settled in an old people’s home in Rishon Letzion near Tel Aviv where she died in 1981.

When the first Bulgarian Jews started leaving for Israel, my father was most eager, he even organized groups. All my relatives and friends started leaving. I was already working as a journalist and I liked my job very much. I knew that I could not work as a journalist in Israel because I did not know the language and I was not sure if I could learn it well enough to be able to write articles in it as well as I can write in Bulgarian. This was the main reason, but I was also deeply attached to the Bulgarian nation – after [9th September 1944] the attitude towards Jews was wonderful. I also love Bulgarian nature. Unlike my father I joined the left wing of the social democratic party, which united with the communists. I became a member of the Communist Party. I married a Bulgarian woman. So, I decided not to leave for Israel, but I believe that everybody has the right to make his or her own choice where to live. I have always kept in touch with (my relatives) – through letters, visits. I went to Israel for the first time in 1957. I have visited them many times since then. We even sent our daughter Zelma, when she was 8 years old, to her grandparents and my sister Roza for the whole summer in 1958. In 1960 my wife and my son also spent the summer with them. Roza, her husband, Izidor Natan and their son Amnon, left for Israel in 1948. They lived in Ramle together with her husband’s parents. In 1970 they moved to Tel Aviv. Her husband died in 1971. She still lives in Tel Aviv.

When we learned about the process against the Jewish doctors in the Soviet Union [the Doctors’ Plot 11] from the newspapers, my father had not left for Bulgaria yet. My wife Nedyalka and he thought that this was some kind of provocation by the Stalinist regime. I admit I was in two minds. The communist regime forbade listening to foreign radio stations such as the BBC, Deutsche Welle, Free Europe, the Voice of America. But my wife and I were journalists and we listened to them. In 1956 after the events in Hungary, I started having doubts about socialism, all the more when most of Stalin’s atrocities became public. [Eshua is referring to the Hungarian revolution against the Soviet type communist regime in Hungary.] But in 1968 after the Soviet armies [i.e. the armies of the Warsaw Pact] occupied Prague, I just could not accept it despite my leftist orientation.  

My children grew up in a democratic atmosphere at home. In the old passports issued to all Bulgarian citizens when they become 16 years old, there was a column ‘nationality’. When they were old enough to be issued passports, they both wrote ‘Jew’ in it. Although my wife Nedyalka is a Bulgarian, after she spent a couple of years with my stepmother Luna, she learned the Jewish cuisine. Later when we lived with her parents, they also got to like our cuisine. Both the Jewish and the Christian holidays have been observed in our family. We lived together with Nedyalka’s parents in Sofia until they passed away. My wife’s mother died in 1973 and her father died in 1980. At that time our children Zelma and Mony had already married and Nedyalka and I lived alone. We often get together with their families, especially on the Jewish and personal holidays. We have almost never observed the Christian holidays since the death of my wife’s parents.

After the Israeli-Arab war in 1967 and the events in Czechoslovakia, my wife Nedyalka was fired from Sofia radio, where she worked as a journalist, because as they told her, she was married to a Jew and had a Jewish family name. During that time the director of the National Radio was the Jew Albert Cohen, a distinguished journalist and writer. He was also fired. I often traveled abroad as a sports journalist. I loved my job, but every time there was some possibility for promotion, they hinted to me, sometimes delicately, sometimes directly, that I was a Jew and this was impossible. But the most significant case was with my daughter. She completed her university degree in journalism with excellent marks at the Sofia University in 1974. While she studied at the university, she often worked for the Bulgarian National Television and the documentaries department wanted her to start working for them full-time. During that time there was a personnel department in every company, which researched every potential employee in order to find out if he or she was suitable. The research was done mainly for political reasons and for a media such as the Bulgarian National Television the selection was even stricter. They told my daughter that she could not work in the television as an editor unless she changed her name. She flatly refused, saying that she would find another job. But her colleagues and immediate editors-in-chief were very angry when they heard about that and after much insistence on their part, she was given the job. After some time it became known that there was an unwritten order that the recruitment of people with non-Bulgarian names was not advisable, even though they were Bulgarian citizens.

Both my son and my daughter feel Jews. My son is one of the best experts in Hebrew in Bulgaria. He completed a degree in Bulgarian philology at Sofia University and specialized in the area of linguistics. He is a Doctor of Philology and he studied for three years at the Jerusalem University. Now he works in the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences. He is preparing for print a Hebrew-Bulgarian and Bulgarian-Hebrew dictionary. He is also the author of a Bulgarian-Hebrew phrase book and scholarly articles on Judaism and Hebrew. Although he lives in Bulgaria now, he is an Israeli citizen. He is married. His wife Tanya has two daughters from her first marriage.

My daughter worked for more than 27 years in the Bulgarian National Television first as an editor and later as editor-in-chief of the cultural programs and as a member of the board of the directors of the national television. From the beginning of this year, she works in the ‘Marketing and Public Relations’ department of the Anubis Publishing House. Being a journalist, my daughter also writes regularly on the issues related to Judaism and more particularly, to Bulgarian Jews. She completed the course ‘The Role of Media in Civil Society’ offered by the Israeli Foreign Affairs Ministry and she has many publications related to Israel and the problems of anti-Semitism. She is a member of the board of directors of the ‘Bulgarian-Jewish Cultural Relations’ foundation.

She has two children – a son, David Djambazov, who completed his university education in the USA and now works there, and a daughter Irina Djambazova, who is now in the 11th grade of the trade and banking high school in Sofia. Zelma’s husband, Stephan Djambazov is also a journalist. Let me tell you an interesting story. The parents of my son-in-law Stephan divorced when he was 2-3 years old. He lived with his mother when he married my daughter in 1977. When he told his parents that he wanted to marry a Jew, his father was against it. Stephan’s mother told me that. She was present at this conversation and reacted very angrily. She was a Bulgarian, but had cousins, who had adopted Judaism and now live in Israel. I shared with you this story, because although Bulgarians are tolerant as a whole, there are always some prejudiced people, who are not only against Jews, but also against other minorities in Bulgaria.

I think that one of the most important events of the 20th century is the fall of the Berlin Wall. But the road to democracy after so many years of stagnation is not easy. What’s more, people living under hard conditions start blaming the minorities for their hardships. Even in Bulgaria some translations of Nazi and anti-Jewish books have appeared. Skinheads also appeared, although not on such a big scale as in other European countries. These tendencies are a bit dangerous and although they are not very popular, they remind me of the ideas of the fascist organizations during the Holocaust in Bulgaria. Some of their leaders emigrated from Bulgaria in the past, but now although they are very old, they have started to come back. They claim to be victims of the communist regime, although they in fact have fascist orientation, in particular their former ideologist Ivan Dochev. I am worried by all these things…

Now I often go to the Jewish Center, I do not miss the holidays in the synagogue and I often go there. My children also visit us during the holidays and we celebrate them together. Few Jews have remained in Bulgaria, maybe around 5,000, because after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, many young and not so young people left for Israel. I have visited Israel many times. Especially since 1989 I have been going there almost every year. I take an active interest in what is happening in Israel and feel for the Israeli people, but I prefer to live in Bulgaria. This split is very typical for the Bulgarian Jews, because we have always lived in understanding with the Bulgarians and the exceptions due to political reasons or individual actions have not spoilt our relations. This split is also nostalgia for the relatives and for Israel, but when I am there, I feel the same for Bulgaria, which is after all my home country. I am a Jew from Bulgaria.

Translated by Ivelina Karcheva

Glossary

1. April Rebellion: The biggest uprising in Bulgaria against five-centuries of Ottoman rule. It took place in 1876 and failed.

2. Law for the Protection of the Nation: Law adopted by the National Assembly in December 1940 and promulgated on 23rd January 1941, according to which Jews did not have the right to own shops and factories. Jews living in the center of Sofia were forced to move to the outskirts of the town. The internment of Jews in certain designated towns was legalized, in preparation for their deportation to concentration camps.

3. French College: An elite Catholic college teaching French language and culture and subsidized by the French Carmelites. It was closed in 1944.

4. Brannik: Pro-fascist youth organization. It was founded after the Law for the Protection of the Nation was passed in 1941 and the Bulgarian government forged its pro-German policy. The branniks regularly maltreated Jews.

5. Ratniks: The Ratniks, like the Branniks, were also members of a nationalist organization. They advocated a return to national values. The word ‘rat’ comes from the Old Bulgarian root meaning ‘battle’, i.e. ‘Ratniks’ ­ fighters, soldiers.

6. Bulgarian Legions: Union of the Bulgarian National Legions. The UBNL was a pro-fascist non-governmental organization, established in 1930. It aimed at building a corporate totalitarian state on the basis of military centralism, following the model of Hitler’s Germany and Mussolini’s Italy. It existed until 1944.

7. Bishop Kiril: In 2002 Bishop Kiril was recognized as one of the Righteous Among the Nations by the Yad Vashem Institute in Jerusalem.

8. UYW: The Union of Young Workers. A communist youth organization, which was legally established in 1928 as a sub-organization of the Bulgarian Communist Youth Union. After the coup d’etat in 1934, when the parties in Bulgaria were banned, it went underground and became the strongest wing of the BCYU. Some 70% of the partisans in Bulgaria were members of it. In 1947 it was renamed Dimitrov’s Communist Youth Union, after Georgi Dimitrov, the leader of the Bulgarian Communist Party at the time.

9. 9th September 1944: The day the communists officially took power in Bulgaria.

10. Fatherland Front: After 1945 in Bulgaria the so-called Fatherland Front was created. It was a broad left-wing political coalition, including the social-democratic party, etc., which meant to lead communists to absolute power.

11. Doctors’ Plot: The so-called Doctors’ Plot was a set of accusations deliberately forged by Stalin’s government and the KGB against Jewish doctors in the Kremlin hospital charging them with the murder of outstanding Bolsheviks. The Plot was started in 1952, but was never finished because Stalin died in 1953.

Életrajz

Vasile Grunea alacsony, köpcös és nagyon barátságos bácsika. Háló és dolgozószobája egy és ugyanaz: tágas szoba aminek az egyik felében – szemben az ajtóval – egy nagy íróasztal áll, mintha ügyfeleket várna. Könyvespolca roskadozik a könyvektől. Régi, még a második világháború előtt kiadott könyvek is találhatók nála, igazi kincsesbánya a könyvespolc. Szívesen nézi a tévét, de kicsit nagy hangerővel. Rendszeresen olvas újságot és napirenden van az eseményekkel. Még mindig aktív életet él, járkál, utazgat, egyedül elutazik akár Jeruzsálemig is.

Apám anyai nagyanyja családja Portugáliából származott Erdélybe. Apám anyjának az apja, Weintraub Mordechai, Oroszországból jött Rettegbe, románul úgy hívják Reteag, az egy község itt Erdélyben Marosvásárhely közelében. Apám anyai nagyapjának öt gyereke volt és egy ideig egy tradicionális magasabb fokú iskolát is vezetett Rettegen, azt hiszem egy jesivát. Általában akié volt a jesiva az tanított ott, a dédnagyapám rabbi lehetett ott. 49 éves korában halt meg egy járványos betegségben, nem tudom hogy hányban.

Az apám apai családja, a Gruberek, Sziléziából származtak. Édesapám apai nagyapját Haimnak hívták, ő körülbelül 1825-ben telepedik le itt Erdélyben, Bethlenben és tragikusan egyik bika által halt meg. Egészen a deportálásig körülbelül 700 zsidó család lakott Bethlenben, egy kis zsidó városka volt. Az apai nagyapámat Gruber Józsefnek hívták, 1852-ben született. Emiatt apámnak volt egy vicce, hogy az ő apja József, hát Jézusnak az apja is József volt, ő Bethlenből van, Jézus Betlehenben született, és őt is Imánuelnek hívják mint Jézust, tehát ilyen szempontból identikus Jézussal. Apám és a testvérei már itt született Bethlenben. Gruber nagyapámnak rabbi képzése volt, azt mondták róla, hogy értett a Talmudhoz, de nem volt rabbi. Farmer is volt és kereskedőként is dolgozott, saját élelmiszer üzlete volt egy jó ideig, amit ő vezetett. Mint minden falusi boltban, a cukortól a petróleumig mindent árult, amíg sajnos leégett az üzlet. Utána főleg alma és tojás fölvásárlásával foglalkozott, volt egy szekere s azzal járta a falvakat, összegyűjtötte a tojást és az almát, ládázta őket és külföldre küldte. A nagyapának volt szakálla és ciceszt is viselt. Ha jól emlékszem, általában fekete ruhában járt, fehér inggel. Majdnem egy arasszal hosszabb kabátja volt, mint a mai zakók, térd fölöttig ért, azt mondták akkor, hogy Ferenc Jóska kabát. Furcsa volt ez az öltözet. [Szerk. megj.: Elegáns öltözetek számított a magyar polgári körökben.] Vallásos ember volt, aki minden reggel föltette a imaszíjakat, és magára öltötte a tálitot, de nem ment templomba, otthon imádkozott.

A nagyanyám apám részéről, Weintraub Rózsa, Reizele, 1866-ban született. Róla sokat nem tudok, nem is ismertem őt csak az apám elbeszéléséből, aki mondta, hogy nagyon szép hangja volt, nagyon szépen énekelt és amin csodálkozott, hogy nagyon sok Szentföldre való visszavágyás énekeket tudott jiddisül. Azt hiszem, hogy a nagyszüleitől tanulhatta. Általában péntek este és szombaton énekeltek és biztos, hogy ekkor énekelték ezeket az énekeket. Bethlenben, szombaton ebéd után, általában a család nem kelt föl, hanem beszélgettek és énekeltek. Nagyanyám vallásos volt, kendőt viselt, gyújtott gyertyákat szombaton. Van egy tradicionális rövid ima, amit mondott, mialatt a gyertya felé tartotta a kezét, – ez egy tradicionális kézmozdulat volt – elmondott egy imádságot a szombati gyertyák fölött, a ‘nér sel sábát’-ot [szombati gyertyá-t] és így megáldotta azokat. A nagyapám valószínű péntek este elment a fiaival templomba, hazament és mondott péntek este egy benedikciót, egy imát (kiddust) a borra. Utána előírás szerint az egész család megmosta a kezét, és utána a családfő mondott egy imát, a ‘hámoci lechem min háárec’-t [aki kenyeret adsz nekünk a földből-t] a kalácsra. Szombat este általában két fehér kalácsot tettek az asztalra, annak az emlékére, hogy mikor a Szináj földön voltak, akkor pénteken két napra kellett összegyűjteni a mannát. Utána a családfő egy-egy darabot tört ahányan voltak, és mindenkinek adott egy darabot, miután azt belemártotta sóba, a családban ezt megtartották. Héberül imádkoztak, de jiddis kiejtéssel. A Széder este egy nagy esemény volt. Az apám visszaemlékezése szerint nagyon romantikus hangulatot keltettek ezek a húsvéti ünnepek. Az egész család együtt volt, ők, amikor kisgyerekek voltak, az apja, az anyja, és még a közelebbi rokonok is ott voltak a húsvét estén.

Bethlenben elég nagy ház lehetett, ahol az apai nagyszüleim laktak, úgy öt-hat szoba lehetett, de elég zsúfolva voltak, mert hat fiúk volt és négy lányuk. A fiuk általában ketten aludtak egy ágyban, aztán sorra-sorra elkerültek a családi házból. A házhoz tartozott egy nagy zöldséges és egy nagy gyümölcsfákból álló kert is. Ősszel általában nagy mennyiségben főzték a befőtteket télire. Ők is, mint a szegény emberek, szilvaízt főztek, mert nem kellett cukrot adni hozzá, s megspórolták a cukrot. Szalonna helyett a szilvaízt kenték vastagon a kenyérre. Margit nagynéném, apám húga, emlékezéséből tudom, hogy a nagyanyám nagyon szerette a virágokat és nagyon szép virágkertje is volt. Azt hiszem, állandóan volt egy-két alkalmazott a ház körül, mert sok gyerek is volt. A nagymosás havonta állandóan ismétlődő esemény volt, tizenkét ember után nagy mosást csinálni nem volt leányálom. Ilyenkor az egész ház föl volt forgatva, felvettek asszonyokat, akik segítették a mosásnál. Apám kitűnően beszélt románul, tehát az az érzésem, hogy azon kívül, hogy sok román gyerek barátja volt, azt hiszem, hogy lehettek román alkalmazottak is.

Nagyanyám nem nagyon segíthetett a nagyapámnak, mert tíz gyerek volt a családban. Az apám elmondta, hogy az őszi vagy a húsvéti ünnepekkor a falu cipészétől két inas rúdon hozta a cipőket, amiket kijavítottak. A tíz gyereknek tíz pár cipő kellett és a kisebbek ritkán jutottak új dolgokhoz. Általában mindig a nagyobbaktól levetett és kijavított ruhát vagy cipőt kaptak, a nagyobbaknak könnyebb volt.

Margit, apám húga angolul hangszalagra mondta visszaemlékezéseit. Ő egyike a tíz gyereknek, és rengeteget beszél arról, hogy ünnepekkor, bál előtt, vagy iskola befejezése előtt az édesanyja milyen ruhát vásárolt neki, s egy nagyobb testvérének Sárinak. Nagy szó volt, ha kaptak egy új ruhát, habár általában a zsidóknál, s apám családjában is, az őszi ünnepekkor és húsvétkor amennyire lehetett valami újat mindig vettek a gyerekeknek. Ez már a tradícióhoz tartozott, hogy ünnepekkor fölújították nemcsak lelkileg, hanem külsőleg is egy kicsit magukat. Inkább ruhákat vettek, legalábbis az apám és a nagynéném elbeszéléséből sokat nem hallottam játékszerekről.

Bethlenben a nagyszülők egy ideig jól álltak anyagilag, de amikor az 1880-as évek végén leégett az üzlet, utána mind rosszabb és rosszabb lett. Akkor beköltöznek Kolozsvárra, s itt egy kisebb üzletet bérelnek, anyagi szempontból jobb volt. 1918 után kiteszik nagyapát az üzletből, átveszi egy román az üzlethelyiséget. Utána a lakásnak egy részét elrekvirálták, tehát mind nehezebb anyagi helyzetben voltak. Énszerintem az anyagi körülmények kényszeríthették rá, hogy elhatározzák, kimennek külföldre. 1918 után, habár általában gimnáziumot vagy líceumot végeztek a testvérek, úgy a fiúk, mint a lányok konkrét mesterséget kezdtek tanulni, hogyha kimennek Amerikában legyen mit csináljanak.

Nagyapám 1926 körül vándorolt ki Amerikába a nagyanyámmal. Nagyanyám azt hiszem, hogy vagy két évet élt még Amerikában, és vesebajban egész fiatalon ott halt meg, aztán áttemették Haifára. Én az 1938-as évekből ismertem a nagyapámat, amikor visszatért Erdélybe. Sőt az az érzésem hogy egy időben itt is akart maradni a kolozsvári orvos fiánál, de szerencsére a fia rábeszélte, hogy menjen vissza Amerikába. A nagyapám 1952-ben halt meg New Yorkban aztán áttemették Haifára.

Apám testvérei közül Hánika volt a legidősebb. Őneki a férje zsidó volt, aki sajnos 1916-ban, miután a frontról hazajött, meghalt valamilyen betegségben és Hánika maradt három gyerekkel. A fia 1918-ban meghalt spanyolnáthában és maradt két lánya. Vallásos család volt. Hánikára mindenik testvére úgy emlékezett, mint egy második anyjukra, nagy volt közöttük a korkülönbség. Ő Szászrégenben lakott, aztán kiment a lányaival Amerikába. Úgy tudom, először ő ment el, aztán sorra kezdtek elmenni a testvérek. Hánika főleg nyáron dolgozott, kisebb városokban különböző időszakos panziókban főszakács volt és abból tartotta el a lányait. Mind a kettő aztán egyetemet végzett. Oda vitte Margit nagynénémet is a lányaival – miután azok is kivándoroltak Amerikába –, akik takarítottak a panzióban.

Adolf egy magas, sovány ember volt. Egy bohém ember volt, kitűnő elbeszélő és kitűnő volt a humora. Margit nagynéném visszaemlékezéséből tudom, hogy irt egy fantasztikus mesekönyvet: A nyúl átúszik a tengeren, ezt az 1920-as évek végén írta. Nagyon értett a gyerekekhez és nagyon szeretett játszani. Van egy bőrpénztárcám tőle, azt ő csinálta kézzel. Kitűnő kézügyessége volt, bőrből fantasztikus dolgokat tudott csinálni. Énszerintem egy kitűnő emberismerő volt, aki mindenkit meg tudott nyerni maga számára. New Yorkban hivatalnok volt, de nem tudom pontosan, mit csinált. Úgy 1930 körül jöhetett vissza Amerikából, egy ideig itt volt Kolozsvárt. Én emlékszem rá miután visszajött. Lehettem úgy 5-7 éves, és vettek nekem apámmal egy villanyvonatot. Emlékszem, hogy ő és az apám játszott inkább a villanyvonattal, mint én. Adolfnak volt egy fia, Joel, aki ügyvéd volt és a második világháborúban pilóta volt az amerikai hadseregben, egész fiatalon halt meg. Adolf is 1945 körül halt meg.

Márton fiatalabb volt mint az apám. Ő pék volt. Az első világháborúban altiszt volt és őróla azt mondták a családban, hogy 1918-ban, mikor a legelső cionista és nemzeti-zsidógyűlés volt itt Kolozsváron, ő felelt a terem védelméért. Az Uránia mozi termét kibérelték és ott tartották a gyűlést – az a Horea út elején volt [a város központjában]. Nagy visszhangja volt a gyűlésnek, ezután született meg az egyik legkomolyabb magyar nyelvű zsidó Cionista országos lap itt Romániában, az Új Kelet, először hetilapként majd napilap lesz belőle. Tudósítói voltak a nagyobb városokban, még Bukarestből is voltak állandóan tudósítói. A cionizmus teremtette meg az Új Keletet és az Új Kelet teremtette meg a cionizmust Erdélyben. Marci már feleséggel ment ki Amerikába, a többiek még nem voltak nősek. Az az érzésem, hogy miután az egyik letelepedett, elintézte, hogy a másik is kapjon beutazási engedélyt Amerikába. Ezért nem egyszerre mentek ki, hanem sorra. Marci, azt hiszem 1968-ban alijázott, New Yorkból kiment Nahariara, nem messze Haifatól, ahol mint nyugdíjas élt, ott is halt meg és ott van eltemetve. A felesége egy Buchwald lány volt, egy nagyon vallásos asszony volt. Talán az egész családból Marcinak a felesége lehetett a legvallásosabb. Nem tudom, hogy mennyire lelkileg volt vallásos, de külsőkben nagyon tartotta a vallást. Nekik nem volt gyerekük.

Utána volt Sarolta, férje után Fried volt. Zsidó volt a férje, de nem tudom mivel foglalkozott. Sarolta háziasszony volt és még besegített a testvérének, Samunak a cukrászdájában is. Sári is New Yorkba ment de ő is Izraelben halt meg. Körülbelül 1970-es években mentek Haifara.

Hersi apámhoz a legközelebb álló testvér volt. Ő az első világháború előtt befejezte a középiskolát, behívták a hadseregbe – azt hiszem hadnagy volt – és az első világháborúban egy ütközetnél Galíciában eltűnt. Egy fronton voltak az apámmal, aki szanitéc tiszt volt egy tüzéregységnél, és Hersi a gyalogosoknál volt. Egy támadás előtt még találkozott a két testvér és a támadás után Hersi eltűnt. Azóta nem tudtak semmit róla, nem nyilvánították halottnak, hanem eltűntnek. Róla neveztek el engem Zwi-nek, mert Zwi jiddisül Hers, tehát az én nevem az ő nevét örökíti meg.

Samu cukrász volt, zsidó volt a felesége. Úgy tudom két lánya volt. New York mellett valahol, egy nyaraló házban tűz keletkezett és az egyik lány, szegény, tragikus módon ott meghalt. 1960-as években halt meg Samu.

Margit a Tarbutban 1, a Zsidó Líceumba járt Kolozsváron. Volt külön lány és külön fiú osztálya az iskolának. Az utolsó évfolyamon végzett Margit, azt hiszem 1926-ban, azután betiltották az iskolát. Rabbi vagy hitoktató tanár tanította a vallást az iskolában. De ezenkívül nagy hangsúlyt fektettek a klasszikus héber nyelvre és a zsidó kultúra nagyságainak bemutatására. Szombaton általában a diákok elment a Horea úti Neológ zsinagógába. Az iskola ott volt a zsidó kórház mellett, a Iaşilor utcán, ahol most a Korunk szerkesztősége van. Ahol a Korunk van az emeleten, ott voltak az osztályok. Rögtön a bejáratnál a földszinten ott volt a tornaterem. Most is megvan, csak el van hanyagolva, azt hiszem nem is használják semmire.

Különben az iskolának ugyanaz volt a tanterve, mind a többi iskoláknak, egyetlen dolog volt, amiben különbözött, hogy a tanárok nagyon magas nívón adta elő. Legnagyobb részük a tanároknak Magyarországon vagy Ausztriában járt iskolába. Antal Márk, az iskola igazgatója, eredetileg magyarországi volt. A Tanácsköztársaság 2 alatt iskola inspektor volt, ezért el kell hagynia Magyarországot és úgy kerül ide Kolozsvárra az 1920-as években mint, aki elmenekült a Horthy 3 rezsim elől. Két fia volt. Az egyik közgazdász és költő, aki a 1943-ban meghalt, amikor munkaszolgálatos volt. Azelőtt sok évet ült Pesten a fogházban, mert elítélték, mint kommunistát. A másik testvére, Antal István, világhírű zongorista volt. Margit nagynéném nagyon meleg hangon emlékszik meg Antal Márkról és megemlíti, hogy Antal Márk állandóan tartott nagy irodalmi előadásokat a francia, a német, a norvég irodalomról. Tartott előadásokat a relativitásról, akkor új volt Einsteinnek a teóriája, és ezeket az előadásokat nemcsak a líceum hallgatói, hanem a városból rengeteg jöttek és hallgatták, mert nagyon nívósak voltak az előadásai és nagyon kellemesen adott elő. Mivel nagy része a tanításnak magyar nyelven ment, bár voltak román nyelv órák is, nem akarták tovább engedélyezni az iskolát és úgy tudom, hogy 1927-ben megszűnik az iskola. Antal Márk itt marad Kolozsváron, előadásokat tart és főleg magánleckékből tartja fönn magát és abból is, hogy a bankoknak és a biztosító társaságoknak nagy számításokat csinál, például nyugdíjra. Őt jól ismerték Magyarországon a tanügyi körökben, tehát az ő neve miatt adták meg megint az engedélyt 1940-ben hogy újból megalakuljon a Zsidó Líceum [ami 1944-ig működik].

A Tarbut elvégzése után Margit varrónőnek is tanult itt Kolozsváron. Az 1920-as évek végén a szülőkkel indult el Amerikába. Hamburg felé mentek, de mikor Hamburgban érkeztek, egy szemgyulladása lett, úgyhogy nem tudta tovább folytatni az útját. Ott maradt egy darabig és csak később ment a szülők után Amerikába. Ott egy ideig a nagyobb testvére, Hánika, magával viszi egy panzióba dolgozni, mint takarító, utána a saját mesterségében dolgozik mint varrónő. Elég jó varrónő volt, fölküzdötte magát, hogy az elsőszámú ruhákat ő varrta. Egy ideig a bátyja rendelőjében asszisztensnő volt. Margit 2001-ben halt meg Haifán.

Valter (akit Valvinak hívtak a családban) 1921-ben fejezte be az orvosi egyetemet Kolozsváron. Nemcsak belgyógyász volt, hanem röntgenes is, volt egy röntgengépe. Egy ideig dolgozott a Mátyás Mátyás szanatóriumban [aki a szanatórium alapítója és orvos-igazgatója volt], Valter hozta Belgiumból a rádiumot, ő kezdte meg legelőszőr itt Kolozsváron ezt a rádium kezelést. A Széchenyi téren volt rendelője, egy jó nevű orvos volt. A Léb testvéreknek volt alul egy nagy élelmiszer üzlete. Rengeteg falusi paciense volt. Pénteken, mikor vásárnap volt [a heti nagy vásárokat tartották] és a városba jöttek, a lépcsőn sorba álltak, hogy bemenjenek a rendelőbe. Rengeteg analízist is csinált, pl. gyomorsavmérést. Az első felesége, Szerén, aki zsidó volt, rengeteget segített. Baloldali ember volt, egy időben le is volt tartóztatva és a temesvári börtönben volt illegális kommunista tevékenységért. Nem volt tagja, de bele volt keveredve a dolgokba, propagált a fasizmus ellen. Legutoljára, 1938-ban, az orvos nagybátyám, a Valter, vándorolt ki Amerikába. Amikor megkapták a beutazási engedélyt, úgy hallottam mondani a családban, hogy megkapták az efidévit-et. Lehet, hogy helytelenül mondom, de így mondták a családban. Miután egy évet kínlódik, hogy elismerjék az orvosi diplomáját, utána magánrendelőt nyit New Yorkban ugyanakkor egy kórházban is volt orvos. Egy elég jó nevű orvos lesz újból. Miután Valter kimegy Amerikába, Margit, a testvére, egy idő múlva csinál egy asszisztensnői gyorskurzust és Valternek dolgozik, mert egy elég jó menő rendelője volt. Ott is volt belgyógyászat, röntgen, laboratórium és ezekhez kellett állandó személyzet. Nagyon későn, de elég csúnyán elváltak a feleségével, a nagybátyámnak egy élet munka után csak a nadrágja maradt meg, az amerikai törvények mindent a nőnek adtak. Ha nem tévedek körülbelül 1969-ig, a hatnapos háború befejezése utánig marad Valter Amerikába, utána a második feleségével (aki egyúttal édesanyámnak a testvére, tehát nagynéném) Sporn Magdával együtt kivándorolt Izraelbe. Magda a második világháború alatt Dél-Franciaországban volt. Valter őt ismerte már gyerekkora óta, mert anyámnak volt a húga. Elment látogatóba Párizsba, ahol találkoztak és ott elhatározták, hogy férj és feleség lesznek. Akkor a nagybátyám Amerikából és a nagynéném Franciaországból kimentek Haifára. Miután kimentek, ott Valter vett egy lakást és mint nyugdíjas élt. A nagynéném most is Haifán lakik, kilencvenen fölött van. Valternek az első házasságból lett három gyereke: Lia, Frank és Éva. Magdának és Valternek nem volt közös gyerekük. Valter egyáltalán nem volt vallásos.

Apámnak a legfiatalabb testvére Magda volt. Sokat nem tudok róla. Ő háziasszony volt és ő is kiment New Yorkban. Volt egy fia, Laurens, aki fizikus és egyetemi tanár. Szegény Magda elég fiatalon meghalt Amerikában progresszív paralízisben.

Az apám családjában az apám és az öccse, Valter, voltak az elsők, akik nemcsak tradicionális iskolába mentek, hanem a falu szája ellenére, az édesanyjuk elküldte őket Szamosújvárra világi középiskolába. Körülbelül 1904-ben kerül Szamosújvárra az apám. Ott elég nehezen éltek, ahogy akkoriban mondták, ‘napokat ettek’. Ez azt jelentette, hogy hét közben módosabb emberek adtak egy-egy ebédet egy ilyen diáknak, vagy a diák egy-egy rosszabbul tanuló gyereket tanított, s ezért kapott szállást vagy ennivalót. Apám mesélte, hogy Szamosújváron, amikor egy időben együtt lakott kovártéjban egy román fiúval, akkor azt csinálták, hogy reggel mielőtt iskolába mentek volna, egy nap ő ment vele a román templomba és egy nap a fiú ment vele a zsidó templomba. Apám 1912-ben érettségizik és a öccse az 1918-ban.

Apám utána Kolozsvárra kerül, de keveset maradt itt. Közvetlenül az első világháború előtt, habár zsidó volt, fölvették és járt két évet az orvosi fakultásra. Katonaorvos kellett volna legyen a KuK-nál, a Kaiserlich und Königlich hadseregnél 4, tehát az osztrák-magyar hadseregnél, de kitört közben az első világháború. Önkéntes szanitécként ment a galíciai frontra, ott van majdnem négy évet, 1914-től 1918-ig. 1918-ban hazajön és elkezd erősen politizálni a cionizmusért. Azt hiszem, hogy a fronton, főleg a Bécsben tanult kollegáktól kapja a legelső impulzust a cionizmusér. Volt ott egy doktor Ritter nevezetű orvos, aki a cionista szervezet előhírnöke közé tartozik, s így került kapcsolatban apám a cionista mozgalommal. Ugyanakkor elég erős cionista volt apám egyik sógora, Simon, az anyám bátyja, ugyanakkor cionista volt az öccse Marci.

1919-ben beiratkozik a jogra és ‘mezőző’-ként tanult, tehát nem járt minden nap az egyetemre. Úgy hívták ezeket, hogy ‘mezőzők’, hogy egyetem közben ‘járt a mezőre’ (járt dolgozni is). Befejezte, de nem csinált jogi pályát. Apám 1922-23-ban elmegy Brassóba, ahol az Albina Banknak fiókot nyitottak és az apámat meghívták oda, banktisztviselő lesz. Abban a korban elég nagy állás volt az, aláírás joga volt, tehát az igazgató helyett ő is aláírhatott papírokat. A vezérigazgatója Brediceanu volt, aki főfoglalkozásban zeneszerző volt. Egyik élharcosa volt Erdély Romániához való visszakerülésénél, 1920-ban 5, és megtisztelték azzal, hogy vezérigazgatóvá tették. Utána tőzsde- és sorsjegy ügynök volt, amíg aztán megszűnt és kishivatalnok lett.

Apám azok közé tartozik, akik Ritter-el együtt bevezették a cionista mozgalmat Brassóban. Vele egy életen keresztül barátok maradtak, annál is inkább, hogy mindketten Brassóban telepedetek le. Volt egy szervezet is, főleg a diákság és a cionista intellektuelek szervezete, a Barisia. A bariciánusok kicsit utánozták a német burschen schaft-okat [burschenschaften - testvériség], elég nagy súlyt fektettek a sportra: vívtak, sportoltak. Kezdetben ez egy fontos dolog volt, hogy a zsidók mutassák meg azt, hogy nemcsak gondolkozni és filozofálni tudnak, hanem ki tudnak állni a zsidóságukért, ha kell karddal vagy bokszolva is. Nem véletlen, hogy 1918 után a cionista szervezetek erős sportmozgalmat kezdenek el, a Haggibbort, amelyiknek nemcsak futball, hanem kitűnő vízipóló csapata volt, országos bajnokok voltak ping-pongban, teniszben. Apám tornászott (de nem versenyszerűen), egész öreg koráig, reggel, amikor fölkelt, fekvőtámaszokat csinált. A Barisiában főleg a fiatalsággal foglalkozott, elméleti előadásokat tartott nekik, általában magyarul. Főleg olyan zsidó történetekről beszélt, amikor a zsidók kiálltak a zsidóságukért, kezdve Dávid fölemelkedésétől, Salamon bölcsészetéig.

Azt hiszem, hogy apám ismerte anyámnak a bátyját, Simont, a kolozsvári cionista szervezetből és ő általa ismerkednek meg. Azt tudom, hogy Lea, akit mindenki Lotte-nak hívott, nagyobb volt vagy másfél évvel mint az anyám. Az apám azt mondta, hogy eredetileg – mivel az volt a szokás, hogy a nagyobbik lány megy először férjhez –, az anyám családja, főleg a nagyanyám, azt akarta volna, hogy Lottet vegye el. Apámnak viszont nem tetszett, inkább tetszett az anyám, s őt vette el feleségül. De már nem a szülők egyeztek meg, hanem a két fiatal.

Az anyai nagyanyám Sarah, Paneth Sára, rabbi családból származott. A nagyapja Paneth Jecheskel Erdély főrabbija volt Gyulafehérváron. Paneth rabbinak hat gyereke volt. Dés és környékén sok rabbi élt, aki a Paneth családból származott, ez egy nagy rabbi-nemzedék volt. Szintén egy Paneth rabbi volt, aki Désen a zsinagógát építette, a telek nagy részét saját zsebéből fizette ki, hogy fölépítsék a templomot. A főrabbi harmadik fiának a családjából származott nagyanyám. Hermann Paneth, a nagyanyám bátyja, rabbiképzőt járt Frankfurtban, de nem foglalkozott rabbisággal, hanem mezőgazdasággal és cionizmussal foglalkozott.

Anyám részéről a nagyanyám, egy nagyon vallásos ember volt. Ő több mint egy évet lakott nálunk Brassóban, minden szombaton el kellett kísérjem a templomba. Olyan vallásos volt, hogy ő nem vitt semmit a kezében, még az imakönyvet sem, úgyhogy én elkísértem a templom női karzat bejáratáig és odaadtam neki a könyvet és aztán a vártam amíg befejeződött az istentisztelet. Szegény soha nem tudta, hogy miután én elkísértem a templomba – a templomtól nem messze volt egy kis telek –, miközben ő imádkozott én futballoztam. Emlékszem olyan kis furcsaságokra is, hogy ha például levágta nagyanyám a körmét, akkor azt összegyűjtötte és vett két kis fát, s meggyújtotta és elégette.

Nem tudom, hogy találkoztak a nagyszülők, csak azt tudom, hogy egy időben Gerenden laktak, a nagymama azt hiszem Rettegről jött oda férjhez. Az anyai nagyapám Sporn Lajos, a zsidó neve Léb volt. Ő intéző volt Gernden egy nagy birtokon és egy szeszgyárnál is. Az első világháború előtt, amikor ott nem mentek túl jól a dolgok, akkor átment Noszolyra és egy Szász nevezetű földbirtokos elég nagy birtokát bérelte. Mezőgazdasággal és állattenyésztéssel foglalkozott. Marhák tenyésztett és süldőket nevelt, s aztán eladta őket. Furcsának tűnik, hogy egy zsidó süldőket nevel, de Noszoly közel van Szamosújvárhoz, és akkor Szamosújváron rengeteg örmény állatkereskedő volt és azoknak adta el. Búzát is termeltek. Július végén, augusztus elején, amikor a cséplés ideje volt, több napon, sőt egy héten keresztül is állandóan szólt a cséplőgép, csépelték a gabonát. Sára nagyanyám háziasszony volt, nyolc gyerekük volt, de hat maradt életben: Simon, Piroska, Marci, Lea, az anyám Erzsébet, Helén, és Magda. Kettő a spanyol nátha idején pár hónapos korukban meghaltak. A gyerekek nagy része Gerenden született, azt hiszem Magda és Helén született Noszolyon. Az anyám Gerenden született, Simon nagybátyám, Marci nagybátyám szintén Gerenden született.

Nagyanyám nagyon vallásos volt, biztos rabbi adta össze őket. Kóser háztartása volt, nem is lehetett volna másképp, hát a Paneth rabbi családból származott. A családja megengedhette magának, hogy legyenek házi tanítói, akik tanították, mert kitűnően olvasott héberül és kitűnően ismerte a német nyelvet és rengeteget német irodalmat olvasott. Lány korában Rettegen volt, ami Szászrégen közelében van, s ott voltak németek (szászok). Azt hiszem, hogy heiderbe [héderbe] csak a fiúk jártak Akkor voltak házi tanítók a lányoknak, akik tanították őket. A nagyanyám kitűnően olvasott héberül. Parókát hordott, imádkozott, minden szombaton és nagyünnepekkor elment a templomba. A magyaron kívül Jiddisül is beszéltek a nagyszülők, de talán inkább az apám részéről. A nagyapám és a nagyanyámon kívül a gyerekeiknek már magyar volt az anyanyelvük.

Az első világháborúkor a fiúkat behívták katonának az oszrák-magyar hadseregbe. 1918 után kijött egy kisajátítási törvény, a nagy földbirtokokat kisajátították. Átvette az állam, de egy-két holdanként kiparcellázták a háborúban részt vett vagy szegényebb parasztoknak. Akkor kisebb birtoka maradt a nagyapámnak, amit bérelhetett, és az egész család beköltözött Kolozsvárra. Ezután főleg erdő kitermeléssel foglalkozik nagyapám, Beszterce-Naszód vidékén. Specialista volt, végigjárt egy erdőt és nagyon kis különbséggel megmondta pontosan, hogy mennyi faanyagot lehet abból az erdőből kitermelni.

Kolozsváron azt hiszem négy szobás saját házuk volt a Széchenyi tér körül. Akkoriban a Széchenyi tér és a körülötte lévő utcák általában zsidók által lakott rész volt. 1927-ben sajnos nagyapám meghalt, itt van eltemetve Kolozsváron a régi zsidó temetőben, a Tordai úton. A lányok kitanulták a fűzős mesterséget és egy családi ‘betegség’ lett ez, mind fűzőszalonosok lettek. Azt hiszem, hogy divat volt akkor, és nem nagyon voltak szalonok, a gyár nem nagyon gyártott fűzőket. Németesen mondták, hogy mieder. Az összeépített fűző volt, az úgynevezett princess, amelyiken együtt volt a melltartó, harisnyatartó és a fűző, azt pedig nehezen lehetett fölvenni, de a hölgyek megkínozták magukat és hordták ezeket. Magda és Lotti, a kisebbik lányok hivatalnokok lettek.

A lányok már rendes állami iskolába jártak Gerenden és itt Kolozsváron. A két fiútestvére Simon és Marci kereskedelmi líceumot végzett. A lányok a Marianumba, akkor itt Erdélyben az egyik legnevesebb katolikus lánylíceumába jártak. A mai Horea úton abban az épületben volt, ami ma a Babes-Bolyai Filológia kara. Tehát világi iskolát végeztek, de a lányok is egész biztos, hogy a nagyanyámtól tanultak héberül, a fiúk meg jártak heiderbe is. Míg falun laktak, addig fölvehettek egy-egy fiatalabb bóhert házitanítónak. A lányok is jól olvasták a héber imakönyvet, persze héberül nem beszéltek, de jól olvastak.

Sporn Simon nagybátyám legalább tíz évvel volt idősebb mint anyám, a sógora. Mindig úgy mondta a fiatalabbaknak, Magdának és Helénnek, hogy a taknyosok. Ő kereskedelmi középiskolát végzett, utána járt a Kereskedelmi és Mezőgazdasági Akadémián itt Kolozsváron. Egy nívós hivatalnok volt. Az első világháborúban főhadnagyként szolgálta a KuK regimentet. Részt vett az első világháborúban és mint katona kapcsolatba kerül a cionista mozgalommal. A katonaságban voltak még más zsidó tisztek, főleg azt hiszem osztrák vidékről, akik hamarabb kapcsolatba jöttek a cionizmussal. Simon, ő részt vett 1918-ban a legelső nagy cionista gyűlésen, amin részt vett apám is mint propagandával megbízott és egy másik nagybátyám Marci, aki a védelemmel volt megbízva. Ez volt a zsidóság újjáébredése. Simon eljövendő felesége szintén Paneth rabbi családból származott, úgy hívták, hogy Paneth Ilus. Az 1922-es években Ilus édesapja, Paneth Herman fogta az egész családját, állatokat vett és előgyártott házat és kivándorolt Izraelbe. Ilus és Simon is velük ment. Gyárban gyártott kész falakat, amit csak föl kellett állítani, azt vonaton és hajón szállította el Herman, persze fogadott még embereket, hogy segítsék a szállításban. Kimegy Izraelbe és ott másokkal együtt az elsők közé tartozik, akik megalapítják Givat Adah-t. Ez egy mosáv volt, magántulajdon, mert megvették a földeket. [A mosáv egy faluközösség, ahol a kibuctól eltérően az embereknek saját otthonuk van és a tulajdonukban lévő fölterületek felett önállóan dönthetnek, ugyanakkor közösen gazdálkodnak és kölcsönösen segítik egymást a közösség tagjai.] A föld vásárlás nem bizonyult a legjobbnak, Erdélyből kiindulva azt hitték, hogy a jó föld a fekete föld, de általában Izraelben a jó föld a piros föld. A fekete föld az a mocsaras föld, egy maláriás vidék volt. Kezdetben nagyon nehéz volt, elég rosszul ment, egyrészt mert nem értettek a klímához, másrészt olyannyira terjedt a malária, hogy a sótartóban egyik oldalt só volt, a másik oldalon kininpor, tehát kinint tettek az ételbe, hogy elkerüljék a hidegrázást. Aztán sajnos az állatok, amiket magukkal vittek, azok sem bizonyultak a legalkalmasabbnak arra a klímára és hamar elpusztultak. Két gyereke volt Ichák és Juda, mind a ketten Izraelben születtek. Ők szabre-k voltak, vagyis bennszülöttek, akik már Izraelben születtek. Az 1930-as években hazajött Simon felesége az egyik gyerekkel és egy ideig Nyoszolyon ült. Egy hajójegyet nem volt leányálom kifizetni, ezért csak az egyik gyerek jött, aki beteg volt. Izraelben azt mondták, hogy ha azt akarja, hogy életben maradjon a gyerek, akkor vigye el egy ideig egy más klímára. Azt hiszem körülbelül vagy másfél évet ültek itt. Onnan lehet tudni, hogy a víz is egy nagy probléma lehetett Izraelben, mert mikor a gyerek látott egy kanna vizet, akkor magához ölelte és kiabálta, hogy: ‘Ez az egész víz az enyém!’ Utána visszamentek Izraelbe és ott voltak végig a második világháború alatt, a háború után mind a kettő a zsidó hadseregben szolgált. Az 1970-es években Juda, a nagyobbik, szegény tragikusan meghalt, egy teherautón: narancsládákat szállítottak, rakodáskor elszakadta a kötél és egy narancsláda ráesett és ebbe belehalt. A fiatalabb testvére Ichak mezőgazdász, ő ott lakik Givat Adah-n, három gyereke van.

Sporn Piroska vagy két évvel idősebb volt mint az anyám. Ő férjhez ment szintén egy Spornhoz, de nem voltak rokonok. Úgy hívták a férjét, hogy Sporn Zsigmond, zsidó nevén Asher Seilig. Ő hivatalnok volt a Dermatában, elég fiatalon, 1930-as években meghal. [Szerk. megj.: a dr. Farkas Mózes és Farkas József Dermata bőrgyár és cipőüzem Kolozsvár egyik legnevesebb bőripari vállalkozása volt, a mai Clujana cipőgyár elődje.] Itt van eltemetve a férje Kolozsváron a régi zsidótemetőben, ami akkor az ortodox temető volt. Piroska középiskolát végzett, szintén fűzősként dolgozott. Iskola után valakitől kitanulták a Sporn lányok a fűzős mesterséget, de Kolozsváron nem volt üzletük. Úgy tudom, hogy miután a férje nagyon korán meghal, egy időben Piroska nagynéném lakásán dolgoztak, ott egy szobában volt a fűzőszalon. Neki volt egy Sulamit nevű lánya, és volt két fogadott fia a férje első házasságából, azokat is el kellett tartani s akkor nekifogott fűzőszalonoskodni. Azt hiszem 1935-ben vagy 1936-ban kimegy Izraelbe. Ott egy másik lány testvérével Leával – aki hamarabb kiment – együtt egy fűzőszalonjuk volt Haifán. A fűzőszalonnak a neve Grácia volt. Most úgy tudom, hogy egy kifőzde van ott, azt hiszem a ház homlokzatán még most is látni a Grácia nevet, még nem vették le. Szegény az 1948-49-es években halt meg.

Sporn Marcinak, a következő testvérnek, a zsidó neve Móse volt. Azt hiszem 1900-ban született. Ő fiatalabb volt mint anyám, ő is kereskedelmi középiskolába járt. Bevonult katonának az első világháború utolsó vagy utolsó előtti évében és hadnagy lett az osztrák-magyar hadseregben. Utána leszerel és az apja után Noszolyon marad és ott bérel egy birtokot. A felesége egy zsidó nő volt, Elinek hívták, az hiszem Somkútról származott, gyerekük nem volt. Vallásos volt olyan szempontból, hogy péntek este gyertyát gyújtottak, szombaton nem dolgozott, mindig volt kalács, és este elmondták a hávdálá-t, amikor befejeződött a szombat. Sajnos 1944-ben Noszolyról eldeportálták. Néném Auschwitzban, a lágerben halt meg, Marci, ahogy mások elmondták, a láger mellett dolgozott az állomáson és egy bombatámadásnál meghalt. Úgyhogy nem tértek vissza. A Marci feleségének volt egy lánytestvére, aki Szamosújváron lakott, a férjének volt ott egy olajprése, ők is a deportálásban haltak meg. Egy húga maradt életben, aki a háború alatt Bukarestben lakott, Dávidnak hívják a férjét. A háború után kimentek Izraelbe, és már meghaltak. A fiúk Dávid László egyetemi tanár volt Haifán a Technionon.

Sporn Lea Gerenden született, vénkisasszony volt, ő is kivándorolt Izraelbe. Amikor kimegy Izraelbe, akkor más lehetőség nem volt, akkor ő is nekifog ennek a fűzőszalonnak. Ebből sikerül összespórolni pénzt s kölcsönnel megvenni egy telkeket egy háromszobás földszintes lakással és egy nagyon szép kerttel, a haifai Technion Politechnika mellett. Ez a háború megkezdése előtt történt, a részlet fizetést, amit a háború alatt kellett fizetni, elértéktelenedett, úgyhogy a lakást elég olcsón meg tudta venni. Akkor Haifa külső negyedéhez tartozott, egész odáig bejöttek a hiénák, most egyik legjobb negyede Haifának. Haifán közös fűzőszalonban dolgozott a nővéreivel, mindenkinek megvolt a maga feladata. Ő főleg a kereskedelmi résszel foglalkozott, ő intézte az adó-dolgokat. Elég idősen halt meg, körülbelül 1975-ben. Emlékszem, az üzletük közel volt az arab negyedhez és elég sok arab kliensük volt. Az üzlet az angol mandátum alatt is működött, úgyhogy a magasabb rangú angol hölgyek is odajártak és onnan rendelték a fűzőt.

Sporn Helén hivatalnokoskodott itt Kolozsváron. Helénnel és Magdával együtt lakott a nagyanyám, amíg kiment Amerikába ezek tartották el. Helén két évvel fiatalabb volt mint az anyám, ő férjhez megy Antal Márk 6, a Tarbut igazgatójának a fiához, Antal Jánoshoz, aki közgazdász volt és költő. A magyarországi illegális kommunista pártnak volt a tagja, és kimennek Pestre. Pesten és Franciaországban éltek egy ideig, aztán az 1930-as évek végén letartóztatják a férjét és elítélik hat évre. Miután lejár a börtönbüntetés, kiviszik Ukrajnába munkaszolgálatra és ott úgy tudom, hogy flektifuszban meghal. Antal Jánosné a holokauszt idején Pesten bújkál, ott éli túl. Az anyai ágról volt egy unokatestvére, akit Magdelnek hívtak, akinek gumi és fűzőgyára volt s ott volt hivatalnok a nagynéném. A második világháború után a nagynéném sok éven keresztül a Magyar Tudományos Akadémiánál dolgozik mint titkárnő és magyar irodalomtörténeteti kutatómunkát is végzett. Ott hal meg Pesten 1971-ben.

A legkisebb testvér Sporn Magda volt, őt úgy becézték, hogy Dadus. Hivatalnoknő volt Kolozsváron, férjhez megy Simon Béla grafikushoz, akinek a családja kolozsvári volt. Bélának volt egy lánytestvére is. Mind a hárman: az apja, anyja is, a lánytestvére is Auschwitzban pusztultak el. Körülbelül 1938 körül megy ki Magda az első férjével Franciaországba. A második világháború alatt Dél-Franciaországban, Antibe-ban, árvagyerekeket nevelt Magda, egy árvagyerek-otthonban dolgozott mint tanítónő. Franciaországban a háború elején a férjét behívják katonának és fogságba esik. Azt hiszem, sikerült eltitkolnia, hogy zsidó, úgyhogy túlélte a fogságot. Háború után visszatérnek Párizsba, elválnak és Magda feleségül megy apám öccséhez, Gruber Valterhez, akivel aztán kimegy New Yorkba és aztán 1969-ben Izraelbe. Ma Izrealben lakik, Haifán. Ő az utolsó apám és anyám családjából, aki még él. Magdának van egy Adu nevű lánya, aki Kanadában egyetemi tanár, azt hiszem szociológiát tanít.

Sára nagyanyám a lányainál, hol Magdánál, hol Helénnél lakott Kolozsváron, vagy nálunk Brassóban, majd 1936 körül ment ki Izraelbe. Lea megy ki először, utána kimegy Piroska a lányával és utána megy a nagyanyám. Én szerintem gazdasági okok miatt vándoroltak ki. Nagyanyám nagyon vallásos volt, de nem erőszakolta rá másra az ő vallásosságát. Eljött hozzánk és észrevette például, hogy nincs külön tejes és húsos sótartó. Tehát mikor húst eszel, akkor egy sótartót kell az asztalra tenni, mikor tejest eszel, akkor más sótartót. Például, ha ettél egy tejes krumpli levest, akkor abba, a tejes sótartóból kellett tenni. Nálunk Brassóban nem volt erre külön sótartó. Ezt az anyám mondta később, hogy a nagyanyám észrevette ezt, de hogy ne sértse meg az anyámat, leküldte a cselédet és mondta, hogy ‘Mondja meg a nacságának, hogy eltörte a sótartó és kell venni egy sótartót’. Tehát nem mondta, hogy ‘Lányom, nincs tejes sótartód! Hogy lehet ezt?’ Szintén az anyám mesélte, hogy ült kint a kertben Haifán – egy szép virágoskert volt a ház előtt, azt én is láttam – és bejötte egy hittérítő az udvarra. Fogadta, adott neki kávét vagy teát, és azt mondta, hogy: ‘Én tisztelem a maga hitét, de maga is tisztelje az enyémet, ha akarja beszélhetünk akármiről, de a hitről ne beszéljünk. Mindenki maradjon meg annak, aminek született’.

Az édesanyám, Sporn Erzsébet, befejezi a Marianum középiskolát Kolozsváron és 1924-ben 22 éves korában férjhez megy és lekerülnek Brassóba. A szülőket rabbi adta össze, de nem vagyok biztos, hogy Brassóban vagy Kolozsváron. Azt tudom, hogy Brassóban jó viszonyban voltak a neológ rabbival, Deutsch-csal, de mi ortodoxok voltunk, a mi rabbinkat úgy hívták, hogy Sperber. A házasság után egy évre, 1925-ben születik a nővérem és 1926-ban születtem én. Egy ideig háziasszony anyám. Nyáron általában, humorosan mondva, cserélték a gyerekeket, hol én és a nővérem jöttünk Kolozsvárra és nyaraltunk Piroska néninél, hol az ő lánya nyaralt nálunk Brassóban. Vagy pedig az orvos apai nagybátyám három gyereke nyaralt nálunk Brassóban. Emlékszem egy humoros dologra: az 1930-as években nálunk Brassóban volt fürdőszoba. Általában a régi lakások fürdőszoba nélkül épültek, de aztán elvettek egy részt és oda csináltak. Anyámnak könnyebb volt engem megmosdatni úgy, hogy nem a kagylóhoz tett, hanem betett a fürdőkádba és ott gyorsan leszappanozott, rámeresztette a tust, kivett és: na fiú kész vagy. Amikor ide jöttem Kolozsvárra, reggel mondta a nagynéném, hogy menjek mosakodni. Akkor mondtam, hogy: ‘Piroska néni én nem szoktam mosakodni!’ Aztán rájött, hogy tényleg nem mosakodok, mert minden reggel tusoltam a fürdőkádban.

Kezdetben, az 1930-as években az állomás mellett béreltünk egy lakást. Onnan átköltöztünk a Hosszú utcába egy elég nagy földszinti lakásba, azt hiszem három nagy szobánk volt. Egy kert is tartozott a lakáshoz. Utána beköltöztünk a város szívébe, Brassónak az egyik főutcájára: egy régi ház volt, tipikus szász stílus építéssel, nagyon hosszú épület volt befele, az utcáról volt a bejárat. Az 1930-as években kijött egy törvény és azontúl nem ment jól a dolog az apámnak, és akkor az anyám nyit a földszinten egy fűzőszalont azért, mert már apámnak nem volt annyi keresete, hogy jómódot biztosítson. Mi a középosztály nívóján éltünk mindig. Ezt a fűzősséget nem szépségből csinálták vagy mert nagyon akartak dolgozni, hanem a család eltartásához szükséges volt. A fűzőszalon az utca fele nyílott. Utána volt a bejárat a házba, és mellette volt egy szabóüzlet, egy Kovács nevezetű magyar szabónak a műhelye. A fűzőszalonban elől volt az üzlet egy pulttal, ahol az anyag volt és ahol árultak. Általában hárman voltak, volt egy fűzőmesterségben dolgozó szakmunkás és egy inas is dolgozott még anyámnál. Mind zsidók voltak és tudom, hogy mindig valamilyen rokonok voltak, például másod unokatestvérek lányai. A lányok általában egy-két évet ültek, amíg kitanulták a mesterséget. Az emeleten volt egy hosszú tornác fával kibélelve, ott volt a lakásunk bejárata. Volt egy előszoba, egy konyha, egy fürdőszoba, egy vécé, egy hálószoba a szüleimnek, egy nagy ebédlő, és még két hálószoba és egy balkon. Több éven keresztül dolgozott anyámnak a műhelyében egy Sporn Szerén nevű lány (ő nem is volt rokonunk), aki jó ideig nálunk lakott egy külön szobában, amíg férjhez nem ment.

Jó ideig lakott azon az emeleten egy egyszobás lakásban egy Hankó nevű házaspár. A férj ügyvéd volt, de 1918-ban nem esküdött föl a román államnak és emiatt nem folytathatta az ügyvédséget, úgyhogy nagyon nehéz anyagi körülmények között éltek. [Szerk. megj.: 1918 után az állami hivatalnokok és alkalmazottak hűség esküt kellett tegyenek a Román államnak, amit sokan megtagadtak és ennek következtében elvesztették állásukat.] Éveken keresztül a levest tőlünk kapták és azon tengődtek. Emlékszem olyan kis dolgokra is, hogy a hölgy, aki nemesebb származású volt, adott a külsejére és hogy a bőre ne legyen ráncos, tojásfehérjével bekente az arcát és akkor reggel láttam néha Hankó nénit tojásfehérjével az arcán.

Általában mindig volt egy magyar cselédünk, egy időben volt kettő is, de általában egy volt. Nálunk kóser háztartás volt olyan szempontból, hogy a cseléd minden héten egyszer elvitte a templom udvarára a majorságot [baromfit] levágni. Az ortodox templom udvarán volt a sakter. Persze, a neológoknak is volt saját sakterük, de az ortodoxnak az nem volt elég kóser, úgyhogy külön sakterük volt. Két mészáros volt, az egyiknek Zélig volt a neve, tőle, a kóser mészárszékből vettük a marha húst, de azért papírról egy darab sonkát vagy parizert is elfogyasztottunk otthon. Nem vettünk disznóhúst kisütni, de a sonkát vagy téli szalámit papírról megettük.

Otthon általában tradíciós, mondjuk erdélyi zsidó konyha volt. Nemcsak a zsidók csinálják, de a zsidóknál elég fontos szerepet tölt be a húsleves. Nálunk mindig ott volt a húsleves, amit általában vagy marhahúsból, vagy majorsághúsból főzték. Visszaemlékszem, mindig nagy előszeretettel ettem a grízgaluskát, amit általában ebben a levesben főztek. Nálunk előszeretettel ettük a céklalevest is, savanyított cékla lé amibe általában meleg krumpli darabokat tettek. Akkor ehhez hozzájárult, hogy lefőzték a marhahúst – mivel szálkás a marha hús, nagyon sokáig főzték, amíg puha lett – s utána megsütötték. A marha sültet, ami a zsidóknál egy előszeretett étel, a keresztény konyha nem nagyon használja. Többről lehetne beszélni, de én két ételről beszélek, ami specifikus zsidó: a cibel unt eier, ez a hagymás tojás, és általában előételnek szolgálják föl. Megreszelnek főtt tojást és hagymát, reszelnek hozzá még egy kis megfőtt marha vagy majorság májat és utána aztán egy kis liba zsírral jól összekeverik – a zsidók előszeretettel főztek libazsírral. Egy sárgás-barna paszta lesz és ezt eszik mint előétel. A másik jellegzetes étel a csólent, amit többféleképpen el lehet készíteni. Nálunk erdélyiesen készítették el, tehát magától értetődik, hogy paszuly volt benne majorsághússal – általában libával –, nagyon jól megfőve különböző fűszerekkel. Volt egy zsidó pék, ha nem tévedek Málek-nek hívták, akihez péntek délbe levittük egy lábosba a csólentet és akkor ő, miután kivette a kenyeret, betette ezt a kemencében és ott tartotta egy pár órán keresztül. Ez egy specifikus jobb ízet adott neki. Szombat beállta előtt, tehát már pénteken, utána mentünk, mert szombaton általában a pék nem dolgozott, be volt zárva. Amíg volt háztartási alkalmazott, addig ő ment utána, aztán sokszor én, sokszor a nővérem, sokszor az édesanyám hozta haza. S akkor főleg Purimkor voltak ilyen nagyon édes, mézzel és dióval elkészített specifikus sütemények, amit csak édesanyámnál ettem, de a nevét nem tudom. Minden jobb zsidó házban csináltak humentást, azt a Hámán fülének nevezett süteményt, ami egy háromszögű lekváros köles-tészta. Nem tudom, hogy specifikus zsidó édesség-e, de az anyai nagyanyámnak mindig volt úgynevezett tejfölös pogácsája, kis édes pogácsák, s azt nagyon szerettem.

Egy másik dolog, amire emlékszem, hogy őszön vagy tél elején elég sok libát vettek, a húst kisütötték, a zsírbőrt megolvasztották és zománcozott zsíros bödönbe tartották. Emlékszem, hogy a kamrában mindig két, három ilyen zsíros bödön volt libazsírral. A húsnak egy részét, főleg a mellet és a combot, kivették a csontból, jól befűszerezték borssal, sóval, paprikával, két pálcával kirögzítették és megfüstölték. Ez volt a füstölt libahús, a zsidó fölvágott, amit télen ettek. És csináltak úgynevezett pluszer-t, zsidószalonnát, tehát a zsíros részét a libának vagy rucának levágták, bepácolták fokhagymával és paprikával, és lefagyasztották. Ha tél volt, pár órára betették a hó alá a lakás udvarán és ott jól lefagyott, olyan kemény lett mint általában a disznó szalonna. Sok helyen nemcsak libát hanem rucát is vágtak.

Még egy másik specifikus zsidó étel jut eszembe, amit a zsidók előszeretettel ettek, az a kisütött máj. Ha valakinek sikerült egy jó libát, egy olyan libát venni, amelyiknek majdnem félkilós volt a mája, ez szájról szájra terjedt. Általában a falusiaktól vásárolták a majorságot. Jöttek be Brassóba – általában pénteken volt a heti vásár –, és akkor a heti vásáron vásárolták. Ha volt ismerős falusi, akkor az hazahozta. De általában pénteken a hetivásáron, a piacról vásároltak, de nemcsak majorságot, hanem zöldséget és más terméket is. Amikor nagyobb dolgokat kellett vásárolni, akkor általában az anyám a háztartási alkalmazottal ment ki. Én nem szerettem és most sem szeretek piacra járni. Ha kell, megcsinálom és megcsináltam, hogy segítsek, de én nem szeretek és nem is tudok alkudni. Én mindig a legelső árat, amit mond, odaadom, s akkor mindig az volt, hogy: Te a legdrágábban vásárolsz.

Brassó nagy krumpli termő vidék és elég sok krumplit fogyasztottunk. Amire emlékszem, hogy ősz elején, általában magyar vagy szász földművesek házhoz jöttek, több kis zsákban volt vagy 2-3 kiló krumplija, hogy válogass milyen krumplit akarsz. S akkor megmondták: ebből a pirosból hozzon 50 kilót, a fehérből hozzon 30 kilót – volt az úgynevezett kiflikrumpli, az nagyon jó kisütni olajba. Megállapodtak hogy milyen nap, s akkor megjelent az illető, egy szekérrel hozta a krumplit, mert nem egy fél kilót vett akkor az ember, hanem egy évre valót. Mindig olyan lakásunk volt, ahol volt pincénk és ott tároltuk a pincébe.

Jó pince mindig kellett, mert a második világháború vége felé vezették be csak Brassóba a gázt, s addig mindenki fával fűtött, s valahol kellett tárolni a fát. Ez egyrészt anyagi probléma volt, másrészt munkával is járt, mert tél beállta előtt az ember hozta egy faraktárból, voltak akkor nagyobb faraktárak. Az ember megvette a méterfát s favágógéppel fölvágta, ha volt az embernek pénze még embert fogadott és az fölhasította és annak megmondta, hogy nagyobbra hasítsa, ami csempekályhákba kell, apróra, ami a konyhakemencébe ment. Nálunk ez mindig év elején volt. Amíg én nagyobb lettem addig, mindig más vágta a fát, általában fölvágták géppel a méterfát. Körülbelül az 1940-es években, mikor már fölcseperedtem 14-15 évesre, aztán már én vágtam a fát, mert már tudtam, hogy a mamának kell ennyi apró és ennyi nem apró fa. Kint az udvaron vágták a fát, s onnan behordták a pincébe és aztán föl a lakásba. Ki volt adva az adag, hogy egy kosár fa a csempekályhának, két kosár a konyhába.

A tradicionális ünnepek betartottuk. Anyám péntek este kendőt tett fejére. A péntek esti gyertyagyújtás az tradíció volt. Előhozták a két gyertyatartót, az anyám meggyújtotta és bencsolt, tehát jókívánságait mondta a szombati gyertyákra. [Szerk megj.: az étkezés utáni áldást nevezik bencsolásnak, László itt rosszul emlékszil az elnevezésre.] Az apám megáldotta a bort és a kalácsot, amit nálunk nem barhesznek, hanem kajlicsnak mondtak. Az apám és én nem mentünk minden szombaton a zsinagógába. Amikor nem zsidó iskolába jártam, akkor szombaton is jártunk az iskolába, és apám is általában dolgozott szombaton. De azért péntek este a tradicionális dolgok betartása megvolt és szombaton jobban evett az ember, evett csólentet, vagy az úgynevezett zulcos [salz-os], sósban főtt halat. Ez kocsonyás hal, zulcnak mondják jiddisesen. Még zsidó specialitás a gefilte fish, ami lefordítva töltött hal, de igazán leőrölt hal, aminek édeskés íze van, mert egy édeskés szószt csinálnak neki. Anyám inkább zulcos halat csinált, egy nagy-nagy delikátesz lett részemre. A csólentből általában szombat délben ettünk. Mivel mi nem voltunk épp olyan vallásosak, úgy tudom, az anyám megmelegítette, de nem ebben vagyok biztos. A szombati kimenetet, a havdala imát, általában egy fehér és kék gyertyákból összefont széles gyertyával mondták, amikor általában egy kis erős pálinkát öntenek egy tálcában és azt meggyújtják, de pontoson nem tudom megmondani miért, ez egy tradíció. Ez volt az, ami bevezette az embert a hétköznapba. Legelőször életemben az 1930-as években a nagybátyámnál láttam ilyet Noszolyon, az apám ezt nem csinálta. Engem nem nagyon érdekeltek ezek a dolgok, csak pillanatnyilag annyiban, hogy élveztem a lilás lángot, mert fölhívta a figyelmemet. De, hogy miért csinálják, mi történik, azt nem magyarázták.

Peszahkor két Széder estét tartottunk – semmiben sem különböztek egymástól, azon kívül, hogy a második Széder neve Széder seni [második] volt – amikor nem ettünk sült húst. Azért tartották kétszer, mert azt mondták, hogy nem lehetett pontosan tudni az időpontot, amióta  zsidók, szétszóródtak Izraelből, hogy mikor kellett megtartani a húsvétot, és hogy véletlenül nehogy ne tartsák meg, hát inkább tartottak kétszer. Voltak peszahi edényeket, amiket olyankor lehozták a padlásról. Hét napon keresztül semmiféle kenyeret nem ettünk, csak pászkát. Nem hiszem, hogy a morzsák összeszedése a házból annyira fontos lett volna az apám vagy az anyám részére, hanem csak hozzátartozott a tradícióhoz. Az utolsó pillanatban még két morzsát összegyűjtöttél és elégetted a kályhában. (1943-ig fával tüzeltünk, akkor vezették be Brassóba a gázt. Nekem is az egyik mesterségem az gázszerelés.) Az anyám tudta az ő anyjától és az ő anyja tudta az ő anyjától, tehát anyáról lányra szállt, hogy hogyan kell előkészíteni a hárot-et [haroszet-et], az alma és dió keveréket, ami azt jelképezi, amiből a zsidók a téglákat csinálták Egyiptomban [habarcs, amivel az építkezéseknél dolgoztak]. Tudta, hogy hogyan kell egy majorságszárny véget egy kicsit jobban megsütni, ami az jelképezte, hogy régen fölkínáltak áldozatot. [Szerk. megj.: tulajdonképpen nem a jobban megsütés, hanem a csontos hús emlékeztet a Templom működése idején zajló ünnepi áldozatra. A húsdarab – általában lábszár vagy csirkenyak – egyenes szokott lenni, s ez azt jelenti, hogy ‘kinyújtott karral’ szabadította meg az Örökkévaló Izraelt.]

Az apám családjában egész biztos a nagyapám vezette a Széder estet, nálunk otthon mindig az apám csinálta. Mindig a legkisebbik a családból fölteszi a négy kérdést, hogy miben különbözik ez az este a többi estétől? Mivel én voltam a legkisebb, én mondtam mindig a kérdéseket. A mánistnát az apámtól tanultam. Azt hiszem, hogy ő többször felolvasta nekem és akkor az beidegződött. Nekem három szerepem volt: egyrészt hogy részt vegyek, másrészt hogy a négy kérdést, a mánistánát, elmondjam és hogy ellopjam és visszaadjam az áfikoment. Az afikoment persze letette valaki az asztalra, hogy aztán én el tudjam dugni. [Szerk. megj.: általában a felnőttek dugják el az afikoment, László családjában ez épp fordítva volt, a gyerek dugta el.] Mert anélkül nem lehet befejezni a Szédert, ezért az aki eldugta, az jött és voltak ekörül licitálások, hogy visszaadom az afikoment ha ezt és ezt adják helyette. Általában a székhátához tettem, vagy kimentem és könyvek közé betettem az afikoment. Általában vagy játékot – egy autót –, vagy egy könyvet kértem, később ha már nagyobb voltam egy karórát vagy valami ilyesmit. Bensőséges hangulatú volt, mivelhogy az egész család együtt volt. Ilyenkor az apám fölöltötte azt a kitlit [ünnepi fehér ruhát], amiben megnősült. Szintén egy húsvéti szokás volt az, hogy aki vezette a húsvét estét, az vagy egy fotelbe vagy egy nagyobb kényelmes székre ül, és a székre tettek egy párnát, ami azt jelképezte, hogy ő az úr, azt szabad csináljon, amit akar – a szabadság egy jele volt és a kényelmességé. Húsvét este, hogy ne kelljen kimenjen ahányszor kezet kell mosson, behoztak egy lavórt, amit egy székre tettek, és egy kancsót, és onnan töltötte a vizet, hogy megmossa a kezét. Minden előírás szerint ment.

1940-es évek előtt, Széder estén néha föltűnt nekünk gyerekeknek, hogy a templomba menet voltak uniformisban zsidó katonák. Akkor még bevették a zsidókat katonának a román hadseregbe, de csak két-három nap szabadságot adtak nekik, nem tudtak hazautazni. És akkor katonaruhába jöttek a zsinagógába és ott álltak. Általában mikor kimentek a templomból, akkor mindenki magához hívott egy ilyen katonát, hogy jöjjön Széder este, tehát egy katona se maradt anélkül, hogy ne hívták volna meg egy-egy zsidó családhoz. Utána, miután befejeződött az est, ott is aludtak reggelig. Én konkrétan ilyen katonára nem emlékszem, de arra emlékszem, hogy elég sokan jöttek hozzánk később, a második világháború alatt, amint épp átutazóban voltak, mentek munkaszolgálatra. Azoknak ennivalót és ruhát adtak a szülők.

Ros Hásánákor vagy Yom Kippurkor elmentünk a templomba. Az anyám és az apám Yom Kippurkor, magyarul Hosszúnapkor böjtöltek, én akkor még gyerek voltam. Szukkotkor nálunk otthon nem volt sátor, nem emlékszem, hogy az apám csinált volna sátrat. Olyankor elmentünk a templomba, imádkoztunk az etroggal és a lulesszal, azokkal az ágakkal, amik össze vannak fonva, s az ember ima alatt tartja, de szukánk nem volt. Ismertem szukákat, mert amikor gáz és villanyszereléssel foglalkoztam, mint villanyszerelő én vezettem be sok helyre a villanyt. A cégnél – egy villany- és rádiószerelő üzlet volt – ahol tanultam villanyszerelést, a tulajdonos egy Stern nevű vallásos zsidó volt és például neki a balkonján mindig volt szuka csinálva.

Hanukakor minden este egy gyertyával többet gyújtottunk meg. Volt külön hánukiánk és azt gyújtottuk meg. Általában jöttek hozzánk gyerekbarátok és ötön, hatan leültünk és denderliztünk [dreideleztek], még most is megvan a pörgettyű, amivel játszottunk. Négy betű van a pörgettyűn, amit meg kellett pörgetni. Pontosan nem tudom megmondani, hogy melyik betűnél volt, hogy kapsz, adsz, nem kapsz semmit. Voltak apró cukorkák, amivel játszottunk, s az volt a tét. A fölnőttek nem nagyon játszottak ilyesmit.

Purimkor általában volt koncert a Redut-ban, ami eredetileg egy nagy koncert- vagy bálterem volt. Általában ott szerveztek jelmezbált a gyerekeknek, például egyszer én csizmadiának voltam öltözve. Este a fölnőttek részére volt purimi bál, de én a fölnőttek bálján nem voltam, úgyhogy nem tudom, hogy a fölnőttek is farsangruhát öltöttek, de a gyermekek részére emlékszem volt ilyesmi. Ilyenkor nem számított, hogy ki ortodox vagy neológ. A különbség inkább csak a templomnál nyilvánult meg, mivel az ortodoxok tradicionalistábbak voltak. A szegényebb réteg az ortodoxiához tartozott, a gazdagabb réteg a neológ templomhoz tartozott. A neológ templom azon kevés zsidó templomok közé tartozott, aminek orgonája is volt, s a két világháború között egy jó ideig a zsidó kórust egy nem zsidó zenész vezette. A neológ templom mellett épült a zsidó elemi iskola és a papi [rabbi] lakás. 1940 vagy 1941-ben, amikor a légionisták 6 elfoglalták a templomot, akkor feldúlták és még az orgonasípokat is lopták. A zsidó iskolából diákotthont csináltak a légionista diákoknak és kilakoltatták Deutsch Ármin neológ rabbit. (A két fia még a második világháború előtt emigrált Palesztinába. Az egyik elég neves biológus volt Izraelben, a másik fiáról annyit tudok, hogy 1943-44-ben az angol hadseregben a zsidó brigádban szolgált. 1944 után hazajött látogatóban az apjához.)

Az apámnak volt tálesze is és imaszíja is. Otthon nem nagyon láttam imádkozni, de a templomban imaszíjjal és tálesszel imádkozott szombatonként Kitűnően ismerte a tradíciókat, vagy 6-7 évet haiderbe járt, kívülről tudta az imákat és nagyon jól énekelt. Általában az imákat énekelve mondta és még most is eszembe van, hogy például a két húsvét este milyen dallamot énekelt. Azt nem is kellett megtanulni, mert az embernek a vérében belemegy. Minden évben hallja az ember és egy életre megtanulja. Most is emlékszem, pedig akkor csak 12 éves lehettem, hogy amikor Noszolyon voltam a Marci nagybátyámnál szombat este a szombat kimeneteléről milyen éneket énekelt. Én hallgattam és így belemegy az emberbe. A nyári vakációkban körülbelül egy hónapot ott töltöttem Nyoszolyon. Cege és Noszoly között van egy tó is, a cegei tó, ahonnan most hozzák a krápot [pontyot], mert haltenyészet van. Nagyon jó volt, mert gyalog vagy lovas kocsival mentünk fürödni a tóra – vagy négy kilométerre laktak ahol a tó volt. Noszolyon együtt voltam a nővéremmel és általában még vittem egy-két barátot is Brassóból, hogy örüljön nekünk a nagybátyám. Neki nem volt gyereke és nagyon szerette a gyerekeket és nem ironikusan mondom, de valósággal örült, hogy a házban gyerekzsivaj volt.

Brassóból általában úgy jöttünk Kolozsvárra, s onnan Noszolyra, hogy például rábíztak engemet és a nővéremet valakire, és egész Kolozsvárig eljöttünk. 1938-ig, amíg még itt lakott a Valter nagybátyám, náluk ültünk vagy két hetet, vagy azelőtt, mielőtt kiment volna Piroska nagynéném Izraelbe, akkor egy-két hetet náluk töltöttünk. Utána aztán a nagybátyám vagy a nagynéném levitt vonattal Szamosújvárra. Mikor már nagyobbak voltunk, kivitt nagybátyám az állomásig, de már nem jött velünk. Nem volt probléma, fölültünk a vonatra és leszálltunk Szamosújváron. Margit nagynéném első férjének az apjának volt egy helytelenül nevezett szódavízgyára. Nem gyár volt az, hanem két palacktöltő és egy munkás töltötte a vizet, ott vártunk, amíg utánunk jöttek vagy már vártak a lovas kocsival. Később autóbusszal mentünk Noszolyra, ami vagy 24 kilométerre van Szamosújvártól. Legutolsó kolozsvári közös utunk 1940 nyarán volt, közvetlenül Erdély átadása 7 előtt. Bemondták a rádióban, és már nyílt titok volt, hogy a magyarok be fognak vonulni. Akkor voltuk utoljára Noszolyon, az volt az utolsó találkozásunk Sporn Marci nagybátyámmal és Ellivel. Most is emlékszem, hogy borzalmas körülmények között mentünk Kolozsvárról haza. Borzalmasan zsúfolva voltak a vonatok, mert ezek voltak az utolsók, akik még Észak-Erdélyből Dél-Erdélybe mentek, még mielőtt bevonultak a magyarok Kolozsvárra. Beültünk a fülkében, s aztán se ki se be, egész Brassóig nem lehetett a folyósón járni. (Olyan zsúfolt vonatra nem emlékeztem csak később, 1944 és 45 között, amikor mentem haza Bukarestből a líceumból Brassóba.)

Magyarországon mondjuk egy törvényesebb antiszemitizmus volt, ami jóval régebbi folyamat volt, mint Romániában, de a szüleim nem tekintették jobbnak a magyarországi helyzetet. Persze, az idősebb zsidókban, mondjuk az apám generációjánál idősebbekben még élt az úgynevezett jó Ferenc Jóska idő, hogy ‘bezzeg Ferenc Jóska alatt’, mert zsidó szempontból Ferenc Jóska egy jó császár volt a zsidók részére. A rokonok egyrészt Amerikában, másrészt Izraelben voltak, az egyetlen közelebbi rokonság, akik itt maradtak Noszolyon, az a nagybátyám és a nagynéném volt. Voltak olyan gondolatok a családomban, hogy nem volna jobb esetleg Kolozsváron, mivel itt van zsidó líceum, hogy én meg a nővérem jöjjünk ide lakni, hogy tudjunk járni a líceumba, de konkréten erről nem volt szó, hogy meg is tesszük. Aztán a háború vége felé kezdtek Észak-Erdélyből jönni zsidó menekültek Dél-Erdélybe, akik már konkréten beszéltek a deportálásokról, úgyhogy már nem volt az a hangulat, hogy menjünk esetleg Magyarországra.

Gruber Juditnak hívják a nővéremet, egy év van köztünk. Visszagondolva, ő mindig jóval érettebben tudott gondolkozni mint én, habár kis különbség volt közöttünk. Az elemi iskolában és a középiskolában is sokat segített a tanulásban. Mikor ő elsőbe járt, én óvodába jártam, utána lettem én elsős, ő a másodikos. De mikor az elsőbe mentem, én már jól tudtam írni és olvasni, hisz tőle megtanultam, másrészt az anyám is segített. Ennek volt előnye is és hátránya is. A hátránya az volt, hogy borzalmasan fegyelmezetlen voltam, mert unatkoztam. Miközben a tanítónő a többiekkel kezdte az abc-t és hogy húzzatok egy vonalat, akkor én unatkoztam persze. Próbáltam beszélgetni a szomszédokkal és akkor tudom, hogy egy időben az egyik tanítónő külön padba tett, hogy ne legyen kivel beszélgessek.

Én hederbe nem jártam. Volt Brassóban egy négyosztályos zsidó elemi iskola, ahol románul folyt a tanítás, viszont volt héber nyelvóra, amit egy időben az iskola igazgatója, Káin tartott. A vallásórákat főleg Deutsch rabbi tartotta, ami keretén belül általában judaisztikai előadásokat is tartott nekünk zsidó történelemről, zsidó önérzetről, művészetről, zsidó írókról. Sőt szombaton rendezett az iskola tanulóinak ifjúsági istentiszteletet. A zsidó elemi iskola – aminek azt hiszem a hivatalos neve Şcoala Primară Izraelită Braşov [Brassói Izraelita Elemi Iskola] volt és I-IV osztály volt csak –, ugyanabban az utcában volt mint a szász elemi iskola, csak egy sikátor választott el bennünket, nekünk kék sapkánk volt, a szászoknak piros. 1933-tól 1937-ig jártam ebben az elemi iskolában. Rengetegszer előfordult, hogy mikor mi jöttünk ki vagy ők jöttek ki az iskolából s összetalálkoztunk, belénkötöttek, s akkor verekedések voltak. Mi vehemensebbek lehettünk, mert előfordult, hogy megvertük őket és akkor jött a szász iskolának az igazgatója a mi igazgatónkhoz. Ezt onnan tudtuk meg, mert akkor odahívott az igazgató, hogy többet ne verekedjünk. Tehát volt egy ilyen ellentét közöttünk.

Engem körülmetéltek és bár micvám is volt. Egy Jesivába járó boherhez jártam előkészítőre, akkor a rabbi nem foglalkozott ilyen kis dolgokkal. Nem volt Jesiva Brassóban, de jöttek jesiva boherek, akik tanítottak, még mielőtt befejezték a Jesivát. Megtanított két alapdologra. Az egyik az ima, amit kellett mondjál, mielőtt fölteszed az imaszíjat és az imasálat. A bár mitzvakor teszed föl legelőször és utána pedig aztán minden reggel föl kellene tegyed az imaszíjakat és a tállitot is. Ugyanakkor megtanítja a perikopát, ami épp arra a szombatra esik, amikor van a bár mitzva. Te azt megtanulod, kvázi kívülről, hogy jól el tudd mondani a templomban. Utána otthon vagy a templom előtermében rendeznek egy tikunt, egy ünnepséget. Nekem novemberben volt a bár mitzvám, akkor a nagytemplom terem mögötti kis kistemplom termet fűtötték télen, és emlékszem, hogy az ottani asztalnál mondtam el amit kellett. Aztán meghívtuk haza a legjobb zsidó barátokat és mint születésnapkor, hoztak ajándékot, töltőtollat, töltőceruzát, és főleg könyveket. És persze voltak sütemények is. A nővéremnek nem volt bát mitzvaja, a gálutban, nálunk Brassóban akkor ez nem volt szokás.

Léteztek cionista szervezetek, ahol a fiatalság összegyűlt, általában szombat délután folytak az aktivitások. Körülbelül 14 évtől felfelé vették be az embereket a szervezetbe és előadásokat tartottak, táncokat, énekeket tanítottak, mint minden ifjúsági szervezetben. A cionista szervezetek általában többfélék voltak: polgári, szocialista, ki hova akart oda iratkozhatott. Az apám a szocialista cionizmushoz tartozott, a Barisiához, amelyik főleg a diákság és a zsidó intellektueleket foglalta magába. Volt egy Káháná nevű vendéglő – nem tudom, hogy ingyen vagy bérelték a termet –, de általában szombat délután a vendéglő termében gyűltek össze. A neológ templom háta mögött volt egy kisebb régi ház, ahol több szoba is volt, és egy időben szintén a cionista szervezetek volt vagy 3-4 szobája ott. Én a Hásomér Hácáir szocialista-cionista szervezetben a voltam.

Apámnak az akkori viszonyok között elég nagy könyvtára volt. Főleg magyar irodalom kezdve Petőfi 8, Ady 9, egész Kosztolányi 10, Babits 11 és az akkoriban divatos német, angol, nyugati írók könyvei megvoltak. Vallásos könyvek kevésbé voltak. Sok történelemkönyv volt zsidó, például Dubnov, A zsidók története. Nekünk megvolt négy kötetben a Grace, amelyik akkor a legnagyobb zsidó történelem könyv volt. És nemcsak zsidó történelem könyvek voltak. Nem voltak olyan könyvek, amik el lettek volna tiltva előlünk. Legfeljebb olyan könyvek voltak, amit olvastunk, de nem nagyon értettük. Persze, megvoltak a mi könyveink is, a világirodalom meséin, a Grimm-en nőttünk föl. Ismertük és zokogtunk, mikor olvastuk a Pál utcai fiúkat, egészen odavoltunk. A legutolsó lakásunkban az ablak alatt volt végig a könyvtár. Nálunk nem volt könyvajánlás a szülők részéről, mentem és kivettem egy könyvet. Egyetlen egy helyzetben, télen, mikor hideg volt, olyankor mondta apám: ‘Minthogy azt mondjad, hogy unatkozol, vagy mész ki játszani, ülj le a fenekedre és inkább olvass’. A szülők is olvastak, viszont az apám előszeretettel olvasott napilapokat. Előfizettek úgy román, mint magyar lapokra. A zsidó lapok közül persze, jött az Új Kelet, habár Kolozsváron jelent meg, de előfizetők voltunk. Havonta egyszer jött Patainak a Múlt és Jövő-je. A sorsjegy irodája mellett volt egy jó trafik, ahol minden nap az ún. demokrata lapokat megvette. Emlékszem, gyerekkoromban a Brassói Lapok egy nagyon nívós magyar napilap volt, a bukaresti lapok közül tudom, mindig az Adevărul [Igazság] és a Dimineaţa [Reggel] politikai napilapokat vette meg és olvasta. És járt a Korunk is, amikor az egy haladó baloldali lapnak számított, és itt volt kiadva Kolozsváron. Néha még a Pásztrotűz-re is emlékszem, de főleg a Korunkra. A Pásztortűz szintén Kolozsváron volt, de inkább polgári, magyar irodalmi lap volt. Ezeken nevelkedtem.

A legnevesebb vendéglő és szálló a Korona volt a Kapu utcában. Emlékszem hogy háború előtt, általában szombat este, elegánsabban fölöltözött az apám és az anyám és elmentek a Koronába vacsorázni és táncolni. Egész biztos, hogy ott voltak barátaik. Ha otthon kóser étel volt is, de azért egy-egy este elmentek egy fatángyérosra és egy sőrre, mondjuk a Gambrinus vendéglőbe. Tudván ezeket a dolgokat, Sperber, az ortodox rabbink, volt egy idő, mikor behunyta a szemét, de egy elég vehemens rabbi volt úgyhogy, időnként kibeszélte őket szombaton a templomban, de nem ment odáig, hogy neveket mondjon. De azt hiszem, hogy ez hidegen hagyta a szülőket.

Nagyon nagy társadalmi életet nem éltek a szülők. Általában a két nőegylet, az ortodox és a neológ, szervezett teadélutánokat. Anyám mind a kettőhöz járt, mert itt is voltak, ott is voltak barátnői. Akkor összeültek a hölgyek a römi asztalok körül, játszottak römit, megittak egy-egy kávét, teát, ettek süteményt és elmesélték egymásnak a város pletykáit. Anyámnak főleg zsidó barátnői voltak. A háború után már nem nagyon volt kedvük römizni. Volt még egy szociális dolog, hogy általában téli időre a szegény gyerekeknek megszerveztek egy ingyen konyhát. Ahány szegényebb gyerekek jött, mindegyiknek ingyen adtak ételt. Az úgy volt, hogy minden nap bizonyos hölgyek adták aznapra az ennivalót és részt vettek az elkészítésénél is. Ilyenkor önként odavittek lisztet, húst, zöldséget és ott megfőzték. Bérelt a hitközség egy nagyobb termet, nem messze az ortodox templomtól, és ottan volt ez. A konyhának volt egy szakácsnője és egy felszolgáló személyzete. Az édesanyám is részt vett a szegénykonyha segítésében.

Általában minden zsidó közösségben, ahol több tag volt, ott létezett mikve. Ha máskor nem is, de a hölgyek havonta kellett járjanak a mikvébe, hogy megtisztuljanak. De ha nem is jártak épp havonta, vagy hetente, de a rabbi nem vitte őket a hipe alá, ha nem volt a mikvében. A zsidóknál a tradíció szerint nem bent a templomban, hanem a templom mellett négy faoszlop van és fölötte egy vászon, egy ilyen baldachin és az alatt van az esküvő. A neológoknál úgy tudom, hogy baldachin alatt csinálják a házasságot, de bent a templomban, az ortodoxok csak kint. Én nem emlékszem, hogy a szüleim jártak volna mikvébe. Mindig fürdőszobás lakásunk volt, tehát tisztasági szempontból nem volt szükséges és nem voltak annyira vallásosak, hogy csak azért, hogy a tradíciót betartsák elmenjenek. De egész biztos, hogy a nővérem, mielőtt férjhez ment volna, elment a mikvébe.

Azt mondhatnám, hogy a rádióval és a telefonnal születtem. A telefon talán hamarabb megjelent. Azt hiszem, hogy egy-két évre, miután én születtem, még nem is volt meg Brassóban a Botfalusi hosszúhullámú adó, mikor már rádiónk volt és fogta Pestet például. Brassóban a legelsők között voltunk az 1920-as évek végén, akiknek rádiójuk volt. Kezdetben a telefont kellett kurblizni, megjelent egy hölgy a vonal másik végén és megmondtad, hogy milyen számot akarsz és ő kapcsolta. A telefonos hölgyeknek is újdonság volt, időnként kérték az apámat, hogy tegye a telefonkagylót a rádióhoz, hogy ők is hallgassák. Ha jó emlékszem a legelső rádió egy Nóra nevezetű márka volt, magas, fönt kerek alakú. Sajnos 1942-ben, amikor a zsidóknak megtiltották, hogy rádiójuk legyen, akkor ezt a rádiót – habár ez mint régiség ült otthon, mert akkorra már volt egy másik nagy rádiónk, egy Standard –, ezt is be kellett adni. Miután megkezdődött a háború, azért, hogy ne csináljanak propagandát megtiltották, hogy a zsidóknál rádió legyen. Az egyik rádiót, a Nórát beadtuk a rendőrségen, de mi tudtuk, hogy bizonyos helyre be kellett valamit tenni, hogy menjen a rádió. Akkor jöttek, hogy milyen rádiót adtunk be, mert az a rádió nem megy. Akkor én elmentem és megcsináltam, hogy ment a rádió. A Standard rádiót, hogy ne adjuk be, apám megbeszélte és egy szász banktisztviselő hajlandó volt elvinni magához, hogy eldugja. A sors változott, mivel a szászok jó része erősen Hitler párti volt a második világháború alatt, 1944 után a román hatóságok elvették a szászoktól a rádiókat. Akkor én mentem el és hoztam egy fiákerrel a szásznak a két rádióját, amit mi tettük el.

A második világháború előtt kevés autó volt Brassóban, orvosokon, pár gyárigazgatón vagy bankigazgatón kívül nem nagyon volt autó, és ugye minden autónak volt úri sofőrje. Nem volt a tulajdonos autó vezető, hanem volt sofőrje. Az egyik jó barátomnak Weiss Andrisnak az apja, fás volt, és nekik volt autójuk. És volt a Stein, az aradi textilgyárnak az erdélyi képviselete, nekik is volt egy autójuk. Akkor volt ez a Buick amerikai autómárka, Steinéknek egy fekete Buickjuk volt. Volt egy olasz származású sofőrje, Angelo – régebben jöttek építőmunkások és aztán ott maradtak, mint valószínű ő is. Stein szerette a gyerekeket, nagyon sokszor a fiának és a barátainak a rendelkezésére bocsátotta az autót, úgyhogy mentünk Brassó környékére – Predeal, Sinaia, a Prahova völgyébe – kirándulni vasárnap reggeltől estig. A háború alatt persze a zsidóktól elvették nemcsak a rádiót de elvették az autókat, sőt a bicikliket is. Tudom tőlünk két biciklit vettek el.

1937-ben, a zsidó elemi befejezése után a Dr. Ion Meşotă Liceumba felvételiztem. Miután ott befejeztem a harmadik osztályt és meg kellett volna kezdődjön az 1940-41-es iskolai év, vagyis mikor negyedik osztályban kellett volna menjek, akkor az Antonescu 12 rezsim kihozta a zsidók részére a numerus nullust 13 és emiatt aztán nem járhattam tovább román iskolába. A nővérem a Principesa Elena-ba járt iskolába, ő akkor kellett volna menjen a negyedik osztályba, mindkettő román líceum volt. Pár hónapra rá, miután kitiltottak, megalakul egy Şcoala de Meserii Evrească a Comunităţii Evreieşti de Rit Occidental din Braşov [Brassói Keleti Rítusú Hitközség Zsidó Ipari Iskolája]. A ‘rit Occidental’ [nyugati rítus] azt jelentette, hogy neológ. Tehát ez a neológ hitközségnek volt az ipari iskolája, lakatos és pászító-lakatos szakmával a fiúknak és szabászat-varrás a lányoknak, és ez tartott 1944 augusztusáig. De ez csak négy osztályos volt, tehát nyolcig nem mehettünk, ezért otthon is tanultunk. Ott befejeztem egy évet, pászító-lakatosként tanultam. Az iskola négy éves volt, és én ott maradtam még ebben az iskolában és vagy másfél évet tovább dolgoztam mint segéd a mester mellett. Utána elmentem egy gázszerelő vállalathoz és egy ideig gázt szereltem. Ott vannak most is Brassóban a házak, vagyis azok a kályhák, amikbe beszereltem a gázégőt. Akkor kezdték Brassóba bevezetni a gázt, ez egy elég jó és keresett mesterség volt, elég jól fizettek. Minket jóval kevésbé fizettek, mert mi nem dolgozhattunk hivatalosan, de elég jól lehetett keresni még így is, és mivel mindenki szerette volna, hogy hamarább legyen gáza, akkor általában udvaroltak nekünk a lakók, ahova bevezettük, úgyhogy, kitűnő uzsonnákat kaptunk és miután befejeztük a munkát volt úgy, hogy kaptunk egy nyakkendőt vagy valamit ajándékba. A barátaim közül hárman gázt szereltünk, később kettő közülük orvos lett, a másik (én) újságíró.

Általában fogadtak otthon angol és francia nyelvtanárt a gyerekeknek. A háború alatti nálunk például egy madame Madlenne tanított franciául. Volt egy orosz nemzetiségű tanárunk is, aki otthon tanított angolul, Karabanszkynak hívták, ő azt hiszem a cári hadseregben lehetett tiszt és egy ideig katonai attasé volt Angliában. Gibszomániás volt, amikor rájött a kedve, hogy igyon, akkor egy-két hétig nem lehet vele bírni mert csak tökrészeg volt. Volt egy másik tanárnőm, egy hosszú-hosszú sovány hölgy, Tolsztojnak hívták és Tolsztojnak az írónak a családjához tartozott. Ő tanított franciául és németül. Tanítottak olyanok zsidó gyerekek is, akik már érettségiztek és jól tudtak számtant vagy grammatikát, de nem mehettek egyetemre, azok aztán órákat adtak. Viszont minden évben kellett vizsgázni. Akkor megjelent egy olyan törvény, hogy nyílt vizsgaszesszió volt, tehát aki bírta, egy év alatt letehetett akár négy osztályt is. Egymás után, minden hónapban volt vizsga. A negyedik gimnáziumot Brassóban tettem le magánúton.

A második világháború alatt félig szervezve, félig szervezetlenül önkéntes védelmi csoportok szerveződtek, főleg azután, hogy 2-3 fiatal fiút a Vár utcán a fiatal Hitler jugendek tőrrel leszúrtak hátulról és akkor ez ellen kialakult egy védekezés forma. Az ünnepek alatt a templom körül őrséget álltak, hogy nehogy megtámadják az idősebb embereket vagy gyerekeket.

Létezett egy főleg Máramarosból származó szegényebb zsidó réteg, az úgynevezett snorerek, akiknek egy elegáns koldulási formájuk volt. A zsidó társadalomban nagy fontosságuk volt, mert akkor még nem nagyon volt telefon és rádió az embereknek, ezek a snorerek meg járták a falvakat házról házra, s hozták a híreket minden felől. Amikor elment egy városba, elment a hitközséghez is, ott megmondták, hogy ki az, akihez lehet menni és ad is valamit. A családoknál adtak nekik alvóhelyet, adtak egy-két napot enni, a gazdagabbak adtak nekik pénzt is. Hozzánk is jöttek, meg minden kispolgári zsidóhoz, amilyen osztályhoz én is tartoztam. Előfordult, hogy egy évben jött egy-kettő és egy-két napot ültek, de nem jöttek gyakran. A második világháború alatt aztán jöttek a rokonok (a nevükre nem is emlékszem), és akkor ismertem meg őket. Behívták őket Moldvába vagy ahova kellett menni munkaszolgálatra és Brassón keresztül mentek. Útközben betoppant hozzánk egy vagy kettő, aludt egy két napot nálunk. Emlékszem az apám mindig adott valami bakancsot, ruhaneműt, hogy segítsen ezeken.

1944-ig nem nagyon tudtunk semmit, csak mikor elkezdődött Magyarországon a deportálás. Hangok voltak, hogy mi történt a lengyel zsidósággal, hogy lágerekbe kényszeríttették, de hogy Auschwitzban égetik az emberek, arról szó nem volt. A magyarországi eseményekről [deportálásokról] tudtak, mert majdnem nem volt erdélyi zsidó, akinek ne lett volna Észak-Erdélyben vagy odaát rokona. Brassóban voltak egyes családok, akik már úgy határoztak, hogy ha gettósításra kerül sor, akkor nem hagyják magukat gettóba vinni, még ha négy tagú is a család, akkor inkább négyfelé elmenekülnek, hogy mégis valaki életben maradjon. A szüleim is ezen a véleményen voltak. Most úgy tüntetjük föl, hogy egy nagylelkűség volt Románia részéről [hogy nem adták a németek kezére a Romániában élő zsidókat], de nem nagyon nagylelkűségről, hanem jó anyagi haszonról volt szó. A háború alatt 1944-ig voltak hajók, amik mentek Izraelbe. 1942-ben süllyedt el a Struma, és ezen volt egy Áppel Zoltán nevezetű volt osztálytársam és nagyon jó barátom, akivel együtt jártam Brassóban a Mesotába. Ő két testvérével, az apjával és azt hiszem a nagybátyjával a Strumával el akartak menni és szegények a tenger fenekén fejezték be az életüket.

A háború alatt nem is annyira a szász lakosság, mint inkább a szász fiatalság elég rosszul, elég provokatívan viszonyultak a zsidókhoz. Volt olyan is, hogy az utcán, anélkül hogy csináltál volna valamit, egyszerűen rád kiabáltak, hogy ‘jude, jude’ és szembeköptek. Kezdetben, még mielőtt a légionisták elvették volna a zsidó üzleteket, kiírták, hogy keresztény ne vásároljon ott, mert ez zsidó üzlet. 1943-ban a szász lokálokban, a vendéglőkben és a cukrászdákban megjelentek olyan sárga papírra nyomott felirat, hogy 'Eintritt fur Juden ist unerwunscht', tehát zsidók belépése a lokálban nem kívánatos. Még 1944-ben is megvoltak ezek a plakátok a lokálokon. Az emberek nem nagyon merték levenni ezeket a plakátokat, nagy volt a nyomás. Egész biztos, hogy a Volks Gruppe csinálta ezt, így hívták Dél-Erdélyben a németek saját szervezetét. Hitler nagyon kedvezett az itteni németségnek. Egy idő múlva a németek nem is mentek katonának a román hadseregbe, hanem volt egy megegyezés Románia és a Reich között, hogy a szászok a német hadseregben szolgáltak. Azért aztán nagyon sok szász került rossz helyzetbe a háború után, mert az SS egységekben szolgáltak. A szászoknak volt egy szervezete is Brassóban, ami a Nemzeti Szocialista Munkáspártnak volt egy alszervezete. (1944 után a volt fasiszta párt székházában lett a kommunista párt székháza.) Persze, létezett a szászok között is olyan intellektuel, aki átlátta dolgokat, például egy neves sebész, doktor Depner, akinek saját szanatóriuma volt Brassóban. A légionista forradalom alatt, mikor a zsidókat próbálták lefogni, akkor a kórházában bújtatta mind a két rabbit. Sajnos ezek az emberek fehér kivételek voltak. Kicsit jól is jött a szászoknak, mert miután a németek bevonultak Romániába, ők lettek az első osztályú állampolgárok. Lenézték a románokat is, nemcsak a zsidókat, pedig előtte a zsidó és a szász kereskedők, bankemberek között elég jó volt a viszony.

Vásárlásnál a zsidótörvény alapján a zsidók csak dél felé mehettek ki a piacra, tehát abban az időben, mikor már a kofák eladták az árukat. Akkor például, amikor a kenyér fejadagra volt, a zsidóknak nem járt kenyérbon. Tehát ha kenyérre volt szükséged vagy megvetted a kenyeret egy péktől, vagy általában, hogy olcsóbb legyen, például mi is, egyszer egy héten az anyám dagasztott és egy mélyebb tálban levittük, volt a Vár utcában egy magyar pék, Dénes volt a családneve, ő sütötte meg nekünk. Érdekesség volt, hogy miután kész volt a kenyér, akkor késsel a vastag héját megverte (leverte), és akkor az ember hazavitte a kenyerét. Ugyanakkor például a zsidóknak nem járt cukor, liszt, amit szintén fejadagra adtak, azt meg kellett venni a háború alatt. A fejadagot olcsóbban meg lehetett venni és az biztosította, hogy meglegyen a mindennapi kenyérminimum és meglegyen a mindennapi cukor, olaj és liszt minimum. És zsidóknak nem adtak. Általában munkahelyen vagy a városházán osztották az embereknek, az úgynevezett kartellákat [ételjegyeket, amelyekre ételadagokat adtak] és persze tudták, hogy a zsidóknak nem jár. A háború éveiben egy elég erős fekete piac volt, minden feketeáron, tehát jóval drágábban.

Az apámat lelkileg nagyon megviselte ez a dolog, mert ő egy nagyon öntudatos ember volt és mindig azon volt, hogy a zsidó az semmiben sem alacsonyabb mint egy más nép. Anyagilag viszont sikerült így-úgy biztosítani a családnak a létet. Ebben az időben tőzsdeügynök volt és sorsjegy üzlet is volt. Az 1940-es években általában a zsidók strohmanokkal dolgoztak, ami szalmaembert jelent. A strohman [egy nem zsidó] az volt, akinek a nevén volt az üzlet, de az csak a tiéd [zsidóé maradt] maradt. Ő a nevét adta, te meg fizettél neki egy bizonyos összeget ezért. Így sikerült a családnak biztosítani a megélhetését akkor.

1940 után, mikor a légionisták uralomra jöttek Romániában, egy nap beállított egy légionista nő az anyám műhelyébe és mint tulajdonos lépett föl. Kisajátította anyám műhelyét, mindent igényelt. Rátette a kezét a műhelyben lévő két Singer villanyvarrógépre, az anyagra, ami ott volt – mert a fűzőhöz vászon meg gumi is kellett. – és beült az üzletbe. Miután az Antonescu és a légionisták közti összeütközés megtörtént és Antonescu leverte a légionista fölkelést, akkor a hölgy kivonult az üzletből. De nem volt már semmi értelme az üzletet kinyitni, mert elvitte a varrógépet, elvitte az anyagot, elvitte a pultot, elvitt mindent, úgyhogy üresen maradt az üzlet. Akkor az anyám nem is nyitotta ki az üzletet. Egyetlen hülyeséget csináltunk, hogy háború után vissza lehetett volna követelni a hölgytől a dolgokat, de nem tettük. De akkor olyan boldog volt az ember, hogy megmenekült az életével a háborúból, hogy azt mondta az anyám, hogy menjen a nyavalyába, hadd fusson.

Átköltöztünk egy kisebb, egy kétszobás lakásba, amit béreltünk. Egy szobában laktak a szülők, egy szobában én a nővéremmel, volt fürdőszoba, előszoba, konyha. Ott vergődtünk át a háborún. A háború alatt a zsidók nem tarthattak háztartási alkalmazottat. A háború utolsó évében egy pár hónapig, úgy tudom volt egy Máramarosszigetről jött zsidó lány. Azelőtt a háztartási alkalmazottaink általában magyar lányok voltak a Brassó mellőli falvakból, de aztán törvény szerint nem szabadott tartani, nem volt jogod, hogy nálad lakjon, ahogy akkor szokták. Nem lehet szobának nevezni, ahol lakott, hanem egy rész el volt választva a konyhától, ahova elfért mondjuk egy ágy és egy kis asztal és ott aludt.

A háború alatt apámat behívták munkaszolgálatra, a vasútnál dolgozott hol Brassóban, hol Predealon. Volt olyan, hogy helységen kívüli munkaszolgálat Iasiban, Beszarábiában, és volt belső munkaszolgálat, [a városon belül vagy a közvetlen környékén]. Túl sok hasznuk a zsidómunkából nem volt, mivel a zsidók nem nagyon ölték magukat a munkával, főleg azok, akik bent voltak munkaszolgálaton, nem kint. Például én is doloztam 1943 végén és 1944-ben. Ott maradtunk a városban, otthon aludtunk, de nem kaptunk se ennivalót, se pénzt, se ruhát, se bakancsot, se semmit, hanem reggel hattól, este hatig kellett azt a munkát végezni, amit ők mondtak. Egy időben meg lehetett vásárolni a munkaszolgálatot pénzért. Az apámnak sikerült egy ilyet elintézni, és nem dolgozott sokáig munkaszolgálatban. 1944-után, még dolgozgatott a sorsjegy-irodában, de aztán megszüntették a sorsjegyet, és kishivatalnok lett a városi Néptanácsnál.

Én szintén a vasút építésnél és utcaseprésnél is dolgoztam és aztán 1944 júniusában három barátommal – Weintraub, Dan és Erőpatakival – otthagytam a munkaszolgálatot és megszöktünk. Elmentünk Bukarestben azzal a gondolattal, hogy kimegyünk Izraelbe. Úgy tudom, hogy a Mefküre nevű hajóval kellett volna menjünk, viszont akkor elég sok Magyarországról átszökött zsidó volt Bukarestben. Félős volt, hogy esetleg a magyar állampolgárúakat le fogják tartóztatni, ezért azt mondták, hogy egyelőre mi nem mehetünk, mert azoknak kell biztosítani a helyet, úgyhogy mi egy másik hajóra várjunk. [Szerk. Megj.: 1944 augusztusában elsüllyesztették a Mefküret.] Mi vártunk a másik hajóra, s közben jött 1944 augusztus 23 14, és akkor már egyikünk sem ment el Izraelbe. Mindegyikünk azt gondolta akkor, hogy a kommunizmus megoldja a zsidó kérdést is. Hogy nem lesz baj, internacionalista alapon, most mindenki mindenkit homlokon csókol majd, mindenki boldog lesz, és nem számít te magyar, vagy zsidó vagy. Azt hittük, hogy a kommunizmus, ahogy mondták elhozza a paradicsomot a földre a munkásosztály számára. Az emberek ezt elhitték, de hát egyesek hamarább, mások később, de lassan-lassan kiábrándultak ebből. Egyesek elmentek aztán Izraelbe, mások pedig más nyugati országban keresték a jobb megélhetést. Én a családi és más okok miatt is itt maradtam.

1944 augusztus után komolyan kezdett szervezkedni a kommunista ifjúság. Nem arról van szó, hogy a zsidók hozták be a kommunizmust Romániában. Ha úgy vesszük 700.000 zsidóból 200.000 meghalt és 400.000 elmenekült a kommunizmus elől, elmentek az országból, tehát nem erről van szó. De hát ez volt az egyetlen egy párt, amelyik teoretikusan egyenlőséget biztosított minden nemzeti kisebbségnek, másrészt pedig a hitlerizmus elleni harc a zsidóknak a fennmaradását jelentette és emiatt kezdetben elég sok zsidó tagja volt. Egész fiatalon, még 1945-ben, beálltam a pártba, az ifjú kommunista szövetségbe, tehát mondjuk vén harcos vagyok ezen a téren. Volt két jó zsidó barátom, Smit Izsó és Ganz Feri, valamivel idősebbek mint én, akik elég prominens vezető szerepet játszottak közvetlenül 1944-45-ben mivel már részt vettek az illegális ifjú kommunista szövetségben és akkor az ő befolyásuk alatt beálltam a pártba. Az illegális kommunista tevékenységükről konkrétabban nem tudok, csak azt, hogy el voltak ítélve és börtönben ültek a második világháború alatt.

1945-ben beiratkoztam Bukarestbe a Cultura nevű zsidó líceumba, ami megfelelt a kolozsvári Tarbutnak. Ez egy nagyon neves iskola volt, ahol neves zsidó tanárok tanítottak, akiket 1940-ben kizárták az egyetemi tanügyből. Ott tanított Graur, aki egyik legnevesebb lingvisztikai tanár lett Romániában, Bick professzor a román nyelvtanár, Sufrin a történelemtanár, vagy Mihail Sebastian, az egyik legjobb drámaírója a két világháború közti időszaknak, akinek a három évvel azelőtt [2000-ben] megjelent memoárja nagy port vert föl. Az osztályok meg voltak számozva, volt Cultura A és B, de semmi különbség nem volt közöttük, csak így oldották meg, mert nagy iskola volt. A Cultura A-ban ugyanúgy volt I-VIII osztály, mint a másikban, csak nem volt annyi terem és két épületben volt a tanítás. Az akkori tanügyi törvény szerint, amit az akkori tanügyminiszter után Voitek törvénynek 15 neveztek el, állandó nyílt, magánvizsgák voltak, úgyhogy egy év alatt több osztályt el lehetett végezni, havonta lehetett vizsgázni. Én 1945-ben négy osztály tettem le. Sok volt a vizsga, de mi azt az anyagot évek alatt tanultuk már magánúton, egy hónapot csak ismételtük a vizsga előtt. Így sikerült egy év alatt, ha úgy vesszük, négy osztályból leérettségizni, de a vizsga nem a zsidó iskolában volt, hanem egy érettségi komisszió volt. Én úgy emlékszem, hogy a Spiru Haret Líceumhoz kerültem, ahol az elnök egy egyetemi filozófia tanár és költő, Alexandru Claudian volt. Nem nagy médiákkal [érdemjeggyel], de mind átmentünk az érettségin.

A nővérem Bukarestben egy leánylíceumban vizsgázott a magánvizsgákkor. A Cultura-nak volt egy leánylíceuma is és ő odament. Vonaton ismerkedtek meg a sógorommal, Grünberger Palival, aki szebeni és röntgenorvos, épp ment Brassóból Bukarestbe vizsgázni és a nővérem is utazott Bukarestbe. A háború alatt az Orvosi Fakultás Kolozsvárról Szebenbe vonult át és a sógorom ott végezte az első évet 1945-ben. 1945-ben Szebenből ismét visszaköltöztették az Orvosit Kolozsvárra, de fahiány és valami egyéb miatt csak 1946 tavaszán kezdődött az oktatás. A nővérem miután érettségizett, 1946-ban fölvételizik Kolozsvárra. Járja a kolozsvári egyetemet, mikor a szülők föliratkoznak, hogy kimenjenek Izraelbe. Elég hamar, már 1948-ban összeházasodnak a nővéremék Brassóban, a brassói neológ templomban, doktor Deutsch rabbinál. Összeköltöztek Palival, és az egyetemet együtt járták. 1949-ben ők is föliratkoznak és akkor a nővérem férjének a szülei is föliratkoztak, hogy ki akarnak vándorolni Izraelbe. Mellesleg Grünberger Palinak az édesapja a romániai cionista szervezet egyik vezető tagja volt. A szülők kimentek, de sajnos a nővéremet és a sógoromat még 15 évet itt tartották minden magyarázat nélkül. 25 memoriumot adtak be, míg aztán a végén kiengedték őket, hogy menjenek Izraelbe. Az orvosi fakultás befejezése után a nővérem Máramarosszigeten dolgozott mint gyerekgyógyász és a sógorom, mint röntgenorvos. Van egy fiúk Dan, aki itt született Romániában és körülbelül hét éves volt, mikor 1966-ban kimentek Izraelbe. A lányuk Jael viszont már ott született, ő szabre. Dan ma az Izraeli hadseregben katonatiszt, a feleségét Judit Rovednek hívják, arab nyelv és irodalom tanárnő, van három fiuk. Jael biológiát végzett, de egy bankban dolgozik, a férje szintén biológus és van két fiuk. A nővéremék először elmentek Tel Avivba, onnan átmentek Tveriara, ahol egy kórházban röntgen-főorvos volt a sógorom, a nővérem egy poliklinikán gyerekgyógyász. Utána aztán átkerültek Jeruzsálembe, ahol több rendelőnek volt a vezetője a sógorom. A sógorom sajnos két évvel ezelőtt, 2001-ben, elhunyt. A nővéremmel szoktunk időnként beszélni telefonon, s levelezgetünk is.

Apám jól tudott héberül [ivrit] és jiddisül, például a nagyapámmal jiddisül leveleztek. Háború után, mikor lehetett, 1950-ben az édesapám édesanyámmal együtt emigráltak Izraelbe. Apám 58 éves volt akkor. Mikor álijázott, akkor apám jól tudott héberül, hogy nem kellett ulpánt csináljon. Imádta a héber nyelvet, állandóan tökéletesítette magát. Miután kiment, az első megspórolt pénzén vett magának egy kazetofont, és akik szépen beszéltek héberül, azokat odatette, hogy beszéljenek, és azt hallgatta, hogy hogyan kell kiejteni. És állandóan a szótár ott volt a keze alatt. Volt úgy, hogy ha hallgatott valamit a rádióban és egy szót nem értett meg, rögtön odaugrott és megnézte a szótárban, hogy mit jelent. Haifán hosszú ideig mint hivatalnok dolgozott egy nagy építkezési vállalatnál, a Solel Boneh-nél. Anyám is jól érezte magát Izraelben. Amikor 1949-ben a szülők és a nővéremék, a barátok is föliratkoztak, én nem iratkoztam föl. Én maradtam a fekete bárány a családból; én a családi és más okok miatt is itt maradtam.

Én 1945-ben leérettségiztem, 1946-ban és 1947-ben egy évig Marosvásárhelyen jártam az Orvosin, aztán nem tetszett a banán és otthagytam, átjöttem Kolozsvárra a Történelem Fakultásra. 1948-ban elkezdtem az újságírói pályát, amit máig csinálok.

A feleségemmel Gálfi Erzsébettel 1949-ben ismerkedtem meg. Az Egyetem utca 1 szám alatt, ahol most a Tribuna és Steaua lapnak van a szerkesztősége és az írószövetségnek van a székháza, ott volt egy elég jól fűtött –akkoriban Kolozsváron nem nagyon fűtöttek jól – ARLUS nevezetű klub. Az az Asociaţia Româna de Legăturile cu Uniunea Sovietică, tehát ez a Szovjet-román Barátsági Társaságnak volt a klubbja. Mivel ott jól fűtöttek, általában a középiskolai hallgatók, akiknek sem a bentlakásban, sem a lakbérben, ahol voltak, nem nagyon fűtöttek, a délutánokat ott töltötték. Volt egy nagyon jó könyvtár és egy elég olcsó büfé is és lehetett sakkozni és még nem tudom mit. Oda jártam én is és a későbbi feleségem is és ott ismerkedtünk meg. Ő az utolsó éven volt az Unitárius Leánylíceumban, nagyon szép lány volt. Elég hamar elvettem feleségül, 1949 augusztusában nősültem. Elmentünk a néptanácshoz, jött két tanú: az egyik osztálytársnője és annak a férje, egy tanító, utána elhívtuk őket egy vendéglőbe egy sörre és egy bécsi szeletre és ez volt az egész esküvő. Édesanyám nem vette jó néven, hogy nem zsidót vettem el. Habár nem volt semmi kifogása ellene, mint ember, csak maga a tény, hogy nem zsidó. Az apám, ha úgy vesszük, ő beletörődött, bár ő se volt nagyon boldog. De az anyám, ő nyíltan kiállt, hogy ne csináld ezt, fiam. Hát, mint minden fiatal, nem hallgattam a mamára és azt csináltam mit én gondoltam, hogy jó. Erzsébet beiratkozott a Bolyai egyetemre román szakra. Még egyetemi hallgató volt másod vagy harmad éves, amikor 1951-ben megszületett a fiúnk Vasile Gheorghe Grunea.

Még diák voltam és írtam a brassói helyi lapban, a Drum Nou-nál [Új Út], ifjúsági témájú cikkeket. Kolozsváron megismerkedtem egy ismertebb költővel, aki szintén zsidó, Toma Gheorghe Maiorescu. Ő Reşiţaból jött ide Kolozsvárra (most Bukarestben lakik), több könyvet is írt. Ő dolgozott a Lupta Ardealuluinál [Erdély Harca], ami egy kommunista napilap volt, kezdetben a Kolozs megyei pártnak volt a lapja, utána lett helyi napilap. Akkoriban nem létezett más napilap románul. Aztán Maiorescu beajánlott és meghívott a főszerkesztő. Kezdtem ott írogatni és 1948-ban befogadtak a szerkesztőségbe és ott dolgoztam 1952-ig. Én mindvégig a kulturális sajtót vezettem, tehát könyvismertetés, színházkritika, irodalom közlése a lapban. De egy napilap volt, amelyiknek fő célja a párt politikai irányvonalát vinni. Akkor még egyetemi hallgató voltam. 1949 végén és 1950-ben elküldtek Bukarestbe egy felső újságírói iskolába. Körülbelül háromnegyed évet tartott, egy gyorstalpaló iskola volt, ahol naponta 10 óra előadást és szemináriumot tartottak. Utána aztán visszakerültem a Lupta Ardealului-hoz és szerkesztőségi főtitkár voltam.

A névváltoztatásom egybeesett az újságírással. Kezdetben a Vasile Grunea név egy újságírói pszeudo name volt, utána aztán a hivatalos nevem is ez lett, de nem mondhatom, hogy erre valaki rákényszerített volna, mert akkor nem mondanék igazat. Addig a Gruber László nevet használtam, gyerekkoromban még Öcsinek is neveztek. Most is, akik abból az időből ismernek, nekik én vagyok az örökös Öcsi. Tudja a fene, miért pont Grunea-t választottam.

1952-ben megszülettek a regionális lapok: a megyét fölosztották rajonokra, például Kolozsvárhoz tartozott Dés rajon, Torda rajon, de odacsatoltak községeket is. Akkor Topánfalván megszületett a Viaţa Nouă [Új élet]. 1952-ben fölhívtak és azt mondták: ‘Topánfalván meg kell alakuljon egy lap, mi rád gondoltunk, kinevezünk főszerkesztőnek’. Hát, elég nehéz volt, mert 1952-ben a fiam csak egy pár hónapos volt, a feleségem egyetemi hallgatónő volt, tehát itt hagytam a családot, Kolozsvárt és elmentem Topánfalvára. Egyetlen egy jó volt, hogy egy időben a lapot itt Kolozsváron az itteni nyomdában tördelték és itt is nyomták ki, úgyhogy hetente általában szombat reggeltől hétfő délig itt voltam Kolozsváron. Hétfő délben mentem vissza az úgynevezett mocăniţa kisvasúttal, Tordáról föl egész Topánfalváig. [Szerk. megj.: a mocăniţa román tréfás népnyelven kifejezett keskenyvágányú kisvasút.] Pár órás út volt. Így mezőzve éltem egy évig. Ezekben az években direkt ellenem irányuló antiszemitizmust, ahol engem megkülönböztettek volna azért mert zsidó vagyok, nem éreztem. Humorosan meg is jegyeztem, hogy nálam ‘jobb románt’ nem találtak volna kinevezni egy tiszta román vidékre, mert Topánfalva az ugye Avram Iancu és Horea, Cloşca és Crişannak a vidéke, ahol Abrudon, a szomszédos bányavidékeken kívül majdnem nem létezett magyar. [Avram Iancu, 1824–1872, az 1848-as román forradalom vezéregyénisége; Horea, Cloşca és Crişan az 1784-es román parasztfelkelés vezetői.]

Aztán visszajöttem, mert szintén hívtak és azt mondták, hogy csinálunk Kolozsváron egy rádió stúdiót. 1952 végén jött egy Ludovic Raţiu nevű Bukarestből és Kolozsváron dolgozott egy ideig, hogy megszervezte a rádiót, ami 1953 március 15-én kezdi meg adását. Én főszerkesztő helyettes voltam egész 1959-ig. Mint főszerkesztő helyettes az volt a feladatom, hogy minden anyagot, mielőtt mikrofon elé ment – élőben vagy ha szalagról –, azt valaki a vezetőségből le kellett hallgassa, vagy el kellett olvassa. Az első kritérium az a minőség volt, és a hírek hitelessége, ami persze az akkori politikai irányzatnak megfelelő volt. A hírek magyarul vagy románul voltak megszerkesztve és ezeket kellett lehallgatni, akkor én magam is csináltam sok adást. A nevesebb intellektuelekkel rengeteg interjút csináltam, ma is ott van egy csomó szalag az arany szalagtárában, a kolozsvári stúdióban, vagy ott van egy csomó szalag, ami az én aláírásommal ment adásba. A magyarok közül Asztalos István író, Nagy István író, Lászlóffy Aladár költő, Kovács György színész, Fekete Mihály színész, a románok közül Agărbiceanu író, Emil Isac író, Aurel Rău író, stb. tehát sokkal készítettem interjút abban az időben. Nem volt feltétel, hogy román vagy magyar személyiséggel kell interjút csinálni. És persze, ha jöttek új emberek, akkor azoknak kellett segíteni. Akkor általában keresték a munkáskádereket, tehát kiválasztottak valakiket a gyárból és behozták a szerkesztőségben és 2-3-4 hónap múlva bebizonyosodott, hogy egy megfelel, négy visszament a munkahelyre.

Egy szerkesztőség volt akkor csak: a kultúr szerkesztőségnek a főnöke magyar volt, Kovács Ferenc, de a szerkesztőség tagjai románok is voltak. Egy másik szerkesztőségben, mondjuk a mezőgazdaságnak a főnöke Barna, román volt, de ott dolgozott magyar is. Tehát egy szerkesztőség volt, de két külön adás volt: külön magyar adás és külön román adás. Nem úgy volt, hogy egy hír románul ment, egy hír magyarul, hanem volt külön román adás és külön magyar adás [ahol ugyanazt a hírt elmondták mindkét nyelven].

Ellenem irányuló antiszemitizmus a rádiónál sem volt. Persze, susogva lehetett hallani, hogy miért két zsidó van a rádió élén, mert a Rácz Lajos is zsidó volt. (Rácz Lajos Ludovic Ratiura románosította a nevét, ő illegalista kommunista volt. Eredetileg orvos volt, de végig politikai pályán volt, 1944 után párt aktivista volt itt Kolozsváron. Egy ideig a bukaresti rádiónál dolgozott, de 1952-ben kinevezték Kolozsvárra főszerkesztőnek és végig a kolozsvári rádió igazgatója volt. Egy idő után levitték Bukarestbe a központi rádióhoz.) Ilyen hangokat lehetett hallani, de senki nem jött nekem mondani, hogy te büdös zsidó miért vagy a rádió főszerkesztő helyettese, de ilyen szelek jártak, hogy miért ez, miért az. Vagy voltak egyes munkatársak, akik csináltak statisztikát, hogy hány román van, hány zsidó van, hány magyar van és azok közül hányan vannak vezetőségi posztban. Ilyen megnyilvánulások mondjuk a háttérből léteztek, de nyíltan senki nem szólt, nyíltan nem lehet mondani, ahogy azt most szokás. Tehát nem lehet azt mondani, hogy nem volt antiszemitizmus, de hát a kommunista etika és morálja teóriában visszautasította ezt. És volt egy nemzetiségi törvény is, ami elítélte a sovinista, xenofób és nacionalista megnyilvánulásokat és börtönnel büntette, és az a törvény ma is életben van, de senki nem tartja be.

1956-ban elég feszült hangulat volt a rádiónál a magyarországi események miatt. Elég nehezen lehetett szerkeszteni magyar nyelven, mert Bukarest, tehát a központ, állandóan az ellenforradalmat elítélő anyagokat kért. És persze, hogy kevés magyar embert lehetett találni, aki az ellenforradalmat elítélje. Úgyhogy elég nehéz helyzet volt, plusz, akkor egy elég erős letartóztatási folyamat volt, főleg magyar fiatal tanügyi káderek a Bolyai egyetemről, és középiskolai diákokat is letartóztatnak, tehát elég nehéz hangulat volt. Nehezen lehetett szerezni anyagokat is, és most már nincs mit dicsekedni ezen, de hát próbáltuk az ilyen anyagokat a legminimumabbra lecsökkenteni. Mivel a Kolozsvári rádiót Magyarországon is lehetett fogni, tehát, hogy a magyarországi magyarok iránt is legyen hangulata, olyan anyagokat is adtunk, amiben a megmaradásra való fölszólítás volt és olyan anyagok ahol, akik a két világháború közt elmentek Romániából Magyarországra vagy külföldre, főleg kapitalista országokba, hát azok elmondták, hogy milyen nehéz külföldön élni, és hogy külföld nem nagyon fogadja be a magyarokat. Tehát ilyen szerű hangulat volt. A rádiótól nem volt letartóztatva senki, egyetlen egyet, szegény Keresztes Zoltánt tanácsolták el a rádiótól, – közben meghalt szegény – bizonyos kijelentésekért, amit a rádióban tett.

A Tribuna is épp úgy, mint a Korunk újjászületik az 1956-os években keletkezett hangulat következtében. Akkor Kolozsváron csak egy román irodalmi havi folyóirat létezett, a Steaua és ezt úgy tekintették, hogy akkor szükség van egy hetilapra, s akkor megalakul a Tribuna. Ugyanakkor újraalakul a régi Gaál Gábor 16 által alapított Korunk. 1957-ben újraalakul és ebben a hangulatban dolgozik a két lap.

1959-ben egyszerűen kizártak a pártból, mivel 1942 és 1945 között egy szocialista-cionista szervezetben a Hásomer Hácáirnak voltam a tagja. Erről úgy volt tudomásuk, hogy én ezt leírtam az összes önéletrajzomba, nem szégyelltem és nem tagadtam el. S akkor jött egy határozat, hogy, akik más pártoknak voltak a tagjai, azok nem lehetnek a kommunista pártnak a tagjai.

Akkor kerültem át a Tribuna-hoz, kezdetben mint korrektor, utána mint szerkesztőségi titkár, és persze, közöltem a lapban verseket, fordításokat, színház krónikát, képzőművészeti krónikát, interjúkat. [Abban a periódusban minden lap kommunista beállítottságú volt.] Ahogy utólag visszahangzott, elég népszerű voltam és elég szeretett lap volt. Aztán sajnos egy időben elég nehéz körülmények között jelentek meg a számok, az 1990-es években egy ideg nem jelent meg több hónapon keresztül a lap. Én 1990-ben elmentem onnan, de a lap tovább élt és él ma is, csak egy időben nem volt pénzük és nem tudták kinyomni. A szerkesztők más munkahelyet kerestek és ingyen dolgoztak be a lapnál, de nem volt pénz, hogy kiadják. Körülbelül egy háromnegyed éve (2002-ben) normalizálódott újból a helyzet, habár most nem hetente, hanem havonta kétszer jelenik meg a lap.

1960-as években kezdtem el közölni a Realitatea Evrească-ban [Zsidó Valóság], akkor úgy hívták, hogy Revista Cultului Mosaic [Mózes Hitű Folyóirat] és az 1950-es években, még Moses Rosen 16 alatt alakult. Az akkori főszerkesztő, Heim Rimer fölkért, hogy írjak a lapnak. Abban az időben a haszidizmus történetéből közöltem két hosszabb tanulmányt, és Marcel Iancuval, a Romániából elszármazott világhírű festőművésszel interjút közöltem, és mindezt a héber nevemmel közöltem, mint Zwi ben Emanuel.

1969-ben jött édesanyám látogatóba először. 1950-től, 19 éven keresztül nem láttuk egymást. Édesanyám egy hónapot ült nálunk Kolozsváron, amikor meglátogatott, nagyon jó viszonyban kerültek a feleségemmel. Akkor lementünk egy hétre Brassóba, mert még élt ott két unokatestvér az anyám részéről, és azoknak a gyerekei is ott voltak, azoknál is voltunk. És persze, anyám megnézte a régi házakat, ahol laktunk. Először 1970-ben voltam Izraelben, apámat akkor láttam először, miután kivándoroltak. Azt hiszem, hogy összesen legalább 10 szer voltam, általában egy-két hónapot ültem ott. A feleségem sohasem volt, mert sajnos, az akkori ‘szokás’ szerint az egyik mindig itt kellett maradjon az országban biztosítéknak [hogy a család nem vándorol ki, hiszen a család egy tagja nélkül, nem marad egy másik országba]. Meghívni mindig meghívták őt is, de ő azt mondta: ‘Menj te lásd a szüleidet, neked az fontosabb’. Nem próbáltak hívni, hogy menjünk ki végleg, csak amikor ott voltam, de akkor is nagyon diplomatikusan. Főleg az első két ottlétemkor, próbálta megmutatni az egész országot, hogy saját szememmel győződjek meg, hogy mit van ott, tehát nem próbált rábeszélni, hanem meg akarta mutatni a valóságot. És őszintén beszélt arról is, hogy a feleségemnek, aki azonkívül hogy romántanárnő, tehát más foglalkozása nincs, nagyon nehéz lenne a beilleszkedése Izraelben, gazdasági szempontból, nem más szempontból.

A kezdeti Ceasuscu 17 periódus bizonyos szempontból nyíltabb volt, mondjuk átvették egy kicsit a kínaiaktól a mondást, hogy engedjünk minden virágot virágozni. Kezdtek engedni olyan neveket újból behozni a sajtóba, például Blaganak, Arghezinek a nevét, ami azelőtt nem fungált. [Lucian Blaga, 1895-1961, román költő és filozófus; Tudor Arghezi, 1880-1967, román iró.] A két világháború közt haladó, de nem kommunista művészi kritikusok, mint Comarnescu neve vagy a ma is világhírű matematikus, Moisil neve is sokszor jelenik meg. Gyakrabban lehetett közölni a két világháború közti írókat, akik például az 1930-as évek végén voltak titánok, és persze, hogy továbbra is a szocialista realizmusi irodalom mellett militáltak és magától értetődik, hogy azokat a könyveket recenzálták. Pozitívum viszont, amint mondtam, hogy egy nyíltabb légkör volt, úgy irodalomban, mint képzőművészetben, sok olyan dolgot, amit azelőtt nem engedtek meg képzőművészetben, most megengedtek. Újból kezdtünk foglalkozni a két világháború közti inkább absztrakt irodalommal, absztrakt művészettel, az avangardizmussal, mert ugye az nyilvánvaló, hogy a románság ebből a szempontból elég nagy szerepet játszott, úgy a franciaországi, mint a svájci avangardban, például Marcel Iancu, Ilarie Voronca. Ami tabu maradt mindvégig, mert ez egy nagy problémája volt úgy Ceausescunak, mint főleg a hölgynek [feleségének, Elena Ceausescunak], a vallás kérdés. Tehát nem szabadott mondjuk a képzőművészet vallásos témáról beszéljen, vagy a vallásos témáról nem lehetett beszélni a lapban sem. Vagy például egész odáig mentek, hogy voltak szavak, mint a például uram, hölgyem, ezt a szót nem szabadott használni, csak pejoratív értelemben. Ezen kívül persze voltak egész listák, hogy kinek a neve nem jelenhetik meg a lapban, tehát az nem közölhet, vagy ha már halott volt, akkor az írása ne jelenjék meg. A külföldi írókkal, de főleg az emigrációban élő román írókkal az volt, hogy egy időben lefordították a műveiket románra és lehetett róluk beszélni. De aztán attól függően, hogy ha azok külföldön egy nem túl pozitív nyilatkozatot adtak az akkori romániai kommunista rezsimről, akkor a nevüket újból listára tették és nem lehetett megjelentetni.

Volt egy öreg, I. D. Muşat – ez az írói neve volt és azt hiszem az eredeti neve Dimoftache volt – aki mint szocdem kezdte fiatal korában. Idősebb ember korában történelmi regényeket írt és úgy tudom, hogy közvetlenül 1944 augusztus 23 után egy időben Tordának volt a prefektusa. A Írószövetség kolozsvári fiókjának volt egy alapszervezete, amihez hozzátartoztak az összes kommunisták az összes irodalmi szerkesztőségekből, tehát a Steaua, Tribuna, Utunk, Korunk, Dolgozó Nő, Napsugár. Havonta tartott a párt alapszervezeti gyűlést, amire sokan jöttek. Mindig más dolgokat tárgyaltak, de a gyűlés végén volt a nem napirenden szereplő problémák megbeszélése. Mi történt? Ezt a Muşat-ot nem tudták elhallgattatni, mindig elmondta – és ezért is jöttek sokan, hogy meghallgassák – vagyis beszámolt, hogy egy hónap alatt milyen híreket hallgatott a Szabad Európán 19 Romániáról és föltett kérdéseket is, hogy: ‘Ha azok ezt és ezt mondják, akkor mi a valóság?’ Ez egy pikantériája volt az ilyen gyűléseknek. Nem lett semmi vele, nem nyúltak hozzá azt hiszem, mert ő régi szocdem volt és prefektus, tehát egy ismertebb figurája a szocdem pártnak, és akkoriban kerestük a külföldi szociál-demokratákkal a kapcsolatot, és azt hiszem féltek, hogy azok tudnak erről az emberről. Vagy esetleg nem vették komolyan. Az 1970-es években egy jó ideig fölszólalt, utána aztán nem jött a gyűlésekre, nem tudom, lehet meghalt.

Az 1980-as években szigorították a dolgot. Például mikor a főnöknek, vagy a főnöknőnek volt a névnapja vagy születésnapja, akkor ki volt adva, hogy hány fényképet kell közölni, hány cikket kell róla írni, hogyan kellett ezeket megírni. Főleg aztán az utóbbi időben, ami nagyon nehéz volt, hogy már nem elégedtek meg azzal, hogy például nem ismert tollforgatók verseit közöltünk, hanem állandóan forszírozták, hogy az élbeli írók írjanak verset, dicshimnuszokat. Kezdetben megelégedtek akárkivel, de aztán kezdtek követelőzni, hogy ez miért nem ír, és az miért nem ír? Volt aki visszautasította, hogy beteg, hogy már évek óta nem írt, hogy ne haragudjanak, de nem tud, vagy nem méltó ahhoz, hogy írjon, mert az a múltjában nem tudom mi van, vagy nem tudom milyen kifogásokkal. Ma elítélni, hogy a nevesebb emberek is írtak ilyen hozsannákat…, ma a fiatalság nem érti meg, de hozzá kell tenni azt is, hogy milyen nagy nyomás volt akkor.

Én nem írtam ilyesmiket. Nem voltam olyan alacsony színvonalon, hogy kellett volna írjak [dicshimnuszokat], mert ha nem, más versemet nem közlik; ugyanakkor se olyan magasan [ismert] nem voltam, hogy azt mondják, hogy de miért nem ír. És mivel magával a lap szerkesztésével foglalkoztam, hát nem kellett írjak. Visszagondolva, nem csinálunk most hősöket ebből, de egy csomó mondjuk szerkesztő nem volt egy véleményen a Ceausescu érában történő dolgokkal. De ez nem azt jelenti, hogy ezt írásban meg is merték jelentetni.

Igazából az 1980-as években már jobban érződött a magyarellenes meg a zsidóellenes megnyilvánulás, például a különböző munkahelyeken leépítették a magyarokat meg a zsidókat, akik jobb pozícióban voltak és fokozatosan románok kerültek vezető pozícióba. Irodalmi szempontból nem nagyon lehetett ezt csinálni, végig a lapok élén magyarok is voltak a románok mellett. Itt sokat lehet vitatkozni, hogy mennyire járultak hozzá a zsidó eredetű írók és intellektuelek a két világháború közti, s az azutáni magyar irodalomhoz. Mondjuk a Utunk és Korunk vezetőségében voltak zsidók, Gál Ernő, Sőni Pál a Korunknál, az Utunknál meg Földes Laci. Róluk ma már nem nagyon beszélünk, mint zsidókról: jó hogy eredetileg zsidók voltak, de magukat mind magyar ajkú alkotók és mint magyar kultúrájú emberek nyilvánították ki. Itt különbséget kell tenni, hogy azok a magyarok, vagy azok a zsidók, akik a párt vezetőségben vezető szerepet játszottak, azok mint kommunisták játszották ezt a vezető szerepet, nem mint magyarok vagy zsidók. Konkrétan nem ismerem Király Károlyt 19, de ő párt-első volt Udvarhelyen, azután fölkerült Bukarestbe, tehát magyarok végig voltak a pártvezetőségben. Nem lehet mondani, hogy az által, hogy Luka László magyar volt, székelyföldi, ő jobban kiállt a magyarokért. 1940 után, miután Beszarábiát átadták az oroszoknak, Luka volt Kisinó legelső polgármestere. Egy magyar polgármester volt Kisinóban! Habár most másképp ítélik meg ezt az egész Luka dolgot. Őt a kommunista párt oda kinevezte, mivel illegális kommunista volt. Ő volt az, akit aztán 1948-as években csúnyán lekezelt és kisepert Gheorhiu Dej 20, mint osztályellenséget, és mint aki már az 1930-as években az angol-amerikai imperializmust szolgálta.

Az úgynevezett Luka Lászó - Ana Pauker - és Teohari Georgescu csoport 21, a mostani fiataloknak nem mond sokat. 1948-50-ben Ana Pauker volt a külügyminiszternő, Teohari Georgescu volt a belügyminiszter és Luka volt a pénzügyminiszter. Őket 1952-ben, mind úgynevezett jobboldali és baloldali elhajlók (‘deviatori de dreapta si stânga’ – ez egy speciális kommunista fogalom) kizárták a pártból és keresztül vitték az országon hogy mindenhol mondja el, hogy milyen nagy gazember volt és milyen rosszat akart csinálni a pártnak. Koholt dolog volt, ugyanolyan, mint a Rajk-per 22, mikor Rajkot elítélik és beismertetik, hogy ő is az angol-amerikai imperializmusnak volt a kiszolgálója. Az országban a legtöbb kommunista per, koholt per volt. Lucreţiu Pătrăşcanu egy időben [1945-től 1948-ig, azaz letartóztatásáig] igazságügyi miniszter volt, de mivel Gheorghiu-Dej vetélytársnak vette, hát koholt vádakkal illette, elítélte és egy doronggal főbe ütötték és meghalt Pătrăşcanu. [Szerk. megj.: Hogy doronggal főbeütötték, csak blöff. A valóság az, hogy 948-tól 1954-ig börtönben volt, majd a Luka-Pauker-Georgescu csoport elitélése és Sztálin halála után, 1954-ben koncepciós per keretében halálra ítélték és kivégezték. Az ügyre csupán 1968 után, Gheorghe Gheorghiu Dej halála és Ceauşescu hatalmi pozíciójának kiépítése során derült fény. Pătrăşcanu részleges rehabilitációja ürügyként szolgálva Ceauşescu vetélytársainak eltávolítására.]

1990-ben nyugdíjba megyek. Ekkor Bukarestben megalakult a Fundaţia Culturală Română [Román Kulturális Alapítvány], aminek a célja, hogy külföldre tudósítsa a román kultúréleti dolgokat, és itt Kolozsvárt alapítanak egy Centru de Studii Transilvane-t, egy kutatóközpontot, aminek a feladata az Erdély történetének kutatásával és ennek a népszerűsítésével foglalkozni. Ezért évente négyszer megjelenik a Transilvanian Review angol és francia nyelven. Ugyanakkor könyveket is adnak ki. Oda meghívnak és ott dolgoztam pár évet mint technikai tanácsadó, és több könyvnek a megszerkesztésében vettem részt. Időnként jelennek meg Kolozsvár zsidóságának régebbi és jelenkori történetével foglalkozó oldalak a Realitateba, és annak vagyok a pótfékje, a koordinátora. Aztán elég sok előadást tartok júdaisztikai témával a zsidóság és a zsidó ifjúság részére, amit a hitközség szervez és ott is hirdetik meg. Több országos és határon túli inter-etnikus előadáson is részt vettem.

Amit csináltam életemben és amit írtam és aláírtam, azt nem tagadom meg. Én hittem abban, amit írtam és valótlant nem írtam. Egyetlen egy dolog volt, hogy féligazságokat mondtam ki, ami sajnos egyenlő a hazugsággal. Tehát mindig a pohárnak a félig tele részéről írtam, az üres részéről nem írtam. De mondom, vállalom azt, amit csináltam, hogy én csináltam, és nem kényszeríttettek, hogy csináljam, de senkinek rosszat nem csináltam. Én soha nem tagadtam azt, hogy zsidó vagyok, és nem azért változtattam meg a nevemet, de ez egy komplikáltabb dolog. Minden önéletrajzomban beírtam, azt is, hogy cionista szervezetben voltam, és hát cionista szervezetben nem lehetettem mint hithű keresztény, csak mint zsidó.

Persze, hogy az ember, és általában az intellektuel, nem mindennel ért egyet. És persze, hogy 1989 egy megkönnyebbülés volt, hogy végre eljött az idő, amikor az ember nem kell duplicitásban éljen, hogy egy dolgot mond otthon a négy fal között a feleségének [és mást mond a munkahelyén]. A gyereknek nem mond semmit, nehogy az ‘kiöcsiskedjen’ valamit és akkor emiatt neki is és neked is bajod lesz. Persze, hogy nagy könnyedséget éreztem, hogy végre eljöttek azok a napok, mikor az ember az lehet, ami akar lenni, és azt mondhatja meg és úgy mondhatja meg, ahogy akarja. Mondjuk, ami nagyon negatívan hatott rám, hogy azt reméltem, mind mindnyájan, hogy az 1989-es fordulat egy radikális és gyors fordulatot fog jelenteni a pozitívum felé és sajnos nagyon sokban negatívumot hozott. A nacionalizmus, a nyílt antiszemitizmus és a xenofóbia, mondjuk a magyarellenesség, az inkább kihangsúlyozódott. Tehát egy kazán volt, amit politikailag elfojtottak, s akkor 1989 után hirtelen föltőrt, s ez nagy kiábrándulást okozott.

Nem hittem volna, hogy sok olyan ember, aki melletted élt éveken keresztül és aki azért, mert félt, vagy mert nem volt lehetősége, másképp nyilvánult meg, a szemembe soha nem mondtak ki, büdös zsidó. 1989 után egyik napról a másikra kiderült, nem barátod, hanem ellenséged. Hogy az ember halljon egyről, vagy másról, hogy mit mond, vagy egyesek még írásban is megnyilvánulnak, mint magyarevők, vagy mint zsidóevők, ez nem jött az embernek, hogy elhiggye, hogy ez 50 évnyi agymosás után mégis létezik. Látszik, hogy sajnos az ösztönök erősebbek, mint a józan gondolkodás. 1990 óta voltak kolozsvári napilapokban írások, amikkel írásban én szembeszálltam, de nem akarom megnevezni a napilapot, mert a fiú, aki írta, az elég szimpatikus és elég jó zenekritikus. Egy nagy cikkben válaszoltam neki a latin mondással, hogy ‘cipész menj vissza a kaptafádhoz’, mivel védelmébe vette Antonescut és egy kicsit kételkedett az egész Holokausztban. Persze, hogy válaszoltam neki egy cikkben, amiben, nem annyira, hogy ő mit mond, hanem dokumentumokkal bizonyítottam neki be azt, hogy nincs igaza. Volt egy másik lap is, a főszerkesztője mellesleg egy demokrata és egy nagyon tisztességes ember volt, aki a kommunisták alatt vagy 10 évet ült is, nem ő írta, de mégis, abban a lapban jelent meg egy cikk szintén ezen a témán. Nem vagyok az az ember, aki, ha szembeköpnek, akkor azt mondom, hogy esik az eső. [Szerk. megj.: László arra utal, hogy nem bagatellizálta az írottakat.] Tehát, ki merek állni az igazságom mellett argumentumokkal, egy kicsit muszáj is vitába szállni, mert ha nem szállsz vitába, akkor egyesek azt hihetik, hogy neki van igaza. Habár, az az érzésem, hogy falra hányt borsó, mert azok akik nem hisznek ebben a dolgokban, azok továbbra sem fognak hinni. Maholnap Romániában arról is lehet beszélni, hogy van egy antiszemitizmus zsidók nélkül. Mert mennyi? Mondjuk 10,000 zsidó van még, és hát mit számít 10,000 zsidó? Petre Roman, a volt miniszterelnök apja zsidó volt, sőt a nagyapja rabbi volt, de ő magát kereszténynek tartja, annál is inkább, hogy az édesanyja nem zsidó. De ma is előhozzák, hogy mit keresett ez a zsidó, mint miniszterelnök. Tehát egy intolerancia van, amikor megkezdünk egy diszkúciót, akkor rögtön kezdjük, hogy az zsidó vagy magyar. Most egy másik nagy téma a cigány téma is, hogy hát az cigány.

A feleségem tudta, hogy zsidó vagyok, ő unitárius volt, de mindegyikünk megmaradt a maga vallásán. Mi egyáltalán nem tettük föl a kérdést, se a feleségem, sem én, hogy én esetleg unitárius legyek vagy ő esetleg áttérjen. Habár, az az érzésem, hogy ha én akartam volna, hogy ő áttérjen a zsidó vallásra, énértem megtette volna. De erről nem beszéltünk. Persze, hogy rengeteg zsidó barátunk volt és van, és azok mind tudták, hogy ő magyar és nagyon jól viszonyultak hozzá és ő is nagyon jól viszonyult hozzájuk. A családban magyarul is és románul is beszéltünk. Románul beszéltünk sok ideig, mert a Feleségem romántanárnő volt, románt tanított itt Kolozsváron három helyen középiskolában és líceumban. Ő sem volt vallásos, tehát ilyen szempontból a fiam nem nevelkedett semmiféle vallásos tradícióban. A fiam 1989 előtt is tudta, hogy az apja zsidó, a nagyanyja s a nagyapja zsidó, volt látogatóban is Izraelbe. Ismeri a zsidóság történetét úgy nagyvonalakban, de a zsidó vallás tradicionális részét nem ismeri. Még mondjuk a csólentet se ismeri csak a hitközség kantinjából.

A fiam román középiskolát végzett, akkor bevonult katonának, mivel nem sikerült az első fölvételije. Utána jogra fölvételezik. Amíg a jogon járt, mint technikus és aztán mint szerkesztő dolgozott a kolozsvári rádiónál, és aztán befejezi az egyetemet. A felesége Dés mellőli román nő, biológus. A fiam egy ideig Désen élt, ott volt jogtanácsos, utána aztán Csíkszeredán, most Kolozsváron bíró és a szamosújvári bíróságnak az elnöke. Két gyereke van, egyik fia Dan Emanuel Grunea az idén, 2003-ban fejezte be a jogot a Babes-Bolyai egyetemen. Maria Emanuela Grunea, a lánya, az idén érettségizett. A fiam inkább románnak tartja magát. Mivel az apja zsidó, az anyja magyar, nem tagadhatja származását, de ő inkább a román társadalomhoz tartozik. Nincs körülmetélve.

Otthon nem tartottuk a tradíciós ünnepeket, szombaton nem volt gyertya gyújtás. Nem rendeztem én a feleségem és a fiam részére Peszah estét, habár meg tudtam volna csinálni. Húsvétkor azért hoztam haza a hitközségtől pászkát a feleségemnek és a gyereknek. A gyerek tudta, hogy mi a pászka, de húsvétkor volt tojás is, mert egy tradíció volt a feleségemnek. Karácsonyfánk volt, illetve – akkor is ez egy duplicitás volt –, mert a kommunistáknál nem létezett karácsonyfa, de megengedték az úgynevezett Téli-fát, és létezett az úgynevezett Télapó. És akkor az emberek 90 % azt csinálták, hogy földíszítette a Téli-fát karácsony előtt, de jól elhúzták a függönyöket, hogy kívülről ne lehessen látni, hogy, aztán december 30-án, a népköztársasági újév előtt már kinyitották, hogy látszódjon, mert a Téli-fát az újév előtt közvetlenül díszítették fel.

A hitközséghez ők hívtak meg körülbelül az 1969-70-es években, akkor Kertész Miklós volt az elnök. Ő eredetileg ügyvéd volt. Egy időben Rapaport Ottó rendező volt a magyar színháznál és ő szervezte a kultúr életet, és ő szólt, hogy kapcsolódjak be. Ő aztán az 1970-es évek végén emigrált Izraelben és jó ideig az ottani magyar lapnak, az Új Keletnek, volt főszerkesztője. Most egyrészt előadásokat tartok a zsidó történelemről és kultúráról, mind koordinátor dolgozom a havonta megjelenő romániai zsidó lapban, főleg kolozsvári zsidótörténelmi oldalakat írok, és tagja vagyok a hitközség vezetőségének, ami azt jelenti, hogy időnként meghívnak egy-egy gyűlésre, kikérdezik a véleményemet.

A zsidóságom meghatározásáról azt lehet mondani, hogy van egy szólásmondás jiddisül: ‘shver zu zayn a yid’, nehéz zsidónak lenni. Tehát ez egy öröm is, hogy egy olyan nemzetnek a fia vagy, akinek nagy történelme van, ugyanakkor egy nagy súly is, mert ha egy történelmet vállalsz magadra, akkor – az a véleményem –, úgy kell viselkedj, hogy rólad, mint zsidóról ne lehessen rosszat mondani. Ha jön, hogy eldobj egy cigarettát az utcán, akkor ne dobd el, hogy azt ne mondják, hogy ez a zsidó mocskos. Nem mindig egy nagy öröm. Egy másik probléma az, hogy neked, akinek van egy családfád, amelyik több száz évre visszamenő és bizonyítsa, hogy te itt vagy, akkor minden nap bizonyítsd, hogy te ehhez a földhöz tartozol. Furcsa dolog, hogy több száz év után te be kell bizonyítsd, hogy te itt nem vagy idegen. Neked ugyanazok a jogaid és kötelességeid, mint minden más embernek.

Harun Bozo
Istanbul
Turkey
Interviewers: Rose and Alberto Modiano
Date of interview: February-March 2005

Harun Bozo is a 77-year-old mature and affectionate man. After having been in the haberdashery business and the import of industrial machines, he now deals in electronics. He and his second wife, Cigdem Sara, had their civil marriage in 1978 and their religious marriage in 2005. Harun Bozo, his wife Sara, their daughter Feride and their dog Lily live on the second floor of the Emlak Palas Apartment in Tesvikiye, Abdi Ipekci Street. The house has furniture dating from the middle of the 20th century. Harun Bozo is fine health-wise. He goes to work every day. On Fridays he leaves work early and prepares for Shabat [Sabbath]. He likes reading newspapers, magazines and books. He also likes to travel. He devotes a lot of time to his present family and also to his sons from his first marriage. I interviewed Harun Bozo with my wife, Rose. We visited him five times in all and spent three hours every time. During our visits, whenever we asked him if he was tired and would like to stop, he would tell us, 'If you are not tired, I can go on for hours.' It was obvious that Harun Bozo loved sharing his life story with us.

History of Urfa
Family background
Growing up in Urfa
The Urfa Events
Glossary

History of Urfa

Urfa's name in history was 'Ur' or 'Urelke.' When Alexander the Great conquered Ur, he named it Ruha. This is also the place where Abraham was born. Abraham was slung over the castle of Urfa and at that moment the trees became fish and the flames became water and legend says there appeared the sacred 'fish lake.' Some say they wanted to burn Abraham because he believed in God, others say because he fell in love with his daughter. They even call Urfa by another name: 'Anzelha.' In Arabic 'An' means 'eye' or 'stream' and 'Zelha' is the name of the girl. [According to one of the local folk tales about Urfa in the times before Alexander the Great, Abraham came to the city and was bound by Nimrod between the two columns that still stand on the citadel. He slung the patriarch from the citadel into the valley, but he was saved miraculously. The pool sacred to Abraham was erected at that place and fish that inhabit it are sacred. (The sacred pool was erected under the Muslim rule.) The legend complements the account in Gen. 11:20 ff. Incidentally, fish was the sacred animal of the Syrian goddess worshipped some 50 miles away in Hierapolis (Bambyce), on the West bank of the Euphrates. The legend is probably of Christian origin, since when Christianity became dominant in Urfa, a reckoning of years from Abraham replaced the old way of reckoning from the beginning of the Seleucid era in 312 BC.] According to what my father told me, my ancestors came from Iraq and settled in Harran [town in Urfa province, Turkey, near the Syrian border] about 500 years ago. There used to be very few Jewish families in Urfa originally, all others came from other places; some from Aleppo [today Halab, Syria], some from Siverek [another town in Urfa province], and some from Diyarbakir [city in Eastern Anatolia]. However, the three or four big [rich and famous] families came from [the territory of today's] Iraq, like the families Nasir, Hidir, Mugrabi, Atiye and Urfali. The families Antel, Elfiye, Binler, Dayan, Milhem and Misri came from Aleppo. The families Sahud, Ilia Hidir, Rabbi Azur and Murdoh came from Siverek. They say that in the 1800s there was a population of a thousand Jews in Urfa. In the years I lived in Urfa there were 200 Jewish families in the city. The Jews of Urfa were very loyal to their religion. They were very careful with the kasherut [kashrut] rules. On Saturdays, they wouldn't open their shops. No one would smoke on a Saturday, or ride in a car and as everyone knew everyone else, more care was taken in order not to provoke any gossip.

Family background

You can find our family name Bozo from Urfa in Latin America: Argentina and Brazil; and in New York as well. Everyone knows us as Bozo. However, when the Surname Law 1 was passed in Turkey in 1928, they wrote Boz instead of Bozo on our identity cards. [A lot of mistakes were made on the part of the scribes who wrote the identity cards in those days.] Nevertheless, in the synagogues and everywhere else we are known as Bozo. Members of our family have spread all over the world.

My maternal grandmother was called Salha Acem and my maternal grandfather was called Reful Acem. I don't have any other information on them.

My father's father, Yakup Akkus Bozo, was born in Urfa and he spoke only Arabic. My father's mother, Gerez Bozo - I don't remember her maiden name - was born in Aleppo. She was a very religious housewife. She also spoke Arabic.

My paternal great-grandfather was in the haberdashery business. My grandfather, who continued the business, must have been quite well-off as he was also the gabay [gabbai] of the synagogue. One had to be rich in order to be a gabay. The gabay had to give economical support to needy people and to the synagogue. My father, who was as hardworking as my grandfather, inherited the business from him, but before that he and his father worked together. They used to go to villages to sell their wares.

My grandfather was an honest and straightforward man. He wouldn't tolerate any unfairness. Once, my father told me, when he - my father - was a child, they were coming back from visiting some neighbors. In those times, they used to carry lanterns when they went visiting at night-time so they could see in the dark. On their way back to their own house, they noticed that some robbers had broken into their neighbor's house. My grandfather picked up a stick and started shouting, 'How dare you go into my neighbor's house?' The robbers, four or five of them, said to him, 'Don't get involved in this. We will finish our business and be on our way, don't interfere!' My grandfather shouted, 'How can I not get involved?' and he attacked them with his stick. He wounded them but got injured himself as well and was hospitalized for four or five months. However, he succeeded in preventing the robbers from robbing his neighbor's house. He was a kind and self- sacrificing man who was liked by everyone. He was also very religious; he was both the gabay of the synagogue and the president of the community.

The house where my grandfather lived and where my father spent his childhood and youth was left to my father by his father. My father had two brothers and two sisters. My father's brothers were Reful Bozo and Yusuf Bozo and his sisters were Sara Bozo and Rahel Bozo. His sisters were from his father's first marriage. All three brothers got married, and they all lived in this same house. It was a very big family. Everyone had a lot of children. Reful Bozo had four children: Yakup Bozo [m], Shlomo Bozo [m], Mihail Bozo [m] and Dalya Bozo [f]. Yusuf Bozo had four children, too: Alber Bozo [m], Leon Bozo [m], David Bozo [m] and Lili Bozo [f].

Growing up in Urfa

My father had a big stone house, built in the Askeriye district of Urfa in 1922. That house was very beautiful. There was no special architecture in Urfa at that time. The house was made of smooth white stones. It had a big terrace, a garden of 150 square meters, and it had the best view a house could have in Urfa. There were six rooms, a kitchen and a mikve [mikveh] inside the house. The toilet was outside. There was a well next to the mikve. They used to fill the mikve with water from this well. We had beautiful furniture, antique armchairs and chairs. These were not made in Urfa, and my father had them brought from Aleppo. Then, when we moved to Istanbul in 1950, we brought them with us.

There was no tap water in our house in Urfa. There was a well. We used this water to do the cleaning and scrubbing. We didn't drink the water from the well in my time. There used to be a stream near our house called 'Karapinar' [Black Stream]. We used to go and get water from that stream and drink that water. Tap water came to Urfa in 1945, and they started drinking that water then.

There was no electricity. We had gas lamps. We used braziers for heating. We had pretty, decorative braziers in our homes. Sometimes we used to get electricity for one or two hours but that was very rare. There was only one cinema in Urfa and that didn't work properly either [because of lack of electricity].

We had a big garden next to our house. There were mulberry trees in that garden. My uncle [in-law], Musa Misri, was very interested in flowers and gardening. There were maybe 100 different kinds of flowers in our garden. He had turned the garden into a beautiful flower garden. There were two rooms on each side of the house. There was a stone garden-like yard in the middle. We had a table there. As it was very hot in the summer, we used to have our meals there. We also used to sleep on the roof during the summer nights. We used to put up bamboo curtains around the beds so that the neighbors couldn't see us.

We had another house on the other side of Urfa. We used to raise chickens and pigeons there. We also used to raise the baby gazelles the villagers caught and brought us as presents. My father had horses and we used to raise horses, too. My father also traded in sheep wool. When the sheep were sheared, we used to put the wool in the stock room of this other house. We also had a granary and then my father used to sell all these [wool, wheat etc.] little by little.

There was a man and a woman to help in the house. The woman wasn't Jewish, she was Muslim. A Jewish boy used to help my father with his affairs. He came in the morning and he'd go out with my father to do the daily shopping for the house. My mother would prepare the meals and the boy would come at noon to take my father's lunch to his workplace in a lunch box. The woman would come and help with the cleaning of the house. Most importantly, she used to do the washing up. In those times, women in Urfa used to wash the dishes with ashes. She would take the washing up to the meadow and bring it back when it was finished. We didn't buy bread because my father was very religious. We had to make kosher bread ourselves, so bread was prepared at home. My mother would prepare the bread, then she would give it to this woman, who would take it to the baker and stand by until it was baked, and then bring it home.

My father, Ezra Azur Bozo, was born in Urfa in 1876. He spoke Arabic, Turkish and Hebrew. Arabic was his first language. He was a very religious, very honest and very straightforward person. There wasn't one person in Urfa who didn't know my father. Azur Bozo was a legend in Urfa. His was a big name like Vehbi Koc in Istanbul. [Koc, Vehbi (1901-1996): the greatest industrialist in Turkey, founder and owner of Koc Holding, one of the oldest companies of Istanbul's most important group of companies dealing with many diverse industries, from the automotive to the electronic.] He was very hardworking and very bright, so he had become very rich. He would start work at 6 in the morning and work until late at night.

He was in the haberdashery business. He used to go round the villages to sell his wares. He also did agriculture and raised sheep. At one time he had a partner and we used to sell horses to the military. My father was involved in a lot of different businesses. He did a lot of sheep buying and selling. Sometimes he would go to Erzurum [city in Eastern Turkey] and buy the special purple-brown sheep that were raised there and come back and sell them in Urfa. I remember that at one time there was a special sheep tax called Ashar Tax 2 in Turkey. The officials came and counted the sheep. They asked to whom the sheep belonged. Actually, half of the sheep of Urfa belonged to my father! Then they sent word to my father to prepare his tax. Then they came to ask for the money and my father very honestly paid all the tax.

There were no schools in Urfa during my father's childhood. My father went to the Talmud Tora. He learned Hebrew there. He could read the Tora very well. He also knew old Turkish and would write all his letters in this old script. [Before the language reform, Turkish used to be written in Arabic script.]

My father wasn't a very talkative person. He was a serious man. He was also very intelligent. He didn't chatter with people and he didn't interfere in others' businesses. He led a calm and comfortable life. He wasn't too humorous. I've never heard a bad word spoken about him.

My father led a very simple life. You know, the first prayers in the morning are quite early. He would get up much earlier and go to the synagogue at 4:30 in the morning. They would have sessions on religion before the prayers. They would read religious texts and discuss them. My father always joined these sessions. After the sessions, there would be the morning prayers. From there he would come home, have his breakfast and go to work.

On some days, my father would leave work early and go to the coffee-house, meet his friends there, play backgammon with them or just have chats. The coffee-house was near the Jewish district, and sometimes I would also go there and watch them play backgammon. Backgammon was a very important part of the entertainment in our household. My father, may his soul rest in peace, loved the game.

My father would never go out without a hat. He would never go around the house without a kipa either. He didn't have a beard. In old times, I remember him having a very small moustache. He always wore a tie and jacket but didn't care for luxuries or fashion. He wore simple clothes and no jewelry. He bought my mother some nice diamonds and rings though.

My mother, Feride Bozo, was my father's second wife. She was born in Aleppo in 1884. Her maiden name was Acem [which means 'Persian' in Turkish]. She had also had a Judaic, religious education. She spoke Arabic and was a housewife. My mother was a very calm, docile and quiet woman. She would never shout. She made life in Urfa very sweet for us. She raised our elder sisters, too. My mother cooked wonderful meals. That was life for women in Urfa. She and my sisters would cook and clean all day long. My mother spent all her time doing the housework. She very rarely went out. Our women didn't go out unless it was necessary. They used to treat minorities badly in Urfa. They used to throw stones and swear at Jews. That's why the women had no life outside their homes. They spent all their lives inside their homes.

We used to speak Arabic in my home. Half of the population of Urfa was Kurdish and half was Arab. Most civil servants would speak Turkish, but the people would speak Arabic or Kurdish. My mother didn't know Turkish. We still speak Arabic within our family. However, I would like to point out that the Arabic we spoke was different from the Arabic the villagers spoke. Ours was a much more refined and cultured Arabic. We learned this more educated version of Arabic at home.

My mother would dress very neatly. It wasn't easy to raise seven to eight children. After she married them off, visits to the respective families started, and then came the grandchildren and more visits. She would spend all her time with the family. We had a very nice 'neighborly life' in Urfa. We spent our free time visiting our neighbors or being visited by them. It was a sweet life.

In my father's youth, Jews did not do military service [see Military Substitution Tax] 3.

I don't have a lot of information about how my mother and father met. At that time, my father lived in Urfa and my mother in Aleppo. My father had had great difficulty in getting divorced from the first wife he took from Aleppo; they had set very severe conditions. During that time, my [maternal] uncle Reful Acem had helped my father a lot and had told him, 'After your divorce, I will give you my sister.' That he did, and they got married in Aleppo. Then my father brought my mother to Urfa from Aleppo. I think it was the year 1907. My mother's arrival in Urfa was a great event. All Urfa was out in the streets or at the windows. There were no trains then of course. He brought her in a carriage. People watched the arrival of my mother from the roofs of their houses, too. My mother was short, fair- skinned with dark eyes and brows. She was a beautiful woman. She was beautiful even when she was old. In those years, in 1907, there were no civil marriages yet. There were only religious marriages in the synagogue. Civil marriages started later [see Reforms in the Turkish Republic] 4.

My father didn't study with Latin letters. He studied at the Talmud Tora, which meant he always read religious books. He had lots of books in Hebrew. We brought some of them when we moved to Istanbul. His friends and relatives knew his special interest in religious books and would send or bring him books from Israel [then Palestine] or from other countries. When he died, we gave all of them to the Sisli [Beth-Israel] Synagogue 5.

There were no newspapers that were published in Urfa in those times.

Urfa was a small place, so its people were very religious. Jews didn't like to go out too much. They socialized amongst themselves. There was great respect and attachment for the elders. There was no one who didn't go to the synagogue on a Saturday. Nobody ate trefa [treyf]. No milk products would be cooked in pots and pans where meat was cooked. The whole kitchen would be cleaned up a month before Pesah [Pesach]. According to the Jews of Urfa, it is not forbidden to eat rice on Pesah. However, the Sephardim [see Sephardi Jewry] 6 don't eat rice in case something had slipped into the sacks of rice. That's why actually we clean the rice many times over. And for us, it isn't forbidden or a sin to eat it. However, the cooked rice has to be eaten up and not kept for the next day. There was no matsa [matzah] for Pesah in Urfa. We always made matsa at home like we did with our bread. This was to be sure about the ingredients in both the matsa and the bread. We prepared the dough and then went and waited at the baker's for it to bake and then we would bring it back. That's how we had both our matsa and our bread made. In the 1940s we washed our own wheat, then we would rent a mill and make the wheat into flour and then we would distribute that flour to the Jewish families in Urfa, who would then make their own matsa.

The other day I had a discussion about why we don't mix meat and milk with our present Hahambashi [Chief Rabbi] Rav Izak Haleva. I had asked my father this same question once and he had explained it to me in the following way, 'If you look at people's hands in Urfa, you will see that some people's skins are soft like cotton while others' are blotchy. The skin of people who mix meat and milk in their diet is blotchy and spotty.'

This week I watched a TV documentary about a 66-year-old man who looks extremely healthy and young. He said, 'Besides exercising every morning, I don't mix meat and milk in my diet because mixing the two is bad for one's health. Jews don't mix meat and milk and solid fats in their diet. I have remained young because I have taken good care to apply this to my diet!'

On Fridays my father would come home from work really early. He would wash, then put on his newest and cleanest clothes. We would all then go to the synagogue for Shabat. There would be a lot of different dishes on our return from the synagogue. A lot of importance was given to this meal. There would be prayers and the kidush [Kiddush] at home. On Saturday morning we would go to the synagogue without breaking our fast. After the kidush, there would be the seuda [breakfast] and that's when we ate.

The religious holidays were very joyful at home. At Purim, everyone would go visit everyone else. A special dessert called 'mahmur' would be made. Mahmur is made from flour and semola, then stuffed with chestnuts, pistachios and cinnamon. After baking this in the oven, you put powdered sugar on it. This is a special dessert of Urfa. There would also be cookies, and then another kind of dessert made by mixing almonds with pistachios and sugar. On Pesah, we would keep the matsa inside special cloths and eat it during the whole festival. In our house, we used the same kitchenware for Purim and Pesah. Even then they would be washed very carefully in a big cauldron where water would be boiled for this special kitchenware. My aunt's children would also come to our house and we would say the 'beraha.' We would be at least 15-20 people. I notice people reading the Agada [Hagaddah] nowadays; it is read very fast and finished really quickly. Our father, however, would take care to explain everything to us in detail. While reading the Agada, we would first read the text in Hebrew and then we would also read the translation in Arabic so we could understand what the text said. This was special to us. Now this tradition has disappeared. My father could understand all the prayers he read, we couldn't.

On Shavuot we had other special foods. We had a dessert that was made with honey, specially for Shavuot. This dessert is the same as the Turkish 'sutlach' [a dessert made with milk, sugar, vanilla and rice], but honey is used instead of sugar. On Sukot [Sukkot] we built a suka [sukkah] in our house. The columns of the suka were there until the day we left Urfa. For Roshashana [Rosh Hashanah] the same foods that are made in Istanbul were made in Urfa as well. The only difference was an additional dessert made of the long marrow. It is the jam version of the pumpkin dessert that we know. I've never seen this here [in Istanbul]; however, my sister continued this Urfa tradition here in Istanbul.

'Kubbe' was a special 'ichli kofte,' which was a Jewish dish blended with Arab culture. Kubbe was the long, narrow type of meatball special to the Jews. Normally Kubbe is made from bulgur [boiled and pounded wheat]. It can also be made from rice and pounded red meat and you add boiled water and tomato sauce. This you do not find in the Turkish cuisine. My sisters used to make this. My elder sister still does. It's really very difficult to make. The new generations don't know how to cook these dishes. The Urfa cuisine is slowly disappearing. It is during the holidays that all the family gets impatient to eat everything that my elder sister cooks in the old way. For example there is another dish called 'kaburga' [rib], which we love and which is very, very hard to make. You get lamb meat and stuff it with almonds, pine nuts and rice. After you stuff the meat you sew it up and close it off. Then you bake it in the oven with black pepper. You can serve it with potatoes or broad beans. My elder sister makes it once with potatoes and once with broad beans. These dishes are only cooked on special days every year. They are made on special occasions. The Arab stuffed vegetables are something else. When my elder sister makes stuffed squash [stuffed with meat] she adds tomato sauce and garlic to it and cooks them with dried apricots. The apricots kind of get soft and the meal has a slightly sour taste.

My father wasn't a member of any political or cultural organization. To tell the truth, the Jews couldn't be involved in things like that. The Jews in Urfa were not as comfortable as the Jews in Istanbul. They didn't feel comfortable wandering in the city. My father was very religious. The synagogue and the synagogue's administration were his whole occupation. There were a couple of rich families in Urfa. My father and the Anter family could be counted as these rich families. Other families were not very well off, so my father perforce had to finance a lot of things.

All the entertainment in Urfa was visiting other families. My father was very well-liked in the family as well. Jewish families were friends amongst themselves. They were reluctant to become friends with the Muslim families. Most of our Jewish neighbors have immigrated to Halep [Aleppo], New York, Argentina and in greater numbers to Israel. When I go to Israel, I meet many of them there. After the Urfa Events 7 our poorer neighbors all left and went to Israel. Today I meet their grandchildren when I go to Or Yehuda [Tel Aviv].

The streets in Urfa were very narrow. The houses were built next to one another. When everyone slept on the roof, the neighbors would chat with each other. The roads were built with white stones. I sometimes went to my aunts' houses jumping from one roof to the other!

The population of Urfa was between 30,000 and 40,000. There were 200 Jewish families among these. The Jews lived in the ghetto-like, closed Jewish quarter of the city. The richer families lived outside Urfa. However 98 percent of the Jewish families lived in the Jewish quarter.

There was a big synagogue, with its winter and summer sections separated. It also had a midrash, where we had our Talmud Tora and learned our Tora. I don't remember if there was a mikve inside the synagogue, but I do remember that there was a mikve and a bath in every house. We also had a hamam in our quarter. On certain days, we would always go to the hamam. My mother generally wasn't a very energetic person but my father's sister, my aunt Sara was a very capable woman. She would gather all of us and we would all go to the hamam. Women used to be afraid to go alone because they would be stoned if they went out into the streets alone. My aunt lived in the house right next to us on her own. The house had been left to her by her deceased husband. She was a very respected person in Urfa. Even the Muslims would come to kiss her hand. She had been widowed when I was born.

As to the occupations of the Jews in Urfa: those who were better off dealt in haberdashery. As to other occupations, I can give you the example of the Antels, one of the leading families in Urfa. They were the representatives of Mobil Oil in Urfa. The poor Jews of Urfa were mostly peddlers. They would load their horses with things like cloth etc. and would go to the villages to sell their wares.

The French occupied Urfa in 1919 [see Ottoman Empire in World War I] 8. Then the Turks fought the French and threw them out of Urfa. [in 1922]. 11th April is Urfa's Independence Day. We used to have wonderful celebrations on that day. I remember very well because I had become a boy scout on one of those days. I even had a photo of me as a boy scout but unfortunately I lost that photo.

In Urfa, we used to work till noon on Fridays, and there was no work at all on Saturdays. Unless there was something very special going on, my father would go to work on Sundays. We didn't have the habit of closing our workplaces on Sundays.

There were no open markets in Urfa like there are here in Istanbul. We had a marketplace, and the boy who worked for my father would accompany him to the marketplace for the weekly shopping. They used to get the necessary vegetables from the marketplace. Behind the marketplace there were butchers who sold kosher meat. My father shopped from them. He was very careful about where he got his meat from.

The Turks would treat us badly in Urfa. Sometimes we were scared to even go out into the streets. They would swear at us because we were Jews and they would throw stones at the girls. I got beaten up many times as I was going to school. However, even though rarely, there were times when we went into partnership with non-Jewish families. There were two sorts of families in Urfa, the Kurds and the Arabs. We usually did business with the Arabs. The Arab villagers were very nice people. When these people came to the city they used to stay at our house. We used to cook for them. They would eat and then they would purchase goods from my father. These Arabs were poor but good people. The city people, on the other hand, always looked down on the Jews. They regarded us as flies and this hurt our pride really badly.

My father also had a neighbor called Hasan Demirkol. When I was seven or eight years old, he was probably 50-60 years old. He was supposedly my father's best friend. One day on the street, he took a stone in his hand and came at me crying, 'Jew.' After many years, when this man came to Istanbul, he did some shopping at my father's store as if nothing had happened. I cannot forget the bad personality of this man. One day in Istanbul, this man came to our shop and started shouting at us. I told him, 'Hey, this is not Urfa, so you'd better be careful.'

As to the other minorities; there were no Greeks in Urfa. The Armenians, after the massacres of 1907 and 1913, escaped to Halep [Aleppo] and there wasn't even one Armenian left in Urfa. Then there were only about 100 Jewish families left as a minority group. There was fighting between the Armenians and the Turks in Urfa. It was war between them. The Jews took the side of the Turks. Nobody could go out. They would go on rooftops and fire bullets around and kill people. Then the Kurdish agas [chief of clan] came and they were forced to flee to Halep [Aleppo]. When I was born in 1928, there were no Armenians left in Urfa.

My father had two brothers, Reful and Yusuf, and two sisters, Sara and Rahel. My mother had four brothers, Israil, Hayim, Abraham and Selim, and two sisters, Sara and Mari. My father's brothers all worked with my father. Then they left for Aleppo when they were very young and opened their own businesses. My father stayed in Urfa. My mother's brothers went to Argentina. They lived there and they died there. At that time Jews who left Aleppo went either to Brazil or to Argentina. My uncles chose Argentina. Their children are quite well off. My elder brother even did some business in Argentina and became partners with one of the daughters-in-law.

My siblings: Our eldest, Yakup, was born in 1908. He did his military service in Urfa. He was very religious. When he went up to the teva [tevah], they said the Hohma [a special prayer for rabbis] for him. He was religious at the level of a rabbi. He came to Istanbul in 1940. He married my sister-in-law, Alegra Bozo. They had three daughters and one son: Azur Bozo [son], Feride Bozo, Fifi Bozo and Rozet Bozo [daughters]. His eldest, Azur Bozo, was born in Urfa. My sister-in-law was in Istanbul but they came to Urfa for the birth. Yakup died in 2003.

Yakup was an authority in religious matters. He knew everything as much as the Hahambashi. He used to preach at the Buyukada Synagogue in the summers. There was a Talmud Tora in Urfa. Even in the years when he went to school, my brother would get up early in the morning, go to the Talmud Tora first, and then go to school. They used to teach the prayers, then the Perashot and then the rest of the knowledge. We had a tradition in our city. We used to go to the synagogue at 4 or 5 in the morning and all the rabbis and the wise men came, too. My brother was as fascinated by all this as my father. They would sit down and read the Torah. The grandfather of the Hayamo family, who were killed, was a great rabbi. They used to sit under his leadership in the mornings and talk. My brother said he learned everything from these talks. There were a lot of other wise men. They didn't only read, but they did interpretations as well. I didn't get to learn from these people unfortunately. I knew them of course, but I didn't continue with my lessons. That's why I don't have as much religious knowledge. However, I give things deep thought and what I know I know well. After my brother Yakup died, Rav Benveniste [a member of the Beth-Din of the Turkish Jewish community] spoke about him during one of the prayers. He talked about him as if he were an ordained rabbi - that was the level they considered him to be at.

Iliya Hidir was a skinny man. He was a reserved man; he never wore suits but would go around in a 'kusak' [large belt wrapped around the waist]. He was quite well off, knew business well and was a very rational man. He was also a rabbi but he didn't do it professionally. He was very knowledgeable in religious matters. He gave lessons in religion and everyone would gather around him. We had a rabbi called Moshe Atiye, who came to Istanbul afterwards. Moshe Atiye, my father, Davut Hidir and his brother, shochet Azur, studied religion at the synagogue in the mornings. The younger generation would gather around them to learn from them. They would read a text and then discuss the interpretation. They learned how to do what, when and how. That's how they learned about religion. Reading the Agada at Pesah usually took one hour in Urfa, but it would take two to three hours in our house because my father - may his soul rest in peace - would sit and teach us all. We would read the Agada in Hebrew and then read its translation into Arabic, so we could understand what it was saying. Sometimes, we would sit till morning interpreting certain parts of the text.

My [eldest] sister, Adel Bozo, was born in Urfa in 1914. She married my uncle's son in Aleppo. Adel and her husband went to Israel after they got married. My brother-in-law is dead. My sister is 90 today. There is a very big Bozo family in Israel. If you say 'Boz' in Israel, no-one will understand because everybody knows us as Bozo. My sister has three sons and two daughters: Rafi, Moshe and Ezra are her sons; and Miryam and Frida are her daughters.

[My second sister] Cemile Bozo was born in Urfa in 1917. She married Mirsi Aytun. She has five daughters and a son. That's a big family, too. Her son is Rahmi; and her daughters are: Hatun, Feride, Lidya, Adel and Rashel.

[My brother] Musa Bozo was born in 1919, when the French occupied Urfa. He came to Istanbul with my elder brother Yakup in 1940. He married a Sephardic girl, Ester Salis. She is the only Sephardic member of the family. My brothers founded a firm here. They were quite well off. My father had sent them here, so one branch of the family could be in Istanbul. Musa Bozo gained a very good reputation in business circles. He died in 2004. He had a son and a daughter. His son is Ezra, and his daughter is Feride. Feride, who is now widowed, lives in Israel.

[My third sister] Salha Bozo was born in Urfa in 1922. She was married to my brother-in-law, Saya Mizrahi. She lost her husband when she was very young in 1956. One of her sons, Ezra Bozo Mizrahi, lives in Israel. He is one of the rich and renowned families in Israel. Salha died in 1996. Ezra's wedding took place in September 2004. They invited me to the wedding and when Ezra said, 'You are like a father to me,' I had to go of course.

My sister Leyla Bozo was born in Urfa in 1924. She married one of my uncle's sons, Alber Bozo. So her surname remained Bozo. She lives in Israel. She has six children: Rafi [m], Shlomo [m], Ezra [m], Yosi [m], Frida [f] and Adine [f].

[My youngest sister] Sara Bozo was born in Urfa in 1926. She met her husband, Murat Siton, in Israel and got engaged there but they came here to get married in Istanbul and then they left for Israel. She has two daughters, Freide and Deniz, and one son, Eli.

We are eight siblings. There are eight boys in the family carrying my father's name Ezra and eight girls with the name of Feride.

I was born on 20th June 1928 in Urfa. I went to the Talmud Tora until I was seven or eight years old and learned Hebrew there. I could read the Perasha very well. There were no kindergartens in Urfa. As my father wasn't interested in things concerning education, a friend of his, who was working with him, enrolled me in school in 1934. If it hadn't been for him I wouldn't have been able to go to school. There was the Turan elementary school in Urfa. I studied there till the fourth grade.

I was very interested in horses and horse riding when I was young. There were no cars in my time. My father would ride to the villages to do his business. I was very much interested in horses when I was eight to ten years old. So much so that, when my family came to Istanbul in 1940 to marry my brother Musa Boz, I didn't come to the wedding because I didn't want to stop riding. I rode donkeys till I was twelve. When I was twelve, they bought me a horse and I started riding horses. When I became an officer during my military service in 1950 at the Izmir Mounted Forces, my superior officer asked me if I could ride well. I told him I could ride very well. So I was given a very special horse. Not everyone could ride that horse. But I could of course, and that became my horse. All my childhood was spent on horseback. It was my only hobby in Urfa. We also had gazelles and lambs; but I liked to feed pigeons most. We flew them over the tops of the roofs.

I remember very well my first day at school. The headmaster, Mr. Ihsan, had a whistle in his hand. The whistle was linked to a thick chain. Something happened and he hit me on the head with that chain. As my hair was short, you could see the big wound on my head. That is a very unpleasant memory I have of those days. There was another Jew in first grade apart from me and he couldn't speak Turkish very well. Even though Arabic was spoken in our homes, we used to speak Turkish among friends. However, as I was a more outgoing boy, my Turkish was better than the others'.

After I finished the fourth grade at the Turan school, they enrolled me in the Vatan school for the fifth grade. It must have been the [academic] year 1940-41. Then I went to secondary school in Urfa, which I finished in 1943. I had to go on with my education, but there was no lycee in Urfa. I came to Istanbul in 1943 because I wanted to study at Robert College 9, but I was too late for the exams. Others who had come from Urfa had gone to study at this school. My brother enrolled me in the St. Benoit Lycee [French Catholic high school]. Then I started living with my brother. I graduated in 1948-49. My family was in Urfa. I used to go there and visit until 1945- 46. However, after the Urfa Events, I didn't go there again. As I was the youngest, my mother was very attached to me and she would worry herself sick every time I came to Urfa. She didn't want me to go, so after 1946 I never went to Urfa again.

I used to like mathematics very much and I was very good at it. However, after I came to Istanbul I became very interested in literature. As I knew Arabic and French I could follow the literature classes very easily.

There wasn't any class or teacher that I hated. There was one teacher, I remember, her name was Halide Edip Zorlutuna. She used to talk against Jews a lot, this I remember. When she did that, a classmate of mine told her, 'There is a Jew here, please do not talk like that.' And she was quiet after that.

There were no private lessons in Urfa. However, when I first came to Istanbul and started studying at the St. Benoit Lycee, the classes were quite difficult and I had a hard time at first. I took some math lessons. But later on, it was OK. I was a hardworking and good student.

I read a lot. We had a very good relationship with my literature teacher at school. He had even made me librarian. Unfortunately one day, they stole all my books from the library. I had to replace the stolen books with my own. I was mostly influenced by Turkish Literature. My literature teacher was Zahir Guvenli. He used to write on art and aesthetics. He was a very strict teacher. There were 21 students in my class. We studied Ottoman literature.

In summertime in Urfa, we mostly went to Balikligol [Lake of the Sacred Fish]. I learned how to swim in that lake. Balikligol was considered to be a sacred place and so swimming in the lake was later on forbidden. [Abraham, it is said, was born near there in a cave. After smashing King Nimrod's statues (in the name of anti-idolatry) he was thrown from the mountain into a fire. But the fire turned to water and the burning wood to fish, symbolized today by the idyllic Balikligol (pools of sacred carp) at the Rizvaniye Mosque.] Not knowing this, one day I went to Urfa and went to the lake to fish. My friend warned me at the last minute. 'They'll kill you, if they find you fishing here,' he said. Duly frightened, I even threw the fish I had already caught back into the lake.

I didn't have any Jewish friends in my class. My best friend was a Turk, Kemal Kayacan. He was very religious. Much later, he became the Urfa representative for the Milli Selamet Party [Islamist fundamentalist political party, dissolved in 1980] and was Necmettin Erbakan's 10 number one man. We were close friends in school. In 1967 I had some business in Urfa. When I went there, Kemal didn't let me stay at a hotel; he took my bag and said I absolutely had to stay at his house. He showed me marvelous hospitality. He dealt with all my business in Urfa. Coincidentally, when his father got ill, my mother was ill as well, and we both stayed at the same hospital. He was religious, but he was a wonderful man. I learned that he died two years ago.

I like Turkish Classical Music very much. I'm a very good listener, but I've never played anything. I'm interested but have no [musical] talent.

There were no sports, political or cultural activities in Urfa. There wasn't even football in Urfa. We used to go and watch the football teams that came from the military.

We used to spend all Saturday morning at the synagogue. At noon, we had lunch, and in the afternoon, we went to the synagogue again. The whole day was spent in the synagogue.

There was no tradition of going on holiday in Urfa. I only went on holiday twice; one was in 1932 or 1933. My mother had rheumatism, so we went to Cermikli, near Urfa, a spa whose waters were said to be healing. We went there with my sisters and brothers, quite a big group. We stayed for 15 days. Also, in 1936, we went to Syria. My older sister was going to get engaged to my uncle's son. In 1937, when my sister got married, I stayed in Aleppo for five months. From there I went to Adana [on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey] and from there I returned to Urfa.

I remember the first time I got into a car. There used to be an old turbeh [tomb of a holy Muslim] in Urfa. People used to go and visit this turbeh. It could have belonged to the Jews, but I'm not sure. My mother was ill and people believed that if one visited this turbeh, all diseases would be healed. At that time there was a famous singer in Urfa by the name of Cemil Cankat. He also worked as a driver. My father hired his private car and he took us to that turbeh. I think it was 1938.

The first time I got on a train was the day I finished elementary school and came to Istanbul. There were no trains in Urfa. You had to go from Urfa to Akcakale and then get on the train. I changed trains in Adana and arrived in Istanbul. The journey took around three days. When I was studying in Istanbul I always came and went in the same way.

When we were kids and were studying at state schools, we didn't go to school at Kipur [Yom Kippur]. While I was doing my military service at Gelibolu [Galippoli, on the European side of the Dardanelles] in 1949, they didn't let us go on leave at Kipur. We were eight to ten Jews in the regiment and we ran away. We joined the small Jewish community in the Gelibolu synagogue and said our prayers. When we got back, they were going to punish us. The lieutenant threatened us, but in the end we weren't punished.

I remember my bar-mitzva [bar mitzvah] very well. I learned everything I had to learn for the big day from my family. However, bar-mitzvas are not celebrated with too much pomp in Urfa; not like in Istanbul. There was a meal given at home. My father bought me a new suit. We had had a new tallet [tallit] brought from Istanbul. That is all. I don't remember getting a special present.

I liked Pesah best of all. Pesah at our house was better than a wedding. My aunt Rahel came with her children for dinner. All the kids would read the prayers all together. It was very crowded and it was a lot of fun.

The Urfa Events

The Urfa Events occurred in 1947, the year I was in Istanbul. There used to be a Jew from Siverek called Hayim Sorkaya Hayamo Haymun. He was a haberdasher too. His eldest son, Hayim Haymun, was a ne'er-do-well, who spent his family's money. He left his home in 1944. He became a disciple of Sheik Muhammed [Urfa's highest ranking religious Muslim] and wanted to convert to Islam. He took the name of Ahmet Kemal. The people in Urfa didn't like this situation because they were very religious and were ill disposed towards converts. This boy's family wasn't very well off and they say, they [the Muslim population] tempted him by offering him money. Anyway, after a while this boy went to Ankara to do his military service. During his military service he fell in love with a Jewish girl. The boy's parents went to Ankara to see him. The girl accepted to marry him on condition that he reconvert to Judaism. He agreed and told his family the good news. His parents went back to Urfa very happy and spread the news. The Muslim people of Urfa got very angry when they heard this news. In the fall of 1946, Hayim Ahmet Kemal came to Urfa on leave. His sheik tried to brainwash him into not reconverting to Judaism. Hayim was indecisive and went back to Ankara. Hayim's wish to reconvert caused great open hatred for the Jews and especially the Sorkaya family.

On the night of 30th December 1947, the rabbi of Urfa, Azur, Rabbi Yusuf Kohen and Isak Hayim gathered to recite the kadish [Kaddish] for the soul of Sorkaya's father-in-law. After dinner, the rabbis left. There was a maid working in that house, called El Medeh. There was a terrible rainstorm that night. After the household had gone to bed, El Medeh opened the door to unidentified murderers and became the cause of the murder of the whole family. El Medeh disappeared after this crime. The seven members of the Sorkaya family, Isak Hayim Sorkaya, his wife Mazal, his sons Yosef, Yaakov, his daughters Rashel and Ester and his mother-in-law Semha were all stabbed to death. Then the murderers went out into the street and started shouting, 'The Jews killed the Jews.'

The police took in all the Jewish men for questioning. My father, who was 68, had gone to other villages on business at that time. However, the murderers accused him and Yusuf Kohen 65 of killing the Sorkaya family while staying at their house. So when my father got back from the villages, they caught him. My father, Ezra Azur Bozo, Nesim Binler, the shochet Davut Hidir, the rabbi Azur and Yosef Hamus were all caught and tortured with the bastinado for days and nights. [Bastinado: originally a Spanish word, referring to a form of torture which consists of beating the soles of the offender's bare feet with a hard object, like a cane or rod. The word can also refer to the device used to inflict torture.] My father didn't accept the accusations. He was so terribly beaten up that he couldn't stand on his feet. When they took him to hospital, he was bleeding all over, and when he got better they threw him into jail again. Our family applied to the Ministry of Internal Affairs, but they didn't answer. We wrote the President letters but there was no answer from there either. We even went to the American Consulate. My father couldn't wear any shoes because his feet were bleeding all the time. [During interrogations his feet were beaten. It is an old method of torture, practiced in the Ottoman Empire.] My poor father - may his soul rest in peace - told us that they would cover their heads with sackcloth and then start the bastinado on his feet shouting, 'Confess, confess!' My father would say, 'What shall I confess? Why should I confess to something I did not do?' My father couldn't hurt a fly. They transferred him to Malatya [a city in Southeastern Anatolia] for the trial. We sent him lawyers. After these events, the Muslims of Urfa started boycotting the Jews in Urfa. They wouldn't do business with them, they wouldn't pay their debts to them and nobody would sell them anything. However, during the trial, with the good lawyers and pressure from everywhere, the officials realized they would look really bad, and they decided in favor of my father and he was released.

My father came to Istanbul as soon as he was released. He had already had a terrible blow economically during the Wealth Tax 11. The highest taxes had applied to my father and his friends. He had lost most of his money during the Wealth Tax. Also, after these events, most of the people who owed him money didn't pay their debts. So that was another blow. My brother had sent a lot of goods to Istanbul. When these goods were returned to Urfa, they were stolen and looted, so the family lost nearly everything. My brother had also sold goods to the murdered Sorkaya family and of course, they couldn't cash those debts either. In 1949 we sold everything we owned. It wasn't possible to live in Urfa any more. A lot of families moved to Istanbul. Those who were not well off went to Israel. It is true that those were very bad times for us. It is because of these events that there wasn't even one Jewish family left after these events. The last Jew to leave Urfa in 1951 was Nesim Binler. He was the father of my best friend from Urfa, Murat Binler, who is married to Ayten Taragano. Well, Nesim Binler gave the governor of Urfa the keys to the synagogue and asked that it be well looked after. But it wasn't, and today others have occupied it. I don't know who these people are, but I'm sure that if we applied to the officials we could get our synagogue back.

My father came to Istanbul in 1950. He lived at Sen [Happy] Apartment, No. 102, Abide-i Hurriyet Street in Sisli. He would go to the Sisli Synagogue early every morning. He would finish his prayers there, then, after breakfast, he would go to work with me. In the afternoons, he would go to the Corapci Han [building of sock-sellers] Synagogue at 4, and would say his prayers there and then he would return home.

He died in Istanbul in 1976. My mother died in Istanbul in 1968. Both my mother and father are buried in the Ulus Jewish cemetery.

The only Jew left in Urfa was Azur Acmi. He lived in the village left to him by his father. As he had nowhere else to go, he lived there for many years and died there. As I had already left Urfa when he died, I don't know the exact date of his death. However, I did talk to the man who bought the village from him and asked him how they had buried him. He told me, 'We covered him in a shroud, we threw earth on him and we buried him with our own prayers and our ways [Muslim].' There was nothing else to be done. He was the last Jew of Urfa.

I was in Urfa during the first years of World War II. Only we had a radio in the Jewish quarter of Urfa. The radio broadcast news of the world. The whole neighborhood would come to our house to listen to the news. Everyone wanted to know if the Germans were coming and if we were going to go to war. When I came to Istanbul in 1943, and the Germans had arrived at the borders of Greece and Bulgaria we got really scared. At that time some people who weren't from Urfa came to Urfa to be safe. There was no sugar, no bread. You could only get those things with a certificate. In those years, Kuledibi [district around the Galata Tower in Istanbul] was the Jewish neighborhood. When I looked out the window at night, I saw the city was really dark. All the windows were covered with black paper. Even though we were students, we were given bread certificates, too. My family was glued to the radio. We listened to a reporter called Nurettin Aslan on the radio. He used to report the war news. We felt terrible when we heard about what was happening to the Jews. We didn't have any family members who died in the Holocaust. I've never met any survivors. I've heard about the Struma ship 12 of course, but I don't know any details.

I can never forget the years we were so affected by the Wealth Tax. I had never known my father to cry before that. That day, I saw him cry. My brothers were in Istanbul at the time and I was in Urfa. My father was taxed around 50,000 liras, which was a big fortune. My brothers, Yakup and Musa wrote to my father and the 70-year-old man started to cry. My brothers were a big help and they supported him. They said, 'Our money is your money.' My father paid the highest Wealth Tax in Urfa. No one was sent to Askale from Urfa.

During the 20 military reserve classes 13 period, my brothers tried very hard to circumvent it, but then they went to Balikesir and did their third military service. They paid some money and didn't work hard. They would stay for a week and then come back.

After I finished the St. Benoit Lycee, I went to do my military service. My preparation regiment was in Bolayir, Gelibolu. We had a 60-day period of preparation. We used to go out on market leave on Saturdays and Sundays. At that time there was a Jewish community in Gelibolu and they had provided me with a 'home' paper, with which I was able to prove that I had a home to go to when on leave. My older brother had a partner called Eskenazi. They had a client in Gelibolu called Kandiyoti. I got my 'home' paper from them. So, on weekends, when I went out on leave I stayed either at a hotel or with the Kandiyotis. On Saturdays I went to the synagogue at Gelibolu.

After my 60 days were over, I was sent to Ankara in 1949. I went to the officer's school in Ankara. We had relatives in Ankara and I was able to get the same kind of 'home' paper there too. I could go on leave on Saturdays. The best and most famous place in Ankara was the Karpic Restaurant, near Ulus. Even ministers frequented that place. I used to go there with my officer friends. I had a Jewish roommate, Alber Mesulam, and we were very good friends. I used to go to Karpic with him. There were others at this officer's school I was friends with. Mario Kohen for example, he is the dentist, Davut Kohen's father. Anyway, I finished this officer's school, actually with a lot of difficulty. It was harder than St. Benoit even! However, I did it and became an officer. At this school there was a captain who liked Jews and treated them very well. He knew I was Jewish. At that time, after school was finished, we had to draw lots to see where we would be serving. When it was my turn, I was really lucky. I drew the Izmir Polygon Regiment. I served there for six months. I had a very comfortable and nice time there.

Most of the Jews of Izmir lived in Karatas [district]. I made friends there. I think in those years there were around 3,000 Jews in Izmir and they had a social club at a place called Goztepe. There were social gatherings and meetings there and I would attend. They organized tours to Cesme [a seaside summer resort town an hour's drive from Izmir]. There is a synagogue in Karatas. I used to go to the synagogue there on Saturdays. When my father started his business in Istanbul in 1950, I was so happy in Izmir that I didn't want to go back to Istanbul. I wanted to live in Izmir.

After I finished my military service and came back to Istanbul, I started my business life with my father and our partner, Lazar Adut, in 1950. We were in the haberdashery business. The economic situation in the country had not been great until 1950, but then things started to get better and businesses were thriving. We started to make money and slowly we prospered. We got a good reputation in the market. In 1953, my brothers Yakup and Musa Boz, a friend of ours, Sabetay Siva, and I bought the apartment we still live in, in Nisantasi [district on the European side of Istanbul], as partners. At the time I had been living with my father.

During the Citizen, speak Turkish policy 14 I was in Istanbul. In the years 1949-1950, while I was doing my military service, one day I was to go to Izmir. A friend of mine had come to see me off. We were speaking Arabic and not Turkish. An officer of higher rank approached me and said, 'Officer, why don't you speak Turkish?' In those times, most of the Jews didn't speak Turkish well. In my own family, everyone except my mother spoke Turkish.

In the summer we used to go to Buyukada [the biggest of the Princes' Islands in the Sea of Marmara, near Istanbul]. One day, as I was walking towards the most elite club of the island, the Anatolian Club [a social club where entrance is by membership], I saw a beautiful lady sitting in the garden of the Akasya Hotel [Accacia Hotel, on the main street of Buyukada, overlooking the sea]. I was 26-27 at the time and I liked the lady very much. Her name was Eva Ibrahimzade. Her mother was of Georgian origin and her father was from Iran. Well, it appears that they also had me in mind for their daughter. My brother Musa Bozo's son was studying at a college in Brighton, England. It was a Jewish school. Eva had a brother, Ceki Ibrahimzade. This Ceki told my brother, when he was in England to see his son, that he had a sister and wanted to marry her off. My brother was very insistent that I meet this lady. So I formally met Eva at a ball at Pera Palas, one of the oldest hotels in Beyoglu. I had bought a Buick in 1953, and the day after the ball, I took Eva for a drive in my car.

Eva was born in Istanbul in 1937. She knew Turkish. She didn't finish secondary school. I got engaged to Eva in 1957, and I married her in 1958. We got married at the Neve Shalom Synagogue 15. Then that night we had a party at the Hilton Hotel [the best and only five-star hotel in Istanbul at the time].

In 1960, my first son, Ezra Rubi Bozo, and in 1965, my second son, Aslan Bozo, was born. My first wife liked to gamble a lot: we had a group of friends with whom we played cards. We also went dancing sometimes. However, I didn't get along with my wife very well. Our life started to change parallel to our economic situation. There were fights all the time at home. My business wasn't doing so well either. We got divorced in a traumatic way in 1968. It was a very difficult and problematic divorce. When troubles come, they come in thousands, as they say, and shortly after my divorce I had a traffic accident. I had to pay a lot of money to the other party. I was therefore penniless when I got my divorce in 1968. Meanwhile, I had been living in a rented apartment in Topagaci since I had gotten married. I had bought a house in Tesvikiye, Abdi Ipekci Boulevard in 1960, but I had left that house to my parents when I had gotten married. In 1968, after my divorce I moved out of the house in Topagaci and moved back to my house in Tesvikiye. My economic situation was really terrible at that time. That is when I started to understand what life was about. It is when one is left without money that one starts to look at life in another way. I was terribly depressed and terribly alone. However, I decided to work very hard for a comeback. I worked really hard from 1968 to 1972. I went everywhere in Anatolia in those four and a half years. I was selling industrial machines and I made a lot of money. However, I made certain mistakes again and I didn't invest my money in goods or real estate. So when the rate of inflation increased sky high, my fortune went down to zero but real estate always won.

My second wife, Cigdem Sara Bozo, was born in Istanbul in 1957. We met in 1976. She was working at a bank called 'Demirbank' [Iron Bank]. She was looking after my import business at the currency exchange service of the bank. We got married in 1978. We had a child a bit late and my wife was very sad about that. She got pregnant in 1982. I can never forget that day. She had had a test done. I was coming home with the doctor's report in my hand. My wife was at the window waiting for me. When I waved the paper, she understood that it was good news. She wanted to have a child really badly. The same year we had a beautiful daughter. We named her Feride. My wife continued working until she retired in 2000. I didn't want her to quit work when we got married. It would have been a mistake if I had made her quit work.

In summer I used to go to Buyukada and stay at the Anatolian Club, of which I had been a member since 1952. All my friends were there, too. Cigdem Sara, however, didn't want to go to Buyukada in the summers. So in 1982, the year Feride was born, we bought an apartment in Yesilkoy [a seaside resort in the Sea of Marmara, Istanbul]. We went to Yesilkoy for the summer holidays for eleven years until Feride finished elementary school. Then, after 1993, for ten summers we went to the Sumer Palace Hotel in Buyukada, which belonged to the organization called 'Turk Turing' [Editor's note: Founded in 1923 as 'Turkish Touring and Automobile Company.' Under the leadership of Celik Gulersoy, it became an organization dedicated to beautifying and restoring the old sites of Istanbul.] Then we bought a dog and the owner of the hotel didn't accept us with the dog. So we bought our summer house from the building contractor of Buyukada, Altin Bey. This was in 2002. We bought the house next to the Vatican Embassy. Our house has a pool. My wife always stays at that house during the summer. My daughter used to like the island, but now she doesn't want to go there any more. Our weekends were marvelous. Life was great on the island.

Ezra Rubi was born on 25th February 1960. Aslan was born on 25th February 1965. On the same day with five years difference. They used to love playing games when they were little. When I got divorced from my first wife, they were very young. My older sister and I would get the kids and take them on picnics. On Sundays, we would take them to the matinees at the cinema. We used to see two, three films every week. The boys were more interested in football and basketball. I had never been to a basketball match in my life, but with the boys I started to follow every match. We knew every player's name. I support Fenerbahce, but my sons are Galatasaray fans [Fenerbahce and Galatasaray are the most famous football teams in Turkey]. Once Rubi hurt his foot while playing football. I remember that day being very crowded because there was a football match between Turkey and Germany. I remember carrying Rubi on my back. My sons studied in England. Aslan had a nervous breakdown and this has been going on for the last 20-25 years. My first wife, their mother, was treating them very harshly. The two boys started to live together on their own.

We had my elder son's brit milla [brit milah] at the Guzelbahce Hospital. The brits were done in hospitals at that time. My first wife's very large family came. We ordered everything from a baker. Everything arrived. Also, our Arab dessert called 'mamul' was made. Mamul is made from semola with pine nuts and almonds. We also have an almond sherbet called 'Shabuloz.' In Arabic 'Loz' means almond. The almonds are crushed and the oil extracted. You add water to this oil and drink it. When I visited my relatives in Milan they gave me almond sherbet to drink. This is really a very special, very nice drink. We serve it especially at weddings. Well, that was how my son's brit milla was celebrated. My second son's brit milla was celebrated in the same vein.

Both my sons studied at a Jewish school in England. It was a religious school, and they were taught religion, too. My sons preferred to study in England because they wanted to learn English well. What is more, going to study in England was fashionable at the time. Rubi went to England in 1969, and Aslan went after elementary school, when he was twelve, in 1977. It was a hard, disciplined school. If the boys didn't wear a kipa, they would be beaten up. Aslan then went to study for a year in the USA. He couldn't live alone, however, and he returned after a year. He was a very good student. When he came back, he was admitted to the Management Department of Bogazici University 16 but he quit in his last year. He had had his nervous breakdown by then.

My sons were educated according to Jewish traditions in their school in England. When the time came for my second son's bar-mitzva, we preferred to celebrate it in England rather than in Istanbul.

After I got divorced from my first wife, I picked up my kids on Friday afternoons and we spent two and half days together. I even took them to Club Med [French holiday resort, official name 'Club Mediterranee'] once. Rubi used to play table tennis very well. He even won a prize for first place in a tournament once.

The greatest misfortune in my life was the accident that my elder son Rubi had in 1994. He had a terrible time as a result of brain damage and we are still having a very hard time. My other son Aslan is in a depression. I took Rubi to Israel many times for medical treatment. We took him to a big hospital named Levinstein [Israel's major center for neuro- rehabilitation. They work principally with neurologically impaired patients]. At first they didn't want to accept us [perhaps, because they did not have an appointment]. But then my nephew phoned one of the most important professors at the university there and then they accepted us. But unfortunately they couldn't do anything for him. We are hoping he will get better one day. He hasn't regained consciousness yet. The doctor told me, 'A human being can use only 10 percent of his brain. Maybe one day, if a vein in your son's brain is de-blocked then he may regain consciousness.' We haven't lost hope that God will make everything all right.

My daughter Feride, from my second wife, was born on 10th July 1982 at the Guzelbahce Hospital in Istanbul. My daughter studied at the 'Isik Lycee' [private high school founded in 1934] from kindergarten till she finished the lycee. Then fortune continued to smile upon her and she was admitted to the German Language Teaching Department of Marmara University 17. She is in her last year now.

When I lived in Urfa I went to the synagogue every day, every Saturday and every holiday. However, when I came to Istanbul in 1943 and was away from home and family, I grew out of my Jewish traditions and my religion during my school years. I also had some difficult times during my first marriage. Then some time ago, I had a long talk with our Hahambashi Haleva and I made him a promise. He told me that my family was a very religious family and wanted to know why I didn't come to the synagogue. I wasn't feeling right about this either, so I promised him to go to the synagogue regularly. So now, every Friday night and on Saturdays and during the holidays I go to the synagogue with my wife and daughter. I've also decided to go during the week if I have the time to do so.

We continued with the same seder nights here in Istanbul, too. In Istanbul, we were about 30 for dinner with my older sister and two older brothers and their families and kids.

When I got divorced in 1968, I didn't know how to cook at all. My sister cooked beautifully. She would come and cook for me and that is how I learned how to cook. I watched her cook for me. There is one dish we love. It's called 'Cederra.' It's a mixture of rice and lentils. You boil the lentils and as they're cooking you add the rice. After it's cooked, you add two onions in very thin slices with its oil. Even though my daughter was born and grew up in Istanbul she loves Arab food. Of course, I can't make the complicated dishes.

Normally we all of us here, our relatives, my sisters, my nephew, the Antel family and the Binler family, all gather to eat Arab food. My brother, Musa Boz, may he rest in peace, loved to eat. Once, on the eve of Pesah, he got really sick to his stomach and we had to take him to hospital. The only thing he could think of the next day was what we would eat for Pesah. Then the next day, he asked eagerly, 'Harun, what did you have for dinner?', and I told him, 'Ribs, special meatballs, all Arab dishes.' He said, 'Oh, what a pity, I missed all that wonderful food. Go and bring me some food from the cafeteria now!!!'

Whenever there is a death in our family, we recite the kadish and the men don't shave their beards for a month.

I'm not a member of any of the Jewish institutions or social clubs. I wanted to join, but just when I felt it was the right time for me, my sons got ill and I had to take care of them.

My first wife's brother, Ceki Ibrahimzade, had a partner called Koyuncular. They belonged to the Shabbatai Tzvi [Donme] 18. After I became a member of the Anatolian Club in Buyukada in 1952, I met a lot of these Selanikli [Salonican] Donmes. I was even on quite intimate terms with some of them. They had a very closed community and married among themselves. My brother told me once that during the period when Ribi Saban was Hahambashi, they wouldn't open their shops on Kipur. [Rav Rafael David Saban (1953-1960): the first Chief Rabbi that was officially recognized by the government of the Turkish Republic in this quality by a special law that was passed for this. His predecessors held the office as 'locum tenens' and as 'head of the Beth-Din.']

I don't use either Internet or email. My partner works with the computers and when I need something done, I get my secretary to do it for me.

I had a very nice group of friends till I got married. In our time, we didn't have any Turkish friends. Jojo Bati's brother, Selim Bati, was married to my niece. Jojo Bati was my best friend and we came to Istanbul from Urfa together. He left to go to the USA. Another friend from Urfa, Moiz Moseri immigrated to Israel and has died. Murat Binler has been my friend since Urfa. Armando Gatenyo was my childhood friend. We lived in the same street. Niso Behar and Leon Menase were my other friends. We were a handful of guys. I lost them all after I got married. I couldn't have many friends while I was married. Even with my second marriage it didn't work out, so I saw the guys separately. My second wife was very young of course. We didn't see many people during the winter. In the summer I would see my friends at the port in Buyukada. Now, on Buyukada I have very sweet neighbors and we see each other.

In the 1950s we went out with Jewish girls but with the new generation, things have changed. They don't care about the religion of their friends. They don't differentiate between Jewish and Muslim. The attitudes towards the Jews have changed too, there is no beating, stoning or swearing now.

When I lived in Taksim [a main square on the European side of Istanbul], there were Jews everywhere. Our greatest luxury was to go to the Hilton Hotel for dinner and dancing. Later on, we started to go to night clubs. We also went to have lunch or dinner once a week at Abdullah [one of the most famous and prestigious restaurants in Istanbul, founded in 1888]. On Saturday nights, we went to Konak Cinema [in Harbiye, very near Nisantasi]. There would be gala nights at the Konak Cinema, and people would even wear tuxedos for these gala nights. We also liked to go to the theater. I like Yildiz Kenter [a famous theater actress and professor of drama at the Istanbul Conservatory, also owner of the private Kenterler Theater] very much.

My first wife had relatives in England. So we traveled there. With my second wife, I traveled to France, saw other places in Europe and then went to Israel. I visited all my relatives and sisters in Israel. I travel for business as well, to the USA, Malaysia, Thailand, everywhere really. For business I travel with my partner.

I was on Buyukada on 6th -7th September 1955 19. Even those friends whom I loved very much stoned our house. These were friends we had been together with at the Anatolian Club day and night. Nothing happened to our house but it was stoned. The next day we went to Karakoy to work. Everywhere was a terrible mess. All the shops had been looted, there were bales of cloth thrown out into the streets. There used to be a fabric shop next to the Zulfaris Synagogue 20 in Karakoy. The street was covered with fabrics. We had to walk over them. Some Jewish shops in Beyoglu had been damaged as well.

I didn't vote until 1945. In 1946 there was great excitement for the Democratic Party and Adnan Menderes 21. So I voted for them in 1946 and in 1950. After that I voted for the Justice Party 22. Then in recent years things changed. The spirit of the Democrats changed. So I voted for Ecevit [Republican People's Party] 23 and then for the People's Party. But the latter failed terribly. I like Mustafa Sarigul [mayor of Sisli, from the People's Party].

I was in Yesilkoy during the 1986 Neve Shalom massacre [see 1986 Terrorist Attack on the Neve Shalom Synagogue 24. A Jewish neighbor of mine told me about it. Then I turned on the TV and learned everything from the news.

I was at my sons' when the 2003 Bombing [of the Istanbul synagogues] 25 happened. The roads were closed on my return. The buses weren't working. When I came to Osmanbey, I asked the people in the street and they told me, 'the synagogue has been bombed.' I spent the rest of the day in front of the TV. At first I couldn't even react, but the Muslim boy who works for me got very angry because they had bombed a place of prayer.

Most of my family immigrated to Israel. My two uncles, Reful and Yusuf Bozo, their children, Yakup and Moshe Bozo, my aunt's daughters, my three sisters, Adel, Salha and Leyla and their children all lived in Israel, and those who are still alive continue to do so.

I never thought of immigration. My roots are here and after my divorce, if I had left, I wouldn't have been able to take my sons with me. What's more, my business was good and I had a good life.

I go to Israel quite often. Six years ago, there was no terror and I greatly admired the place. Israelis know how to live. They don't spend tons of money for a night dress. Everyone likes to travel and they are simple people. One day I asked my niece - she is 66 - how they could let their children have so much freedom. She said, 'Look, these are very independent people. My daughter has studied well. Her boyfriend is studying at university. They know how to choose partners. We don't interfere with their lives. They are very much aware of what they are doing.' In Israel it does not do for a woman not to work.

It was a great honor for me when the state of Israel was founded. Every year they celebrate it on 14th April. [Editor's note: The independence of Israel was declared on Iyar 5, which was 14th May 1948. The annual celebration of the Independence Day (Yom Hatzmaut) ever since takes place on Iyar 5, which falls on a different day every year.] I was there on that day one year. Everyone was happy. Even in Turkey a lot of things changed after 1948. Nobody says, 'Cowardly Jews' any more. The Six-Day-War 26 in 1967 proved a lot of things. The concept of the cowardly Jew ended then. The cliché types of 'Salamon' and 'Mishon,' which were once typical cartoons, became history. There was a great change. [Salamon and Mishon: Anti-Semitic cartoon figures in Turkey. They are characterized by the traditional depiction of anti-Semitic imagery: they bear certain facial features and are unable to speak proper Turkish.]

I consider life to be very difficult. If you are too sensitive you suffer a lot. You would like to do everything perfectly but you can't. Most people don't care about life, it doesn't affect them. Unfortunately I'm sensitive and I don't want anyone to be hurt. That's why I've had difficulties in life. I've transmitted my philosophy of life to my children: to be very honest, to be hardworking and, most important of all, to have confidence in oneself. Self-confidence is 99 percent of success. The kids sometimes tease me, telling me: be honest, be correct and have confidence in yourself. I like working. My wife Sara thinks as I do and says the kids should continue to do what they see from us.

Glossary

Életrajz

dr. Lázár Gábor Kovásznán él feleségével egy emeletes házban, melyet saját munkájuk árán építettek fel. Nagyon barátságos fogadtatásban volt részem mindkettejük részéről, búcsúzóul egy zacskó téli almával is felpakoltak. Lázár Gábor segítőkész, nyílt személyiség, tág az érdeklődési köre, legszívesebben és legtöbbet nyugdíjazása óta mégis az eszperantóval foglalkozik. Tagja az Egyetemes Eszperantó Szövetségnek, sőt, az Orvosi Eszperantó Világszövetségnek ő a romániai képviselője, és évek óta rendszeresen publikál szakcikkeket a Nemzetközi Orvosi Szemlében.

A mi családunk [apai részről] szefárd volt, spanyol zsidók, Spanyolországból menekültek el annak idején, mikor elüldözték őket [lásd: a zsidók kiűzése Spanyolországból]. Hányódtak, jöttek, és itt telepedtek meg, Erdélyben. Az apai nagyapám, Lázár Jenő Patóházán volt ispán, gazdatiszt [Patóháza – kisközség volt Szatmár vm.-ben, 1891-ben és 1910-ben 1100 román és magyar lakossal. Trianont követően Romániához került. Ma: Potău, Szatmárnémetitől 22 km-re keletre. – A szerk.]. Ez Szatmár környékén van, ott is volt egy uradalom, és ott volt az apai nagyapám alkalmazva [Az ’ispán’ szóval a régi magyar közjogban illettek bizonyos típusú vármegyei tisztviselőket, elöljárókat, de a 19. században és korábban használták a nagyobb uradalmak gazdasági intézőinek megnevezéseként is. Az ispán szó használatát azonban a 19. század folyamán a gazdaság önálló kezelésével megbízott gazdatiszt esetében fokozatosan kiszorította az ’intéző’ megnevezés. Lásd: birtokkezelés. – A szerk.]. Úgyhogy mezőgazdasággal foglalkoztak. Azután onnan beköltöztek Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe], vettek ott házat az első világháború után, az 1920-as években már ott laktak Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben]. Az apai nagyanyám Stein Jozefa volt, Pepi, úgy mondták a családban. Én jót nem tudok az öregasszonyról mondani, mert a fiúgyermekeit folyton egymás ellen uszította, és ebből sok családi kellemetlenség is támadt. Szóval semmi jó emlékem nincs az apai nagyanyámról.

Ők ortodox zsidók voltak, vallásosak, a nagyanyámnak le volt vágva a haja, parókája volt, azt állandóan hordta. Tartották a kóserséget [lásd: étkezési törvények], ők is vágatták az állatot, ők is vitték – mi is vittük – a sakterhez. A nagyapám egy nagyon ügyes ember volt. Ő sütött-főzött, bevásárolt, ő csinált mindent. Nagyanyám csak betegeskedett. Az folyton beteg volt, az orvost járta, cukorbeteg volt, a szívével volt beteg, sok minden baja volt. Cselédjük nem volt, nagyapám intézett mindent [a háztartásban]. [Nagyapám] úgy 1938 körül halt meg, nem tudom pontosan, mi Magyarországon voltunk akkor. Hirtelen halt meg, hetvenhat éves volt, addig teljesen jól tudott mozogni, ő soha nem volt beteg. Kiment egy pénteki nap a piacra – volt egy piac, ott, nem messze tőlük –, hogy bevásároljon zöldséget, ezt-azt. Hazajött, és azt mondta: „Pepi, nem érzem jól magamat.” Lefeküdt a sezlonra, és egy óra múlva meg volt halva. Valami szívinfarktus lehetett. Ő így halt meg, így mesélte a nagyanyám, hogy így volt a dolog. Ez egy pénteki nap történt, és a zsidóknál el kell temetni, még pénteken a szombat miatt [lásd: temető; temetés]. El is temették, az ortodox temetőben van temetve [Szatmárnémetiben].

Azután a gyerekei tartották [nagymamát], egész addig, míg eldeportálták 1944-ben az egész családdal együtt, a családból mindenkit elvittek, mindenkit. Ő ott halt meg Auschwitzban a gyerekeivel és azok családjaival együtt. Mindenkit elvittek a deportálásban, úgyhogy ide csak egy unokanővérem [Lázár Anna] jött vissza Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe], más mindenki odaveszett. Munkaszolgálaton volt egy másik unokatestvérem [Farkas Miklós], az nem volt deportálva, ő jött vissza még. Más a családból nem maradt az apai részről, senki.

Édesapám volt a legidősebb [a testvérek közül], József. Utána következett Lázár Lajos, Lázár Sándor, utána volt két lány, Laura és Ilonka. Még volt egy fiútestvérük, aki fiatalon meghalt, és Szatmárnémetiben van eltemetve, a zsidó temetőben. Az ő nevét nem tudom pontosan, a családban úgy emlegették, hogy Láli, Lálika. Lázár Lajos földbirtokos volt [lásd: a földművelés szerepe a zsidóság rétegződésében a 20. század elején]. Szatmárnémeti mellett laktak egy faluban, Szamoskóródon [Szamoskóród – kisközség volt Szatmár vm.-ben, 1910-ben 500 magyar és román lakossal. Trianont követően Romániához került. Ma: Corod, Szatmárnémetitől 12 km-re van délkeletre. – A szerk.]. A felesége Laura volt, nekik volt egy lányuk, Anna, ő jött haza egyedül a deportálásból az apám családjából. Lázár Anna, Weisz a férje után, a háború után ment férjhez Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben], aztán elmentek Izraelbe, most is ott él, a férje már meghalt. Lázár Sándor nőtlen ember volt, Szatmárnémetiben élt a szülőkkel együtt, segített a gazdálkodásban a testvérének, Lázár Lajosnak.

Utána volt egy lány, Laura. Ő az Avasba ment férjhez, van egy falu, híres a szilvapálinkájáról, Turc, ott laktak [Az Avas vagy Avasság az Alföldre nyíló hegyi medence a történeti Szatmár megyében, az Avas-hegység aljában. Falvai a középkorban a szatmári királyi vár uradalmához tartoztak. Lakosságának többsége román. Román neve a magyarból származik (Oaş, Avas). Turc – nagyközség volt Ugocsa vm.-ben, 1891-ben 3000, 1910-ben 3700 román, német és magyar lakossal. Trianont követően Romániához került. Ma: Turţ, Szatmárnémetitől 38 km-re, északkeletre. – A szerk.]. A férjét Farkas Sámuelnek hívták. Az ő fiuk Farkas Miklós, aki még hazajött [a II. világháború után], ő munkaszolgálatos volt. Miklós Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] lakott a háború után, azután elment a családjával az 1960-as években Amerikába. Három gyermeke volt, ő meghalt már, de a gyermekei ott laknak [Amerikában]. Ennek a Miklós unokatestvéremnek volt egy Ibolya nevű lánytestvére, az Szinérváralján volt egy orvosnak, doktor Rosensamen Ferencnek, a felesége [Szinérváralja – nagyközség Szatmár vm.-ben, 1891-ben 4000, 1910-ben 5100 magyar és román lakossal (járási szolgabírói hivatal, járásbíróság, ipartestület, iparostanonc-iskola, sírkőgyár). Trianon után Romániához került. Ma: Seini, Szatmárnémetitől 33 km-re, keletre. – A szerk.]. Volt két gyermekük, ikrek, de őket is az anyjukkal együtt eldeportálták. Szatmárról [Szatmárnémetiből] deportálták [őket is], mert mindenkit idehoztak, Szatmárra [a környékről]. Ők odapusztultak. Doktor Rosensamen Ferenc hazatért a deportálásból, majd külföldre távozott.

A legkisebb lánynak, Ilonkának a férje Katz Ignác volt, nekik nem volt gyerekük. Temesváron laktak, és mikor volt a [második] bécsi döntés, hazajöttek Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe], és onnan eldeportálták őket. Ha ott maradnak, ha nem jöttek volna át Észak-Erdélybe, akkor nem deportálták volna el őket [lásd: zsidók Észak- és Dél-Erdélyben].

Az édesapám, Lázár József 1891-ben született Nagybányán. Édesapámnak érettségije volt, kereskedelmi iskolát végzett. Banktisztviselő volt Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben], míg fiatal volt, és azután az első világháborúban az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchiában volt közös hadsereg, abba volt besorolva [lásd: hadsereg az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchiában; zsidók a K.u.K. hadseregben], főhadnagy volt, végigharcolta az egész világháborút. Harcolt az összes frontokon, megkezdve Galícián, Románián, Szerbián ment át, Bukarestet is elfoglalták, van Bukarest mellett egy helység, Găeşti [Bukaresttől északnyugatra], ott városparancsnok is volt [Az 1916. évi hadműveletek: a román hadsereg betört Erdélybe (augusztus 17.). A Monarchia német segítséggel visszaverte a románokat, majd elfoglalták Bukarestet is (december). http://bdeg.sopron.hu/~imo/tetel2/elsovilagh.htm. – A szerk.]. Amikor volt a visszavonulás, ő is visszavonult az osztrák–magyar csapatokkal, és akkor került ő Magyarországra át. Mert tudta, hogy egy rossz pont itt a román hatóságok szemében [az, hogy városparancsnok volt Găeşti-en], nem jött vissza néhány éven keresztül, ott telepedett meg, Magyarországon.

Nagyon sok kitüntetése volt az édesapámnak. Ferenc József adott egy nyugdíjazási oklevelet is neki, annyi nyugdíjat ítéltek meg, hogy abból gondmentesen élhetett volna. De az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchia csődbe ment, először távozott a király [vagyis meghalt Ferenc József császár 1916-ban], azután ugye Habsburg Ottónak az apja [IV. Károly, Magyarország királya, a Monarchia utolsó uralkodója 1918. november 13-án lemondott az államügyekben való részvételi jogáról, november 16-án pedig Budapesten kikiáltották a Magyar Népköztársaságot – A szerk.], úgyhogy abból semmi se lett. Édesapámnak sok háborús sebesülése volt: negyvennyolc sebesülése volt, az egyik szeme is hiányzott neki. Ezen keresztül ötvenszázalékos hadirokkant volt, és kapott rokkantsági nyugdíjat.

Nagybirtokok voltak akkor, és mivel a gazdálkodáshoz értett édesapám, ott volt ispán Nagyecsed mellett, Zsírospusztán [Nagyecsed – nagyközség volt Szatmár vm.-ben, 1891-ben 3100, 1910-ben 4700, 1920-ban 5200 lakossal. – A szerk.]. Az egy uradalom volt az ecsedi lápon, melynek a tulajdonosa, egy Forray nevezetű Budapesten lakott. Három ilyen gazdatisztje volt ennek a Forray nevű uradalomnak, az egyik volt édesapám, és egy másik volt Vértes Móric, az édesanyám egyik nővérének a férje. És ott ismerkedtek meg [a szüleim], édesanyám ott volt a testvérénél, Malvinnál vendégségben.

Az anyai nagyszüleim, Groszman Károly és Veronka, Nagykálló mellett egy nagyközségben éltek, Szakolyban [Szakoly – nagyközség volt Szabolcs vm.-ben, 1910-ben 2200, 1920-ban 2100 lakossal. – A szerk.]. Ott egy másik nagy uradalom volt, annak volt az ispánja nagyapám. Azután beköltöztek Debrecenbe, azt hiszem, az 1930-as években. Emlékszem, voltam egyszer náluk ott, falun is, Szakolyban, de azután én már Debrecenben emlékszem rájuk. Volt Debrecenben egy utcácska, úgy hívták, hogy Zsák utca, ott laktak. Azt a házat Vértes Móricék vették meg, és ott laktak a nagyszüleim. Akkor már idősek voltak, biztos volt nagyapámnak valami félretett pénze – akkor lehetett, ugye –, abból éltek. Tartották a vallást, de nem voltak olyan nagyon ortodoxok. Ennek a nagyanyámnak nem volt levágva a haja. Mi idekerültünk, Romániába, aztán az anyai ággal kapcsolat nemigen volt. Annyit tudok mondani, hogy az anyai nagyszülőket nagyon szerettük mi, unokák, nagyon jó emberek voltak.

Az anyai nagyszüleimet szerencsére Debrecenből deportálták el, és a debreceni zsidókat Ausztriába vitték el, lágerben voltak, de azokat nem tették gázkamrába. Úgyhogy ők visszakerültek a deportálásból, hazakerültek Debrecenbe, és ott éltek halálukig [A debreceni zsidók többsége nem Auschwitzba került, hanem Strasshofba. – A szerk.]. Egy nagynénémmel, Erzsikével laktak, ő gondozta a nagyszüleimet, és körülbelül olyan 1949–50 körül haltak meg – nyolcvan év körüliek voltak –, ott vannak eltemetve Debrecenben.

Édesanyámék ötön voltak testvérek. Egyszer volt Malvin, akkor volt Rebeka, Erzsébet, akkor volt az édesanyám, Sára, és volt Jenő – egyetlen fiú volt. Malvin volt édesanyámnak a legidősebb nővére. Vértes Móric volt a férje, ők magyarosították a nevüket. Zsírospusztán laktak, a férje ott volt ispán, gazdatiszt, náluk ismerkedett meg édesanyám és édesapám. Volt egy lányuk, ő Mátészalkán volt egy orvosnak a felesége, odamaradtak a deportálásban [Mátészalka – nagyközség Szatmár vm.-ben 1891-ben 4600, 1910-ben 5900, 1920-ban 6500 (Szatmár, Ugocsa és Bereg vm.), 1930-ban 9100 (Szatmár-Ung vm.) lakossal (járási szolgabírói hivatal, járásbíróság, adóhivatal és pénzügyőrség, szeszgyár). – A szerk.]. Én őket nem ismertem. És volt [Malvin nagynénéméknek] egy fiuk, Vértes András. András Budapesten volt egy erdei termék vállalatnak a vezérigazgatója a [második világ]háború után, de meghalt évekkel ezelőtt. A családjáról nem tudok, mert nem tartottuk a kapcsolatot.

A második [a testvérek közül] volt Erzsébet, László József volt a férje, nekik is magyarosított nevük volt. Volt két fiuk, a nagyobbik István, a kisebbik László. László baleset következtében halt meg még a deportálás előtt, Debrecenben van eltemetve. [A nagynéném] özvegyasszony volt, az ura még a háború előtt meghalt. Ez volt a nagynéném, aki gondoskodott a nagyszüleimről. Miután a nagyszüleim meghaltak, a nagynéném felköltözött a fiával, Istvánnal Budapestre, és ott halt meg. István, miután hazajött a munkaszolgálatból, a vendéglátóipari szakszervezetben volt aktivista [funkcionárius]. Nagyon rendes ember volt, nem volt nős ember. Negyvenöt éves volt, mikor hirtelen meghalt.

Rebeka lent élt Nyíregyházán, a férjének, Fülöp Lajosnak nyomdája volt Nyíregyházán. Volt három lányuk, abból kettőt a szülőkkel együtt eldeportáltak, ők odapusztultak. Egy [lány] maradt csak életben, Lilike, ő Budapesten volt, és ezért nem tudták elvinni. Kiment Izraelbe a háború után, Haifán élt, most halt meg nem régen, egy éve, hogy meghalt [2004-ben]. Édesanyám volt a negyedik, és az ötödik volt Groszman Jenő. Groszman Jenő Gálra magyarosította a nevét. Őt 1945-ben a nyilasok Budapestről elhurcolták, és nem jött haza. Az ő lánya, Szántó Ágnes a férje után, Budapesten él. A testvére [Ágnesnek], Gál György munkaszolgálatos volt a második világháború alatt, nem tért haza. A testvérek közül egyedül édesanyám nem volt deportálva. A háború után három unokatestvérem élt még Magyarországon: László István, Vértes András és Groszman [Gál] Ági, most már csak Ági él.

Édesanyám Groszman Sára volt, 1899-ben született, Nagykállóban, Szabolcs megyében [Nagykálló – nagyközség volt Szabolcs vm.-ben, 1891-ben 5600 (45% református, 22% római katolikus, 17% görög katolikus, 12% izraelita), 1910-ben 8000 (39% református, 22% római katolikus, 19% görög katolikus, 11% izraelita, 9% evangélikus), 1920-ban 8200 lakossal. 1875-ig Szabolcs vm. székhelye volt, később csak járásszékhely (járási szolgabírói hivatal, járásbíróság és adóhivatal székhelye). Volt alsófokú ipariskolája és állami főgimnáziuma, m. kir. földmívesiskolája. Fejlődése megrekedt, miután a vármegye székhelye Nyíregyházára került.]. Általános [elemi] iskolát végzett, azt hiszem, akkor hat osztály volt.

Miután 1924-ben összeházasodtak, édesapám egy másik nagybirtokon volt gazdatiszt, majd az 1925-ös évben Hajdúnánásra költöztek [Hajdúnánás – rendezett tanácsú város volt Hajdú vm.-ben, 1891-ben 14 500 (90% református, 5% római katolikus, 4% izraelita), 1910-ben 16 800, 1930-ban (ekkor már megyei város) 18 000 lakossal (járásbíróság, 6 osztályos református gimnázium, amely az 1920-as években már reálgimnázium volt, alsófokú ipariskola). – A szerk.]. Hajdúnánáson kibérelt édesapám egy városi szállodát és vendéglőt, „Bocskay Vendéglő és Szálloda” volt a neve, azzal foglalkozott. Én is, a testvérbátyám is Hajdúnánáson születtünk. A testvérbátyám, Lázár István 1925-ben, és én 1929-ben. Édesapám szigorú volt, szóval volt családi fegyelem. Fegyelem volt a házban. Őszintén megmondom, hogy mikor az öreg otthon volt, akkor mukkanni nem lehetett. Amikor kilépett, akkor aztán éltük a világunkat. Édesanyám nagyon jó asszony volt, nagyon szeretett. Az biztos, hogy én édesanyámhoz ragaszkodtam mindig inkább, ő is hozzám. Drága édesanya volt, nagyon szeretett engem. De mit mondjak? Felneveltek, embert csináltak belőlünk.

Hajdúnánásról körülbelül 1930-ban átköltöztünk Debrecenbe. Ott is vendéglője volt édesapámnak, „Kossuth Vendéglő és Szálloda”, arra már én emlékszem mint kicsi gyermek. A debreceni nagyállomás előtti téren volt a vendéglő és szálloda. És Debrecenben voltunk, azt hiszem, vagy három évig, de édesapámat a honvágy hazahozta. A szülei itt éltek, és hazacsalták édesapámat. Rábeszélték, hogy vegyen egy kis birtokot Szatmár [Szatmárnémeti] mellett egy községben, Vetésen [Vetés – kisközség volt Szatmár vm.-ben, 1891-ben 1600, 1910-ben 1800 magyar és román lakossal. Trianont követően Romániához került, Szatmárnémetitől 10 km-re van, nyugatra. – A szerk.]. De az volt a hátsó gondolat, hogy hozza át az összespórolt pénzecskét, vegye meg a földet, ők [a nagyszülők] itt gazdálkodnak, és mi maradjunk csak odaát [Magyarországon]. De apám nem volt erre hajlandó, nem ment ebbe bele. Ő is jött, és nagy családi vita keletkezett ebből. Ugyanakkor megvette a szatmári családi ház felét is a szülőktől.

Így 1933-34-ben – körülbelül négy éves voltam – átjöttünk ide, Romániába, de útlevéllel. Vetésen laktunk, gyerekkoromban ott is voltam. Volt húsz hektár földünk, voltak szarvasmarhák, lovak voltak, disznók voltak, majorság volt. Volt nekünk egy kommenciós cselédünk [Szegődményes cseléd, aki természetben kapta a bérét. Lásd: uradalmi cselédség. – A szerk.], aki állandó alkalmazott volt, aki az állatokat is rendezte, és segített a gazdaság mindennapi munkájában az édesapámnak. Az kapott illetményt, kapott fizetést természetben, nem tudom, mennyi gabonát – meg volt szabva, hogy mennyit –, szóval, az volt a munkahelye. És voltak [emberek], akik harmadában művelték a földet, később felében is. Nagyon jó föld volt, termesztettünk búzát, árpát, zabot, kukoricát, krumplit – ahogy mondják itt [Székelyföldön], pityókát –, takarmányt az állatoknak, ugye.

A tanyánkon éltem ötéves koromig. De mi történt? Az történt, hogy egy keveset laktunk Szatmárnémetiben is, de nem sokáig, vagy egy évig, mert egy nap a szüleim kaptak a Sziguráncán [Hivatalos nevén románul Siguranţa Generală a Statului, Állami Általános Biztonság. – A szerk.] – ez volt a régi román Szekuritáté – keresztül egy felszólítást, hogy huszonnégy órán belül hagyják el az országot. Valami feljelentés is szerepet játszott abban a dologban, én azt mondom, mert ugye honnan tudta a Sziguránca, hogy az édesapám ki volt. És ez volt a vád, hogy városparancsnok volt Găeşti-en [az I. világháború idején]. Valaki felismerte, és feljelentette. Újságcikket is jelentettek meg akkor, hogy az osztrák–magyar hadseregben volt katonatiszt, minden.

Az apai nagyszülőkkel különben az volt a vitánknak a fő forrása, hogy amikor mi átjöttünk Magyarországról, apámmal megvetették a szatmári háznak a felét, amelyik ugye a nagyapáméké volt. Nos, nem is volt semmi baj addig, amíg iskolába [gimnáziumba] nem került a bátyám, és gondoltak egyet a szüleink, hogy akkor beköltöznek a szatmári házba [1935 őszén lehetett ez. – A szerk.]. Na, azután meg is gyűlt a baj ebből, [a nagyszülők] nem akarták [hogy odaköltözzünk]. És én azt hiszem, hogy ebben a dologban onnan is indulhatott valami feljelentésféle. És így 1936-ban útra tettek.

Akkor csomagoltunk, és három-négy bőrönddel visszamentünk Magyarországra, Debrecenbe, ahol egy bútorozott szobában laktunk a Csók utcában. Olyan hirtelen kellett menni, néhány bőröndöt vittünk csak magunkkal. Az édesanyámmal megpróbáltunk egyszer átjönni – édesapám nem mert jönni, és édesanyámmal ketten jöttünk –, hogy valamit vigyünk még, és próbáltuk volna rendezni a dolgokat. De Érmihályfalván le volt adva a határnál, hogy feketelistán vagyunk, vissza is fordítottak, nem tudtunk eljönni Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe]. A következő vonatra feltettek, és visszaküldtek Debrecenbe. Debrecenben abból éltünk, hogy az édesapám kiharcolta, hogy emeljék hetvenöt százalékos hadirokkanttá, hogy kapjon többecskét. Emlékszem, harmincöt pengő hadinyugdíjat kapott havonta mint ötvenszázalékos hadirokkant, és ezt felemelték ötven pengőre. Akkor fillérekért lehetett vásárolni, a pengőnek nagy értéke volt. Akkor százötven-kétszáz pengő nagy fizetés volt. A hadinyugdíjból éltünk, még eladogattunk ezt-azt, a család, a rokonság is segített.

1938-ban leköltöztünk a határ mellé egy nagyközségbe, Csengerbe, ahhoz, hogy tudjunk gazdálkodni, hogy tudjuk valahogy a földet megközelíteni [Csenger – nagyközség volt Szatmár vm.-ben, 1891-ben 3100, 1910-ben 3300, 1930-ban 4900 lakossal (járási szolgabírói hivatal). – A szerk.]. Onnan lehetett kérni kettős birtokossági határátlépőt, és azzal át lehetett járni gazdálkodni. Ilyen kettős birtokossági határátlépőt az kapott, akinek volt földje itt [Romániában] is, ott [Magyarországon] is. Édesapámnak nem volt [földje], csak itt, Vetésen, de megadták úgy is. Volt egy ilyen lehetőség, és ezt kihasználtuk. Úgy kellett, hogy reggel jöttünk, és este vissza kellett menni, annyira, hogy tudta édesapám intézni a földet. Úgyhogy lóval, szekérrel közel volt, egy olyan hét-nyolc kilométer körülbelül a határ Vetéstől, [visszafele menet] Vetés után van Óvári [Vetéstől öt km-re, északnyugatra], ott a határ.

Én az iskolát Szatmárnémetiben kezdtem, 1935-ben, a második elemi osztályt a debreceni Zsidó Gimnáziumban végeztem 1937-ben, majd a harmadik és negyedik osztályt Csengerben, a helybeli zsidó elemi iskolában. Miután elvégeztem a négy elemi osztályt, magánúton elvégeztem az első gimnáziumot a debreceni Zsidó Gimnáziumban.

Csengerben voltunk 1940-ig, amíg Horthy Miklós a fehér lován bevonult, akkor aztán vissza tudtunk jönni. Édesapám, mikor hazajöttünk, folytatta a gazdálkodást. Mivel apám magyar állampolgár volt, ő Romániában nem vehetett földet [1940 előtt], és elkövette azt a könnyelműséget, hogy [1933-34-ben, mikor átjöttünk, és megvette a birtokot Vetésben] az apai nagyanyám nevére íratta a földet. Megjelentek a zsidótörvények [lásd: zsidótörvények Magyarországon], akkor kisajátították, annyit ki tudott harcolni, hogy a felét vették csak el a földnek, és a fele az megmaradt még 1944-ben is.

Laktunk vagy két évet Vetésben, aztán beköltöztünk Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe] az iskola miatt, ott jártunk iskolába, a Református Főgimnáziumba. És mindjárt elmesélem, hogy milyen viszonyok voltak akkor. 1944-ben az történt, hogy elvitték a zsidókat. Azelőtt a hittanra jegyet kellett vinni az iskolába – aki nem református volt –, hogy tanultunk vallást. Minekünk a rabbitól kellett vinni. És hát a zsidókat eldeportálták 1944-ben, így akkor én nem tudtam 1944-ben vinni az iskolába jegyet a rabbitól, hogy azt a bizonyítványba írják be. És erre fel nem adták ki a bizonyítványomat. Ilyen törvények voltak. Nem adták ki, mert hiányzott a vallásjegy. Különben a rabbi megadta a tízest mindenkinek [A romániai iskolarendszerben a tízes a legjobb jegy és a négyes az elégtelen. Egyébként a rabbi nyilván nem tízest adott (hiszen akkoriban Szatmárnémeti átmenetileg ismét Magyarországhoz tartozott), hanem egyest, ami annak idején, Magyarországon a legjobb érdemjegy volt.  – A szerk.]. Azután 1945-ben kiadták szó nélkül.

Mi nem jártunk vallásos iskolába, hájderbe [héderbe], a szüleim fogadtak egy tanítót, és az tanított minket. Az egy évig járt – úgy hét-nyolc éves lehettem –, mindkettőnket tanított, megtanította az imákat, megtanított mindenre.

Az apai nagyszüleim ortodox zsidók voltak, édesapám is az volt. Az édesapám tudott jiddisül is, és nagyon neheztelek rá, hogy nem tanította meg, mert az is egy nemzetközi nyelv, mint az eszperantó. Hogy volt a zsidó családoknál: a gyerekek ne értsék, amit [a felnőttek] beszélnek. Édesanyám nem tudott jiddisül, ők magyarul beszéltek, de édesapám az ő szüleivel jiddisül beszélt. Az édesanyámnak nem volt levágva a haja, de édesanyám is vallásos volt, és annyira igyekeztünk megőrizni a kóserséget, hogy 1944-ben, mikor már nem lehetett semmi kóser dolgot kapni, inkább nem ettünk húst, vegetariánus módon főzött édesanyám, megtartottuk a vallást. Édesanyám egészen addig tartotta a kóser háztartást, amíg a bátyám felköltöztette Bukarestbe [1950-ig], ott azután már nem volt teljesen megtartva a kóser háztartás.

Vetésben zsidó család nem volt, csak mi. A környéken még voltak, de Vetésben csak mi voltunk. Vetésen nem volt templom [zsinagóga], de amíg Vetésen laktunk, akkor is ünnepekkor jártunk be Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe]. Mi is, fiúk, nem csak édesapám. Sőt, Magyarországon, Csengeren is volt templom, ott is jártunk. Mi nem mentünk a templomba reggel, délben és este, csak péntek este, szombaton és a nagyünnepeken jártunk.

Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] két gyönyörű zsinagóga volt. Mi az ortodoxba jártunk – az ortodox zsinagóga mellett volt egy kisebb templom [imaház] is –, az most is megvan. De a neológot eladták a zsidók, lebontották, és oda építették a megyei rendőrséget. Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] nagyon sok zsidó volt, csak bent a városban tizenháromezer ezer zsidó élt, ez a város lakosságának harmadrésze volt. Úgyhogy ott komoly vallásos élet volt. Haszidok [lásd: szatmári haszidok] is voltak, ők jellegzetes kaftánnal jártak. Ezek jórészt New Yorkba, illetve Amerikába vándoroltak ki, ezek a szatmári vallásos zsidók. Ott van az unokatestvérem is, New Yorkban, ott van ilyen haszid gyülekezet. Szatmáron egész zsidó negyed volt, ott létesítették a gettót. A deportálásból hazajött nehányszáz ember Szatmárra, aztán sokan odaköltöztek Máramarosból is, de elmentek. Most már vagy negyvenen ha vannak, több nincs. A temetőt rendezik, azt gondozzák.

A zsidóknál voltak ilyen csodarabbik [lásd: caddik]. A nagykállói rabbi is ilyen csodarabbi volt. És van az a dal, a „Szól a kakas már”, állítólag neki a szerzeménye volt ez, a nagykállói csodarabbinak. Ez magyarországi volt, a nagykállói, de itt, Romániában is voltak, Szatmáron volt a bikszádi – haszid – rabbi, az volt ilyen híres. Szatmáron az ortodox zsidóságnak a vezetője volt a bikszádi rabbi [Bikszád – kisközség volt Szatmár vm.-ben, 1891-ben 1500, 1910-ben 1700 román és magyar lakossal. – A szerk.], az otthoni szomszéd utcánkban lakott, ott egy Talmud-iskolát is tartott, ahol direkt a Talmuddal, a Szentírással foglalkoznak. Annak idején nekünk volt gazdaságunk, voltak tyúkok, és emlékszem, az édesanyám kellett minden nap küldjön friss tojást, mert a rabbi csak azt fogyasztja el, ami kóser [A tojás kóser volta nem a frissességétől függ. Kóser tojás csak kóser madártól származhat, és nem tartalmazhat egyetlen vércseppet sem. – A szerk.].

Ahol zsidó hitközség van, a templom mellett mindenhol van rituális fürdő, mikve, úgy hívják. Oda péntek délután elmennek a zsidó férfiak, megfürödnek, ezt előírja a vallás, sőt, a vallásos zsidók alá szoktak háromszor bukni, a víz alá. Én gyermekkoromban láttam ilyet [Szatmárnémetiben]. Szatmáron két fürdő volt. Volt egy városi fürdő, az elég elhanyagolt állapotban volt, és volt a zsidó fürdő, a mikve, az a templom közelében volt, a zsidó hitközség tartotta fent, az üzemelt rendesen. Rendes fürdő volt, jártak oda keresztények is, nemcsak zsidók, az volt a jobbik városi fürdő, a zsidó fürdő [Halahikusan – lásd: háláhá – nem kizárt, hogy nem zsidók járjanak a mikvébe. Régebben, és különösen kisebb városokban, falvakban, a mikve betöltött közfürdő-szerepet is, gyakran volt nagy medence, gőzfürdő része is. A mikve fenntartásához valószínűleg jól jött, ha más is használta. Természetesen a női rész, illetve a női funkció ilyenkor is biztosan teljesen külön és diszkréten volt kezelve, tehát halahikusan ez úgy képzelhető el, hogy a nem zsidók csak akkor járhattak, amikor a nők nem (tehát naplemente előtt). – A szerk.]. Nem volt akkor fürdőszoba, mi oda jártunk fürödni. Voltak bent öltözők, volt a medence, abban lehetett fürödni, volt tusoló, lehetett tusolni, gőzfürdő is volt, volt vécé.

A fiúkat tizenhárom éves korukban avatják nagykorúvá, és a lányokat is mostanában, úgy láttam Izraelban, úgy hallottam [lásd: bár micvó; bát micva]. Amikor tizenhárom éves lettünk, én is, a bátyám is, akkor avattak nagykorúvá, ez a bár micvó. Az abból áll, hogy elő kell készülni. Mint a konfirmálásra. Mi nem jártunk felkészítőre, mert tudtunk ivritül olvasni. Az én bár micvóm az ortodox templomban volt Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] – ott laktunk, amikor tizenhárom éves voltam. Akkor kiveszik a Tórát a frigyszekrényből, és oda felhívják ezt a tizenhárom éves fiatalembert, és fel kell olvassa a hetiszakaszt [lásd: szidrá], mert minden hétre van egy szakasz a Tórában. És akkor ott avatják nagykorúvá, ott nagykorúsítják. Attól fogva teljes tagja a hitközségnek, nem gyermek. Ugyanis legalább tíz zsidó [férfi] kell, hogy lehessen egy istentiszteletet tartani, az a minimum. És akkortól felnőttnek számít már.

Vannak ilyen imaszíjak, amit a bal karra és a fejre szoktak feltenni a zsidók az imádkozás előtt. Ez volt nekünk is gyerekkorunkban, bár micvó után már kellett az imaszíjakat viselni. Azt lehetett kapni, nekem is volt, édesapámnak is, mindenkinek. Azt hiszem, én a miénket [a háború után] odaadtam ennek az unokatestvéremnek, aki elment Amerikába. Mert én egyetemen voltam, én nem használtam.

Nem voltunk olyan nagyon ortodoxok, de vallásosak voltunk, megtartottuk az összes ünnepet. A zsidó ünnepek az ünnep előtti este kezdődnek. A szombat is péntek este kezdődik [A szombat a gyertyagyújtással kezdődik pénteken este, a gyertyát pedig fél órával a naplemente előtt kell meggyújtani. – A szerk.]. Aztán a szombatnak a kimenetelét is szokták egy imádsággal megtartani [lásd: hávdálá]. Péntek este jött az ünnep [kezdődik a szombat], akkor az édesanyám meggyújtotta a gyertyákat [A péntek esti gyertyagyújtás a nőknek adott három micva egyike. A micva eredetileg parancsolatot, isteni rendeletet jelentett, ma már bármilyen jó cselekedet, jótétemény micva, akár mások, akár önmagunk megsegítésére irányul. Jutalom ugyan nem jár a jó cselekedetért, de semmilyen fizikai bántalom nem érheti azt, aki éppen micvát teljesít. – A szerk.]. Édesanyám négy gyertyát gyújtott, mert négyen voltunk a családtagok, és akkor elmondta az imát, megáldotta [A péntek este meggyújtandó gyertyák számát tekintve két szokás van: az egyik szerint két gyertyát kell meggyújtani (az egyik jelentése: „megemlékezzél”, ti. a szombat napjáról; a másiké: „őrizd meg”, ti. a szombat napját). A másik szokás szerint annyi gyertyát kell gyújtani, ahányan vannak a családban. – A szerk.]. Minket édesapám elvitt a templomba. Miután hazajöttünk, két fonott kalács volt az asztalon – bárhesz, úgy hívják –, azt az édesapám megszentelte, elmondta az áldást, miközben megvágta, és mindenkinek adott egy falatot. Ünnepekkor volt bor, arra is elmondta az áldást, és azután az volt a szokás, hogy a gyerekeket az édesapa megáldotta. A fejünkre tette a kezét, és mondott egy áldást, az után ültünk le vacsorázni. Szombatra pénteken édesanyám megfőzött mindent, hogy szombaton ne kelljen csinálni semmit se [lásd: szombati munkavégzés tilalma]. Sőt, nemzeti ételünk a csólent volt. Azt édesanyám előkészítette nyersen, fazékba tette, lezártuk, és akkor, amikor Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] laktunk, ott volt pékség, elvittük a pékségbe, ott betették a kemencébe, másnap délben – mikor kijöttünk [édesapámmal] a templomból – hoztuk haza a finom csólentet. A csólentet mi, a gyerekek vittük péntek délután, és hoztuk haza szombat délben. És otthon a tanyán, ahol laktunk, volt kemencénk – kenyeret is sütöttünk otthon –, és oda tettük. Nagyon finom étel.

Ros Hásáná után Jom Kipurig van tíz nap. Ez a tíz nap bűnbánati nap, és úgy tartja a mi hagyományunk, hogy ezen a tíz napon dől el mindenkinek a sorsa, és van egy nagy könyv, abba írják be, hogy hogy lesz, mint lesz [lásd: beírás, bepecsételés]. Jom Kipur az az Engesztelés napja magyarul, ez a legnagyobb ünnep, böjtnap. De a böjt előtt van egy szertartás, amit mi is csináltunk, hogy áldozattal megváltsák a bűneiket. Nem bárányt áldoztak, hanem egy csirkét vagy… [kakast]. Minden családtag elmondott egy imát, mindenki külön áldozott egy állatot – a férfiak kakast, a nők tyúkocskát –, és [azt az állatot] neki vágták le [lásd: kápóresz]. A sakter vágta le, volt külön zsidó vágóhíd. De az biztos humánus dolog volt [lásd: sehita], mert volt egy jó éles kése, egy pillanat alatt megdöglött [az állat]. Mi, a gyerekek vittük a sakterhez [a négy szárnyast]. Ez a Jom Kipur előtti nap volt, és abból az állatból készült azután az ünnepi vacsora. Este a templomban van egy istentisztelet, miután megvacsoráztak, és utána böjtölnek huszonnégy órát. Mi, a gyerekek is böjtöltünk huszonnégy órát, és a templomban imádkoztunk reggeltől estig [A gyerekeknek a bár micvójuk / bát micvájuk után kell a felnőttekhez hasonlóan egész nap böjtölniük, addig fél napot böjtölnek. – A szerk.]. Utána jöttek a többi ünnepek. Egyszer a sátoros ünnep, a Szukot. A Sátoros ünnepet nem tartottuk sátorban, de azt is megtartottuk, a templomban voltunk. Akkor van a Szimhát Tóra – Szimhát az ünnep –, a Tóra ünnepe, az utolsó az őszi ünnepek közül. Ilyenkor kiveszik az összes Tóratekercset a frigyszekrényből, és a templomban többször körbehordozzák, miközben a kántor énekel.

Egy nagy ünnepünk a Hanuka, az karácsonnyal szokott egybeesni, december huszonhatodikán lesz ebben az évben [2005-ben]. A Hanuka szintén nyolc napig tart, azt annak az emlékére tartjuk, hogy amikor a zsidók visszafoglalták a Szentélyt, akkor ott volt egy korsó olaj, amit az örökmécsesbe használtak, az egy napra lett volna elegendő, de csoda történt – most nincsenek, de akkor voltak csodák –, nyolc napig volt elégséges ez az olaj. És van direkt ilyen hanukai menóra, amelyik nyolc ágú – nekünk ilyen nem volt –, és abban gyújtanak minden este egy gyertyát. Az első este gyújtanak egyet, a másodikon kettőt, aztán hármat, egészen nyolc napon keresztül, ennek az emlékére. Ki szokták az ablakba is tenni. Hanukakor gyertyagyújtás volt, más nem. A gyertyákat bármelyik családtag meggyújthatta, szolgalángot mi nem használtunk. Pörgettyűvel, trenderlivel [denderli] mi is játszottunk otthon. Süteményt Hanukára nem sütött édesanyám, ajándékot nem kaptunk, olykor némi aprópénzt a szülőktől, hanukageldet.

A következő ünnep az év folyamán az Eszter böjtje, utána másnap van Purim. De két napig tartják. És megtartottuk a Purimot is. Eszter böjtjét mi nem tartottuk meg. Purim a zsidóknak egy örömünnep, akkor sütnek-főznek, minden finomságot, édességet megsütnek a zsidók, mindenféle finom süteményeket. Van egy diós tészta, a kindli, amit szoktak ilyenkor készíteni, hasonlít a diós kalácshoz [azaz a beiglihez], amit a keresztények szoktak sütni húsvétra. És van a hámántáska, ami Hámánról van elnevezve, az egy háromszögletű tészta, diós-lekváros keverékkel van megtöltve. Elég nehéz megcsinálni, olyan különlegesen van összehajtva, a feleségem nem tudja megcsinálni, de nagyon finom. A románok humăntaş, úgy mondják [a hámántáskát]. És az a szokás, hogy elküldenek cserébe, ajándékba az ismerős családoknak [sláhmónesz], személyeknek egy-egy tál tésztát [süteményt]. Mi nem küldtünk tésztákat cserébe, és nem öltöztünk maskarába sem.

Pészahkor volt külön edény, amit csak akkor használtak, évközben nem használtak. Nekünk is volt külön pészahi edényünk. És nagytakarítást csináltunk az ünnep előtt, nehogy maradjon egy morzsa is a házban, mindent ki kell takarítani. Akkor ha netán mégis maradna valami, azt el kell adni. Egy formális szerződést kell kötni, hogy eladja a hamecet [homec], úgy hívják. Édesanyám is írt ilyen szerződést [lásd: szerződés a homec eladásáról], beírt oda egy fiktív nevet, hogy el van adva minden [liszt]féle és minden morzsa, ha netán maradt volna nagytakarítás után. Attól kezdve a házban nem létezett semmiféle [homec]. Megtartották, de az külön volt, ahhoz nem nyúltunk hozzá. Pészahkor pászkaliszttel főzött édesanyám.

A Pészahot arra tartjuk, hogy [emlékezzünk] az őseink Egyiptomból való csodálatos megmenekülésére. A zsidó ünnepek úgy vannak, hogy vannak főünnepek és félünnepek. Az ilyen nyolcnapos ünnepnek az első két napja a főünnep, és az utolsó két napja az ünnep, a többi négy nap az félünnep, akkor szabad dolgozni, minden. Akkor nyolc napig – Izraelben hét napig – csak máceszt esznek. Itt minálunk, a diaszpórában, az ünnepek nyolc naposak, Izraelben egy napot levágtak, hosszúnak tartották, úgy látszik, a nyolc napot, ott hét napig tartják [A diaszpórában Pészah ünnepének első két estéjén tartják a széderesti szertartást. Izraelben hét napig tart a Pészah, a diaszpórában viszont nyolc napig. Az ősi Izraelben a hónapok kezdetét, az újhold megjelenését Jeruzsálemben figyelték. A hegyek csúcsain őrségek tanyáztak, amelyek azonnal továbbították a híreket a babilóniai és perzsiai hitközségnek, amelyek az újhold megjelenéséről még azon az éjjel értesültek. Az őrségek nappal füst-, éjszaka pedig tűzjeleket adtak tovább egyik hegyről a másikra. Ez a rómaiak alatt lehetetlenné vált, és a bizonytalanság elkerülése érdekében azóta bizonyos ünnepek egy nappal tovább tartanak a diaszpórában, mint Izraelben. – A szerk.].

A széderestét megtartottuk otthon. Úgy kezdődik a szédereste, hogy meg van terítve az asztal, ott minden meg van szabva, mert a széder szó ivritül [héberül] ’rendet’ jelent, egy elrendezését az asztalnak. Hát egyszer tesznek az asztalra egy nagy tálra, a szédertálra egy sült tojást, egy megsütött marhahúsdarabkát, keserűgyökeret, márort, petrezselymet, akkor van egy ilyen keverék, amibe almát reszelnek megtört dióval, összekeverik borral és egy kis tormát is tesznek bele [Lázár Gábor a hároszetre utal, amelybe azonban általában nem tesznek tormát; a torma a máror része, amely a keserűgyökeret szimbolizálja. – A szerk.], ezek mind emlékeztetnek az egyiptomi kivonulásra. Pészahkor a zsidóknál is a tojás az egyik hagyományos étel, azt hiszem, a keresztények is onnan vették át. A mácesz úgy van odatéve az asztalra, hogy be van takarva, három fehér szalvétával el van választva a három pászka [Három, kendővel külön-külön betakart macesz van a széderadó családfő előtt: a három macesz Izrael három részét jelképezi: Kohént, azaz Áron ivadékait, Lévi leszármazottait és Jiszráélt, azaz Izrael többi gyermekét. – A szerk.]. Mindenkinek van saját pohara, és van egy plusz pohár is téve az asztalra Élijáhu prófétának – Illés próféta máskülönben. Egy pohár bor volt neki töltve, amikor odajutott édesapám az imádsággal, kinyitottuk az ajtót, hogy tudjon bejönni Élijáhu próféta.

Mielőtt esznek-isznak, mondanak egy imádságot, kidusnak hívják [Kidus a szombat és az ünnepek megszentelésére mondott ima neve. – A szerk.]. Azután kezet kell mosni. Először petrezselymet kell mártani sós vízbe [A sós víz a zsidóknak a fogságban hullatott könnyeire utal. – A szerk.], és mondani egy áldást. Aztután a családfő elosztja a máceszt, hogy legyen afikómen is – ezt eldugják. Nálunk édesapám a párnája alá tette, a széderasztalnál úgy van, hogy egy kicsit megdőlve kell ülni a családfőnek, párnákat tesznek támasztéknak, ez a szertartás [A Hagada szerint a széder idején egyik oldalra dőlünk, és úgy fogyasztjuk el az asztalon található dolgokat. A Hagada a „Ma nistana” (Miben különbözik? Értsd: ez az éjszaka a többitől) kezdetű részben ad erre nézve utasítást. A Ma nistana negyedik kérdése: „Miben különbözik ez az éjszaka a többitől? Az összes többi éjszaka ülve és támaszkodva eszünk, ezen az éjszakán támaszkodva.” A támaszkodás szokása onnan ered, hogy római szokás szerint a szabad, teljes jogú polgárok ettek párnákra támaszkodva. A zsidók Pészah ünnepén nyerik el szabadságukat, amikor az egyiptomi fáraó uralma alól megszabadulnak. A szabad státuszt jelképezi a párnákra dőlés szokása. Az egyik oldalra kell dőlni, de van olyan szokás is, amely szerint jobbra is és balra is dőlnek, azonban ez halahikusan nem indokolható. – A szerk.]. És akkor a család legfiatalabb tagja kérdéseket tesz fel a családfőnek, négy kérdést. Nálunk én voltam a legkisebb, én kellett kérdezzek. „Miben különbözik ez az éjszaka a többi éjszakáktól?” Ezzel kezdődött. Az egész erre van azután felépítve, hogy a családfő a kérdésekre kell válaszoljon, hogy megmagyarázza a résztvevőknek, miért ünnepelik a Pészáhot, és elbeszéli az egyiptomi kivonulást. Azután kezet kell mosni mindenkinek, aki ül az asztalnál, utána áldást mondanak, hogy eszik a máceszt, akik a széderasztalnál részt vesznek, azok mind részesülnek belőle. Utána elfogyasztják a keserűgyökeret, ez arra a hagyomány, hogy az őseink Egyiptomban milyen nyomorúságban, kizsákmányolásban éltek, arra emlékeztet a keserűgyökér. És akkor jön a vacsora. Rendes vacsora volt, csak kenyér nélkül, mácesz volt. Minden volt, volt húsleves, második, harmadik fogás. Vacsora utána előszedik, elosztják és megeszik az afikóment. A gyerekek kell megtalálják az afikóment, és a [megtalálót] jutalmazzák. Végül jön az imádság a vacsora után, és a szédereste a Hágádá – a Pészah esti szertartás imakönyve – végén található humoros történettel, a Hád gádjával – „Egy gödölye” – ér véget [A Chád gádjá és az Echád mi jodéá mély vallási és történelmi jelentéssel bíró, de gyermeknyelven szóló erkölcsi tanításokat hordozó dalok. – A szerk.]. Mi nem énekeltük, édesapám elbeszélte a történetet, azután lefekvés. Hát így néz ki egy szédereste. Három órát tart, és a második estén ugyanaz ismétlődik meg. Ez nálunk családi hagyomány volt, sajnos mióta eljöttem a családi házból, az volt 1947-ben, akkor volt részem utoljára, aztán egyetemre kerültem, és utána nem volt alkalmam.

Pészah után van a Sávuot, ez a Pünkösdnek felel meg, ezt tartjuk azért, mert akkor kaptuk a Tízparancsolatot, és ez egyúttal a betakarításnak is [az ünnepe], akkor kezdődik Izraelben a betakarítás. Még van egy nagy böjt, az áv hó 9-e, érdekes módon időszámításunk előtt 586-ban rombolták le az első szentélyt, időszámításunk szerint 70-ben a másodikat, és egy napra esik [a kettő], ez annak a gyászünnepe [lásd: Tisá Beáv]. Ezek a hagyományos ünnepek.

1944-ben jöttek a deportálások. A családunknak minden tagját eldeportálták. Mi abban a szerencsés helyzetben voltunk, hogy minket a zsidó törvények alól kivételeztek [lásd: mentesség zsidóknak], miután édesapám főhadnagy volt az első világháborúban, és hadirokkant volt. Mivel elég nehéz anyagi körülmények között voltunk Magyarországon, mikor visszamentünk innen, édesapám megkérvényezte, hogy emeljék meg ötvenről hetvenöt százalékra [a hadirokkantsági fokát]. Ez nagy szerencsénk volt, mert ötvenszázalékos hadirokkantként nem lett volna kivételezve, de hetvenöt százalékkal itt maradtunk. Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] összevissza csak három zsidó család maradt 1944-ben: mi, volt egy Salamon nevű szabó – annak is voltak valami érdemei a háborúból, volt, nem tudom, hány gyermeke, és kivételezték –, és volt egy hadiözvegy, özvegy Danczingerné, akit két kislányával szintén nem deportáltak el. De édesapámat ismerték [a hatóságok], és 1944-ben mindent elkövetett a magyar királyi csendőrség, hogy minket is küldjenek Auschwitz felé.

Hajszálon múlott, hogy minket nem vittek el, és a másik meg az, hogy el nem pusztítottak [Szatmárnémetiben]. 1944 májusában, amikor megcsinálták a gettókat Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben], mi kint voltunk a gazdaságban, Vetésben. Jöttek a csendőrök, a kakastaréjos [kakastollas] csendőrök, rögtön felpakoltak, és elhurcoltak a szamosdobi [Szamosdob (ma: Doba) Szatmárnémetitől 14 km-re, délre van. – A szerk.] községi iskolába, de két nap után egy csendőrtiszt, látva az iratainkat, eleresztett. Visszamentünk [a birtokra], de nem volt a csendőrség belenyugodva abba, hogy mi ott maradtunk. És elvittek másodszor is egy hónap múlva, júniusban, miután elvittek mindenkit [zsidót] Szatmárrról  [Szatmárnémetiből] és az egész környékről – elvittek tizenháromezer zsidót Szatmárról [Szatmárnémetiből], ez a város lakosságának egyharmada volt. Akkor úgy volt a dolog, hogy ott voltunk Vetésen, a birtokon, és egy reggel körülveszik a tanyát leventék [lásd: levente- mozgalom]. Nem mondtak semmit, de ott álltak, őriztek, nehogy elmenjünk. Másnap jöttek a csendőrök, felpakoltak a szekerünkre, bevittek a községházára. Amit lehetett összepakolni, azt összeraktuk, és emlékszem, volt egy piros vekkeróránk, hát én betettem a csomagba. Amikor vizsgálták a csomagokat a községházán, ott, Vetésen, megtalálta a csendőr az órát. Azt mondja nagy parasztul: „Nem lesz arra szükségetek!” Így. És elvették. Vetésről bevittek Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe], átadtak a Magyar Királyi Rendőrségnek, és betettek a rendőrségnek a börtönébe, hogy várjuk a sorsunkat. Az egész családot: apámat, édesanyámat, bátyámat [és jómagam]. Akkor én voltam tizenöt éves. És ott voltunk szinte egy hónapig vizsgálati fogságban. A papírokat felküldték Budapestre, hogy igazolják, hogy csakugyan… Elvették a családi ékszereket is, azt az „aranyvonattal” elvitték Budapestre a Nemzeti Bankba, soha többé nem adták vissza. Nem volt sok, kevés [volt], mert akkor mi inkább a földekkel foglalkoztunk, de ami családi ékszereink voltak.

Közben a bátyám lebetegedett. Izzadmányos mellhártyagyulladást kapott, rosszul volt, és nem volt mit csinálni, jelentettük, hogy beteg. Volt egy Sárközi nevű fogalmazó [rendőrtiszt], megállt az ajtajában a fogháznak, azt mondja: „Ki a beteg?” Mondtuk, hogy a bátyám. Rávágott a pisztolyára, most is előttem van: „Én meggyógyítom!” Így. Aztán jött a mentő, és elvitték a kórházba, ott kezelték. Mi ott maradtunk addig, amíg szerencsére visszajöttek a papírok Budapestről, hogy nem lehet [a családunkat] elvinni. Deszkapriccsek voltak, azon aludtunk, de nem tudtak elvinni.

De már nem mertünk visszamenni Vetésre, hanem ott maradtunk a városban. Ez a Salamon család fogadott be, ott laktunk náluk Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben], az alsó Szamos-parton egészen szeptemberig, mikor jöttek a nagy bombázások. Szatmár[németi]t elbombázták, és akkor csak vissza kellett menni Vetésre [1944. szeptember 16., 17. és 19-én volt légitámadás Szatmárnémetiben, hetvenhat utcát bombáztak a szovjet nehézbombázók, közülük harmincat legalább kétszer bombáztak. – A szerk.]. De akkor már egy hónap választott el 1944. október tizenötödikétől, amikor Horthy Miklós bejelenette a fegyverszünetet [fegyverletételt] [lásd: Horthy-proklamáció]. Emlékszem, hogy nagy öröm volt, nyugton voltunk, hogy most már vége mindennek. Éjszaka kopogtatnak az ablakon. Ki van az ablaknál? Egy – amint hallottam, meghalt, de az Isten nyugtassa – Ács nevezetű falubeli, aki elmondta, hogy este a kocsmában együtt volt valami németekkel, azok érdeklődtek mifelőlünk, és állítólag a falubeli bíró felvilágosította őket, hogy itt vannak zsidók, és jönnek, hogy… Milyen emberek vannak! A vetési házunk két-három kilométerre volt a községtől, de kijött a faluból ez az ember, elmondta. Na, volt szekér, ló, felültünk a szekérre, és azonnal bementünk Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe]. És hát milyen a sors iróniája, Szatmáron hol bújtunk el? Édesapámnak volt ott egy nagyon jó barátja, Dr. Wiesler Béla, egy sváb ügyvéd, aki volt a Volksbund vezetője egy időben Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben]. De nagyon rendes ember volt, édesapámmal jó barátok voltak, befogadott a házába, ott voltunk október tizenötödikétől egészen huszonhatodikáig, és ott vészeltük át a Vörös Hadseregnek a felszabadítását [azaz hogy a Vörös Hadsereg felszabadította őket], így menekültünk meg. Mi az életünket köszönhetjük a Vörös Hadseregnek. Én most is azt mondom, hálás vagyok, mert ha nem jött volna a Vörös Hadsereg, akkor ki tudja, mi lett volna, mi is sorra kerülünk. A felszabadító Vörös Hadsereg elvitte a szekerünket és a két lovunkat. Amikor visszamentünk Vetésbe, egy reggel arra ébredtünk, hogy a tizennyolc éves kanca lovunk – Lepkének hívták – hazaszökött, és a konyha ajtajánál várakozott.

Amikor hazamentünk Vetésbe, elmondták, hogy másnap ki is jöttek, kerestek a németek, a házat teljesen felforgatták. Teljesen kifosztott lakást találtunk, a marhákat elhajtották, teljesen tönkretettek. Állítólag a németek vittek el sok mindent, én azt hiszem, inkább mások is részt vettek ebben. Nos, azután akkor igyekeztük egy kicsit helyrehozni a gazdaságot, de nem maradtunk ott, hanem beköltöztünk Szatmárra [Szatmárnémetibe], mert ott volt a családi ház, onnan eldeportálták a nagyszüleimet.

1945-ben új városi vezetőséget kellett [hivatalba állítani], akkor volt Néprendőrség, azt kellett megszervezni. Na most, mi történt? Az történt, hogy hát kevesen voltak Szatmárnémetiben [1945-ben], akikkel lehetett számolni. Romániában az illegális kommunistákat a Sziguránca bebörtönözte [lásd: kommunista párt Romániában a két világháború között]. Ott két lehetőség volt, addig ütötték-verték [az illegalistát], ameddig meghalt, vagy pedig beszélt. És akkor igyekeztek [a Vörös Hadsereg] összeszedni azokat, akik üldözöttek voltak, és így aztán édesapámat – mint volt katonatiszt, hát értett a hadsereghez – kinevezte a Vörös Hadsereg parancsnoknak a városi rendőrségre, ahol mi be voltunk zárva. Az első parádé 1945. május kilencedikén volt, a „Győzelem napján” [1945. május 9-én 0 óra 50 perckor Berlin keleti negyedében, Karlshorstban véget ért az az ülés, ahol a győztes hatalmak elfogadták a német fegyveres erők feltétel nélküli megadását, és aláírták az erről szóló okmányt. Ezzel Európában véget ért a második világháború. – A szerk.]. Akkor édesapám vezényelt a központban, ő volt a parancsnoka a rendőrségnek. Itt volt egy évig, és azután Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] volt egy nagyon nagy zsidó kórház, annak lett a gondnoka.

A bátyám is dolgozott egypár hónapig a rendőrségnél. Azután, kérem szépen, meg kellett teremteni a demokratikus államrendet, akkor megalakult a Román Kommunista Párt, pártaktivista [pártfunkcionárius] lett, és szervezték a Román Kommunista Pártot. A választásokat meg kellett hamisítani, annak idején nagy cirkusz volt, hogy megnyerte a kommunista párt a választásokat 1946-ban, azt hiszem, akkor volt az első úgynevezett választás. Hát én magam is kétszer mentem szavazni, például, emlékszem. A halottak szavaztak… És így azután sikerült ezt a Maniu és Brătianu vezette Liberális [valójában: Nemzeti] Parasztpártot [legyőzni] [lásd: Nemzeti Parasztpárt Romániában; választási csalások Romániában].

Édesapám dolgozott, a bátyám aktivista [funkcionárius] volt, hát tizenhat éves koromban már én intéztem a gazdaságot Vetésen, kiadtuk feleseknek [a földet], én jártam ki, én foglalkoztam vele. 1945-ben visszakaptuk a föld másik felét is, amit [a zsidótörvények idején] elvettek. Mi magyar állampolgárok voltunk, 1945-ben megkaptuk a román állampolgárságot. Nekem megvan a magyar állampolgárságom is, kettős állampolgár vagyok. Közben én 1947-ben leérettségiztem a Református Főgimnáziumban Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben], és felvételiztem a marosvásárhelyi Orvosi és Gyógyszerészeti Intézetbe – akkor alakult meg, tették át Kolozsvárról Marosvásárhelyre –, és ösztöndíjat kaptam.

Édesapám 1949-ben meghalt szív[betegséggel] és reumával, Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] van eltemetve az ortodox [zsidó] temetőben. Szatmáron családi sír volt, ott van eltemetve a nagyapám is, ott van az édesapám, és neki egy testvére [Lázár Láli]. És ott megvolt a helye a nagyanyámnak is, csak őt eldeportálták. De Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] az ortodox temetőben van egy ilyen házikó, ahol fel vannak állítva táblák, emléktáblát állítottunk mi, a hozzátartozók, akik visszakerültek, azoknak az emlékére, akik elpusztultak. És ott van egy kis márványtáblácska a nagymamámnak is.

Mikor meghal valaki, az illetőt huszonnégy órán belül el kell temetni. A temetkezés úgy történik, hogy a halottat becsavarják lepedőbe, és van egy fehér hímzett lepel [kitli], azt ráadják, és azzal temetik el [lásd: holttest előkészítése temetésre]. A koporsó pedig gyalulatlan deszkakoporsó, facsavarokkal van összeillesztve, éspedig azért, mert mi hiszünk abban, hogy el fog jönni a Messiás, éspedig szamárháton, és akkor a halottak fel tudnak támadni [és könnyen kijönni a koporsóból], ezt a zsidó vallás így tartja. Utána [temetés után] a család, a közvetlen hozzátartozók gyászolják. Mindenki a ruháját megszaggatja, belevágnak az anyagba, és abban járnak egy évig. Még most is emlékszem, másodéves voltam az egyetemen, amikor meghalt az édesapám 1949-ben. Meg volt tépve a ruhám, de nem tudták ott az évfolyamtársak [hogy miért], jöttek hozzám, és mondták: „El van szakadva” [A gyászolók ruhájának megszaggatása (köria) a temetőben elmondott kádis után történik: a Hevra Kadisa egyik tagja egy kicsit beszakítja a gyászoló gallérját, miközben a gyászoló elmondja az áldást, és kissé tovább szakítja a gallérját. Ugyanezt teszi a Hevra Kadisa nőtagja a család gyászoló nőtagjaival. A szülőkért bal oldalon csinálják a köriát, más rokonokért a jobb oldalon. A szülőkért vágott köriát soha nem varrják össze, a másokért vágott a süve után kijavítható. – A szerk.]. A legnagyobb gyász az hét nap. A tükröket letakarják, és hét napig ülnek a földön sivét – hát valamit tesznek le, hogy ne üljenek a puszta padlóra –, csak éppen evésre kelnek fel és a lefekvésre. Hét napig tart ez a zsidó gyász. Azután harminc napig tart a gyász a továbbiakban, amikor szorosabbak ezek [az előírások], de általában a teljes gyász egy évig tart. Ez azt jelenti, hogy a fiúgyermekek elmennek minden nap a templomba, és mondanak egy imádságot [kádist] az elhunytnak az emlékére minden alkalommal. Mert van reggeli imádság, van délutáni és esti imádság. A gyászima így kezdődik: „Jizgádál ve jiszkádes smei rabu beolmu di vru hirisei…” [A szülőjét gyászoló fiú a temetés napjától kezdve tizenegy hónapon keresztül mindennap köteles a napi istentiszteleten elmondani a Kádist. Ezzel tiszteli meg halott szülőjét. A Kádis szövege: Jitgádál v jitkádás s'mé rábá b'álmá di v'rá chiruté. http://www.zsido.com/books/donin/21fejeze.htm#A%20k%E1ddis – A szerk.]. Ez van a vallásos zsidóknál, ez a gyász. Hát én épp akkor Marosvásárhelyen voltam, az egyetemen, mikor édesapám meghalt, úgyhogy én egypár alkalommal elmentem reggel [a zsinagógába], de kellett menni az előadásokra, azután nem tudtam délben és este menni, ezért úgy intéztem, hogy megfizettem valakit a hitközségnél, egy szegény embert, aki elmondta [helyettem az imádságot], egy éven keresztül minden nap. Ezt megtartottuk, az édesapám után megtartottuk.

És akkor édesanyám özvegyen maradt, mi már akkor nagyok voltunk. A bátyám közben beiratkozott mint aktivista [funkcionárius] Kolozsváron a jogi fakultásra, látogatás nélkül végzett vagy három évet, és a negyediken felment Kolozsvárra, ott fejezte be a jogi szakot, ügyvéd lett. És akkor kerestek fiatalokat a „Hivatalos Közlöny”-höz, és a dékánja – akit később szintén árulónak minősítettek, be is zárták – propunálta [ajánlotta] a bátyámat, hogy vegyék fel egy másik kollégájával együtt. És akkor őt kinevezték Bukarestbe, a „Hivatalos Közlöny”-nek, a „Monitorul Oficial”-nak, lett a főszerkesztője 1950-ben.

Elvitte édesanyámat is Bukarestbe, mert jó állása volt ott neki, ugye, és ott volt haláláig. Ő [édesanyám] Bukarestben halt meg, 1955-ban, elég fiatalon. Egy baleset érte 1955 novemberében, villamosról szállt le, szürkület volt, nem volt még megállva a villamos, és lelépett, elesett. Combnyaktörése volt, azt megoperálták, akkor még újdonságnak, nagy műtétnek számítottak a combnyak-, medenceműtétek. Felmentem Bukarestbe, a kórházba, mellette voltam a műtét alatt, és az után, hogy hazajöttem – Marosvásárhelyt voltam akkor állásban a Vérátömlesztő Központban –, néhány napra rá jött az értesítés, hogy meghalt. Súlyos állapotban volt, amikor műtötték, a műtőasztalon már szinte meghalt, a műtét után tüdőgyulladást is kapott, volt asztmája is, és meghalt. Fiatal volt, ötvenhat éves. Édesapám ötvennyolc volt, amikor meghalt. Mikor meggondolom, én már hetvenhat vagyok, a bátyám nyolcvan. Az nem is volt élet. Nem volt nekik se könnyű életük. Bukarestben nem volt semmiféle kötődésünk, ezért elhamvasztottuk az édesanyámat, és ott volt a Belu krematóriumban, de amikor a bátyám elment Izraelbe, akkor elhoztam az urnát ide, és itt van eltemetve a kovásznai temetőben.

A bátyám a „Hivatalos Közlöny”-nél dolgozott egészen 1964-ig. Amikor megtudták, hogy feliratkozott családostól, hogy elmenjen Izraelbe, azonnal kidobták az állásából, és kirakták a pártból is. Egy kisebb állásba került, aztán elmentek, ott letelepedtek Izraelben. Beilleszkedtek, jól vannak, ugye.

Izraelben letette a nyelvvizsgát, de letette ott is az összes ügyvédi vizsgát, és ügyészként dolgozott az izraeli rendőrségnél, és mikor [onnan] nyugdíjba ment, akkor nyitott egy ügyvédi irodát Rehovoton. Ők Rison Lecionban laknak, és Rehovot ott van nem messze. Rehovotban van a Weizmann Intézet [A Rehovotban található Weizmann Intézet a világ egyik vezető, természettudományokkal és műszaki tudományokkal foglalkozó, multidiszciplináris kutatóközpontja. – A szerk.]. Nagyon jól vannak. Most már nyolcvan éves, beteg ember is, úgyhogy nem dolgozik. De nagyon jó testvérem volt mindig, mert segített. Míg az egyetemen voltam, is segített a bátyám, mert ugye tanulni mindig pénz kellett. Akkor is, mikor letartóztattak, rögtön jött. Eljött a tárgyalásra, minden.

A feleségével Kolozsváron ismerkedtek meg. A felesége Lázár Judit, született Jakabovics, nagykárolyi, zsidó származású, Kolozsváron végezte a zeneakadémiát. Egy gyermekük van, Péter, 1958-ban született, házas ember, a felesége a szüleivel együtt Marokkóból vándorolt be. Nekik van két gyönyörű gyerekük, az egyiket úgy hívják, hogy Maja, a másikat meg úgy hívják, hogy Gál. Maja most katonáskodik, a testvére vagy két évvel fiatalabb, még iskolában van.

Itt, az országban [vagyis Romániában] a családból csak egyedül én maradtam. 1953-ban érdemdiplomával végeztem el az orvosi egyetemet Marosvásárhelyen. Megvolt az ötvenéves találkozónk az egyetemen [2003-ban], kaptam aranydiplomát, adtak a még életben lévőknek. Százhúszan végeztük az évet, még akkor voltunk harminckilencen életben. Csak. Orvos, gyógyszerész. És volt ötvenöt éves érettségi találkozónk 2002-ben.

1953-ban államvizsgáztam, és azután volt a repartizálás [kihelyezés]. Egy nagygyűlést tartottak, de azelőtt engem behívattak a rektori hivatalba, doktor Andrásovszky volt a rektora az egyetemnek, idegsebész volt. És kezdett érdeklődni, hogy hogy gondoltam, hol szeretnék dolgozni. Hát én nem is tudtam, hogy mit mondjak. Azt mondja erre: „A mi pártunknak Lázár elvtársra itt, Marosvásárhelyen volna szükség, egy intézménynél, a Vérgyűjtő és Vértároló Állomáson.” „Hát, mondom, ha így áll a dolog, jó, rendben van.” „Legyen szíves, ilyen értelemben felszólalni délután a gyűlésen.” És azt mondja: „Gratulálok az érdemdiplomához.” Azért, mert akik kaptunk ilyen piros diplomát, érdemdiplomát, azok megválaszthattuk a munkahelyünket. De miért kerültem én a Vérgyűjtő és Vértároló Állomásra? Azért, mert be volt utalva oda néhány szekuritátés, és azoknak, nem tudom, milyen vérplazmát adtak, hogy abba valami Maros víz is belefolyhatott – fertőzött volt a vérplazma, mert a leszívása kezdetleges eszközökkel, a vízvezeték csapjára szerelt szivattyúval történt –, kirázta a hideg az összes szekuritátést. Arról nem tudok, hogy valaki meghalt volna, de az orvosok között nagy vizsgálat történt, és sokan elmentek. Nem volt ember, szükség volt fiatalokra. Így voltam én Marosvásárhelyen a Vérgyűjtő és Vértároló Állomásnál három évig konzultáns orvos. Közben 1954-ben elküldtek Bukarestbe, a hematológiai központba [„Institutul de Hematologie şi Transfuzie”], ott szakképesítőztem vérátömlesztésben, én voltam az első orvos Marosvásárhelyen, akinek diplomája volt ebben a szakmában. Nem akart senki a tanfolyamra elmenni. Nekem akkor a bátyám ott dolgozott, édesanyám ott volt, hát én vállalkoztam, elmentem, elvégeztem a tanfolyamot, kaptam egy szakképesítést. Visszakerültem Marosvásárhelyre, és ott voltam 1956-ig.

Akkor mi történt? Az történt, hogy hoztak egy olyan rendeletet, hogy mindenki köteles legalább hat hónap falusi szolgálatot csinálni. Ez rám is vonatkozott, és akkor kihelyeztek ide, erre a vidékre [Kovászna környékére], először kint voltam Kommandón 1956. augusztus-szeptemberben, és onnan októberben behelyeztek Kovásznára [Marosvásárhelytől 191 km-re van, délkeletre. – A szerk.], a kórházhoz – akkor még egy kicsi kórház volt –, a belgyógyászatra. És mikor lejárt a hat hónap, gondolkoztam, mit csináljak, nekem senkim nem volt Marosvásárhelyen, csak a barátok, édesanyám is meghalt már, gondoltam, én abban járok, hogy otthagyom az egész Marosvásárhelyt – ott albérleti lakásban laktam, még kilátás se volt arra, hogy legyen lakásom. És nem mentem vissza a hat hónap után Marosvásárhelyre, megtelepedtem Kovásznán. Itt ismerkedtem meg a feleségemmel, a kórháznál dolgozott mint tisztviselő, 1958-ban összeházasodtunk, és azóta is Kovásznán vagyok [Kovászna – nagyközség volt Háromszék vm.-ben, 1891-ben 3900, 1910-ben 5500, 1920-ban 4900 magyar és román lakossal (járási szolgabírói hivatal, járásbíróság), nevezetes sokféle és ritka „ásványos forrásairól”. Trianont követően Romániához került. 1992-ben 12 100 lakossal rendelkező város volt. – A szerk.].

A feleségem, Orbán Rozália, 1933. június huszonnyolcadikán született itt, Kovásznán, ő református. Az édesapja asztalos volt, itt van a kert végében egy ház, majdnem kétszáz éves, ott laktak. A feleségemnek van egy lánytestvére Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben], Orbán Terézia, a férje után Fazekas Györgyné. Ő 1934-ben született, van egy fia, Fazekas Attila. Ő is Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben] lakik, nős, van egy egyetemista nagyleánya. A feleségem líceumot végzett itt, Kovásznán, és tisztviselő volt a kórháznál és az építkezési szövetkezetnél.

A házunkat fáradságos munkával építtettük fel, ez a hely az anyósomé volt, egy üres telek volt, és nekünk adta, hogy ide építsünk. Az építkezési szövetkezet építette fel a házat – a felségem ott is dolgozott –, 1969-ben fogtunk neki, részletre fizettük, dolgoztunk mind a ketten, úgyhogy emlékszem, az én fizetésemnek a java része a részletre ment, a feleségemnek a fizetéséből éltünk, de lassacskán megcsináltuk.

Van egy fiam, 1959-ben született [Lázár Tibor]. Ő faipari szaklíceumot, technikumot végzett Kézdivásárhelyen. Itt dolgozott Kovásznán, a bútorgyárban, aztán két évig munkanélküli volt, mert a gyárat felszámolták. Most Kézdivásárhelyen dolgozik, technikus a bútorgyárban, amit Mobexpertnek hívnak. Minden hétfőn elmegy, pénteken jön vissza. Nagy szerencséje van, hogy nem kell navetázzon [ingázzon], mert az anyatársam ott lakik, és nála van. A menyem matematikatanár itt, Kovásznán, jó állása van, ő is érdemdiplomával végzett, és megvan az összes régisége [A „régiség” a helyi nyelvhasználatban a ledolgozott évek száma a munkakönyvben. Ha valaki munkakönyvvel dolgozik, úgy szokták mondani, hogy „megy a régisége”, vagyis növekszik a ledolgozott éveinek száma. – A szerk.], ő kap elég szépen, még tanítványai is vannak, úgyhogy nem nélkülöznek. Itt van egy apartamentjük a központban, amit annak idején én vettem meg a fiamnak, amíg lehetett. Gyermekük nincs, de jól vannak. A fiam reformátusnak van megkeresztelve, meg is van konfirmálva, de tagja a [brassói zsidó] hitközségnek.

Az én kovásznai pályafutásom: először voltam a kórháznál a belgyógyászaton, a gyermekosztályon, onnan kineveztek városi körorvosnak, az is voltam, akkor voltam utána üzemorvos, az összes kovásznai vállalat hozzám tartozott, és innen mentem el nyugdíjba harminchét év főorvosi szolgálat után, 1990-ben. 1963-ban letettem a főorvosi vizsgákat is.

Én nem iratkoztam be soha semmilyen pártba. Én sohase léptem be a kommunista pártba se. Egyszerűen nem léptem be, megmondom, miért. A származás miatt. Nem akartam, hogy aztán kidobjanak mint kulákot. A bátyám benne volt, állásban volt, de amikor kezdték firtatni a dolgokat, és kezdték nyomozni [lásd: párttisztogatás Romániában], feliratkozott családostól, és elment Izraelbe. De őszintén, én nem voltam híve ennek az egész kommunista rendszernek. Láttam, hogy ott is volt egy felső tízezer, azok mindent élveztek, és voltak ugye a prolik. Annyi, hogy nem volt munkanélküliség. Az az egy. De mi, akik átéltük ezeket az évtizedeket, tudjuk, hogy hogy volt, mint volt. Beiratkozhattam volna több esetben a pártba. Mikor egyetemre kerültem, akkor is invitáltak, nem léptem be. Én jól voltam mindenkivel, de nem politizáltam.

Mikor egyetemen voltam, 1949-ben volt nagy verifikálás [ellenőrzés] a párttagoknak. Az egyetem dísztermében tartották, és akkor mint becsületes pártonkívülit – becsületes pártonkívülinek nevezték akkoriban azokat, akik nem voltak osztályellenségek, csupán osztályidegenek – meghívtak, vegyünk részt. Annak idején a börtönben a Sziguránca ütötte-verte ezeket a volt kommunistákat, és két eset volt: vagy agyonverték, vagy pedig vallottak. És akkor mi történt? Ezen a gyűlésen kiderült, hogy azokat, akik vallottak, azokat kirúgták akkor a pártból. Vették sorra, és kikérdezték [a párttagokat]. Volt egy bizottság, ami hívta a párttagokat fel [a pódiumra], és akinek volt múltja, hogy be volt zárva, és vallott, azokat árulóknak minősítették, mind kizárták a pártból, és újjászervezték [a pártot] azokból, akiknek nem volt múltjuk. Akiknek nem volt múltjuk, azok lettek azután a jó kommunisták. Gheorghiu-Dejék tizenkét évet ültek a börtönben, majd akik hazajöttek a Szovjetunióból [lásd: Ana Pauker – Vasile Luca (Luka László) – Teohari Georgescu csoport], azokkal összementek, úgyhogy nagy pártharc volt. Én nem avatkoztam sose ebbe bele. Annak idején sok ilyen per volt [lásd: koncepciós perek], Rajk Lászlót is Magyarországon kivégezték [lásd: Rajk-per]. Ugyanazt, amit Rákosiék rendeztek odaát, azt rendezték itt Gheorghiu-Dejék is.

Engem nem nyomozott senki, én becsületes pártonkívüli voltam, egyszerűen nem léptem be. A szakszervezetben aktiváltam nagyon sokat, a városi tanácsnak alelnöke voltam itt – elnök nem lehettem, mert nem voltam párttag –, a Vöröskeresztben aktiváltam nagyon sokat, sok kitüntetésem van a Vöröskereszttől, a Nőbizottságnak sokat segítettem.

Üzemorvos voltam, mikor 1986 decemberében letartóztattak. Nem adtam betegszabadságot egy munkásnőnek. Annak volt a szekuritátén valami nyámja [A román ’neam’ /rokon/ szó fonetikusan írva, ironikusan használják így. – A szerk.], és feljelentett. Szabadságot akart kérni, én adtam egy hetet neki. Azzal nem érte be, hanem utána elment a nőgyógyászatra, és ott még hosszabbítottak neki vagy tíz napot. Utána visszaállított hozzám. Voltak vagy hárman, négyen, öten a váróteremben, vártak, akkor kezdődött a rendelés. És jön ez a nő, a kezembe nyom egy receptet. Veszem az ókulárét, nézem, és látom, hogy valami folyása van neki, és a nőgyógyász orvos írt neki fel valami gyógyszert a patikából. Annyit találtam mondani, hogy „Te duci la farmacie, şi cumperi medicamentele” [Elmész a gyógyszertárba, és megvásárolod a gyógyszereket (román)]. Na, ez olaj volt a tűzre, azt mondja: „Pentru cine vrei, dai, pentru cine nu vrei, nu dai. Eu te aranjez pe tine” [Akinek akarsz, adsz, akinek nem akarsz, nem adsz. Én elrendezlek téged (román)]. És elfutott. Én nem hosszabbíthattam már meg [a betegszabadságát] a nőgyógyász után. Ha adott volna egy javaslatot, odaírja, hogy… [további vizsgálatokat javasol], akkor igen. De nem, [ha csak] a receptet hozta.

Mi történt rá néhány napra, tíz napra? A rendelőnél megáll egy autó, kiszállnak belőle, én éppen el akartam menni egy beteghez, visszatérítettek, felhányták az egész rendelőt, de nem találtak semmi érdemleges dolgot. Akkor én gondoltam, hogy hát itt több kettőnél, és nekem hozott valaki egy csomagocskát – minden orvosnak vittek ezt-azt –, az ott volt a szekrényembe betéve. És amikor kinyitották a szekrényt, mondom: „Ezt ma kaptam valakitől.” De én nem tudtam, hogy abban mi van. Kibontották, és volt benne valami kávé, és volt száz lej betéve. De hogyha én magamat jelentettem, akkor már mentesülhettem az akkori törvények szerint a [büntetéstől]. Az ajándék vagy pénz elfogadása megvesztegetésnek minősült, amiért három–hat év börtön járt. Én is kaptam, mint a többi orvos, de soha nem kértem senkitől, és ha szegény volt a beteg, visszaadtam, amit a zsebembe tettek, hogy abból vegye meg a beteg a gyógyszert. Aki a megvesztegetést odaadta önként [a hatóságoknak], vagy jelentette, az nem volt büntethető. Akkor úgy volt, hogy aki magát jelenti, az ellen nem lehet eljárást indítani. De nem számított semmit, nálam ezt nem vették figyelembe, hiába én adtam oda a csomagot, és nem a milicia találta meg. Haza is jöttek, felforgatták azután az egész házat, itt se találtak semmi olyan dolgot, ami nagy vagyon lett volna egy orvosnak.

És [Sepsi]Szentgyörgyről kijött a főnök a rendőrségtől, az inspektorátustól, annak a helyettese, el is vittek engem éjszaka házkutatás után, és utána csak kilenc hónap múlva láttam meg ismét Kovásznát. 1986. december végén vittek el, először [Sepsi]Szentgyörgyön voltam a börtönben. Tudták azt, hogy zsidó vagyok, és egy zsidónak a bőre alatt is arany van, megtudták, hogy a bátyám Izraelben van, mert mindent kinyomoznak, és akkor azt hitték, hogy ki tudja, itt nálam mennyi arany és valuta és nem tudom, mi van. És közben a deklarációba [nyilatkozatba] beíratták ezt a dolgot, hogy „aur şi valută” [arany és valuta]. Én azt mondtam, hogy se arany, se valuta nincsen. Ami volt családi ékszer [a házban], azt elvették, és elvitték – azt aztán visszaadták. Én megsokalltam a sok vallatást, és akkor eszembe jutott, hogy várjál, nekem vannak aranyérmeim, kaptam a Vöröskereszttől. Mondom nekik: „Am ceva” [Van valamim]. Ez nem érdekelte őket. Azután vallattak, hogy igen sokat utaztunk külföldre. Amikor volt lehetőségünk, mi a családdal elmentünk Csehországba, Németországba, voltunk a Szovjetunióban, minden két évben egyszer adtak útlevelet, és elmentünk valahova [lásd: Románia – utazás]. És mondják, hogy jártam sokat külföldre. Mondom, hogy „Igen, vannak rokonaim. És különben, ha érdekli, itt a nyilvántartás maguknál, nézzék meg, hol voltam”. Az últevélosztály is abban az épületben volt, ahol a rendőrségi fogda, így jól tudták, hogy hová és mikor utaztunk.

Januárban levittek Codleára – magyarul Feketehalom, Brassó mellett, ott van egy nagy börtön –, onnan voltak a tárgyalások. A vád az volt, hogy megvesztegettek, mert hát ugye minden orvosnak adtak stekszet, most is tesznek, akkor is tettek. Ez volt a fő vád, azért hozták a csomagocskát is. Az a nő, aki hozta, egy beépített ügynök volt. Azután hívták a vállalattól az embereket kihallgatásra, hogy tegyenek deklarációt ellenem. És akkor megtudták az emberek, hogy ez a nő hozta nekem a bizonyos csomagocskát, és alaposan el is verték. Aztán bejárt a rendelőbe, mondta az asszisztensnő, és mondta, hogy hát úgy sajnálja, hogy hogy sajnál engem, hogyha tudta volna, hogy így és úgy, mosta kezét-lábát. De hát hiába, mert akkor már megfogtak, és elvittek. Nekem ott jutott azután eszembe, mikor már Codleán voltam, hogy honnan fúj a szél. Ennek a nőnek valami nyámja volt [Sepsi]Szentgyörgyön a megyei szekuritáténál a párttitkár. És azon keresztül elintézett engem. Úgy jutott eszembe a dolog, hogy [még Kovásznán] jött hozzám egyszer egy munkásnő, és az mondta, hogy írjak neki bármilyen gyógyszert, mert a fia a Szekuritátén dolgozik, és megkapja. És akkor gondolkoztam, hogy várjál, azonos a két asszonynak a neve, egy családból vannak.

Összegyűjtöttek vagy tizenkilenc-húsz nyilatkozatot ellenem, hogy ennyit fizettek [meg annyit fizettek nekem]. Közben ebből vagy három ismerte aztán el a bíróságon, hogy ő csakugyan adott ötven lejt, vagy nem tudom, mit. Úgyhogy ez elég volt, engem elítéltek tizennyolc hónapra, a minimumra. És ebből a felét le is töltöttem. Én nem voltam párttag, az volt a baj. Mert ha párttag vagyok, nem kerülök börtönbe, akkor felfüggesztve adták volna. Azok mellett volt a párt. De az érdekemben senki se csinált semmit. Gyűjtöttek aláírásokat itt a városban mellettem, hogy mentsenek meg, megpróbáltak. Volt, aki azt mondta, ne írjanak alá, mert ki tudja, hogy hát mi érheti őket. Sőt, mi több. Volt egy betegem, aki ezredes volt Bukarestben a miliciának a főiskoláján, volt a rendőrségnek egy egyeteme, most is van. Az minden évben idejött a patikusnő feleségével nyaralni, és én voltam az orvosuk nekik, mindig hozzám jöttek. Annál is jártak, de az se csinált semmit. De volt egy „procuror general” [főügyész] Bukarestben, aki szintén ismerte az összes ügyészt, ahhoz is elmentek, az illető még ráadásul zsidó is volt, és az se csinált semmit az ügyemben.

Engem nem bántottak egyáltalán [a börtönben], én nem mondhatok semmit. De az embert nem veszik emberszámba, nem vették, legalábbis akkor. Mikor mentünk ki, jöttünk be, mint a barmokat, számoltak. És minden reggel és este volt appel, mikor számba vettek mindenkit, hogy megvan-e a létszám. Kivittek egy tavasszal ott, Codleán a kenyérgyárba dolgozni. Én a kiadott munkát elvégeztem, egy kicsit leültem, hogy pihenjek meg. Hát volt egy adzsutánt [adjutáns, segédtiszt], egy altiszt, egy nagyon komisz alak, az meglátta, hogy le vagyok ülve. Na, erre felvett egy botot, és egyet az egyik tenyeremre, egyet a másikra belesózott. És azt mondja: „Na, hai cu mine!” [Na, gyere velem!] Adott nekem munkát egészen, amíg este hazamentünk, hogy legyen elfoglaltságom. És amikor megyünk be a börtön kapuján, hát engem ott ismertek, már messziről üdvözöltek, hogy doktore meg minden. És az megtudta, hogy én orvos vagyok. Akkor tudta meg. Na, attól kezdve, olyan respektem lett nála, kivételes bánásmódban részesített akkortól kezdve. Nem volt szabad kezet fogni, de velem kivételesen kezet fogott. A többieket ütötte-verte, és a legkomiszabb volt, egy nagyon kegyetlen valaki volt.

Én fel voltam mentve a katonaság alól, nem voltam katona. De [Sepsi]Szentgyörgyön, a rendőrségen, ahol csinálták a doszárt [= aktacsomó, iratcsomó, ez esetben ügyiratcsomó], amikor elvittek engem, azt írták be, hogy a katonai szolgálat satisfăcut [teljesített]. Ez volt a szerencsém. Mert így, kérem szépen, miután lejárt a büntetésem egy része, kivettek engem is felvigyázónak, „liber”-nek [szabadnak], úgy hívták a börtönben. A csíkos helyett adtak egy barna ruhát, mint a páznikoknak [az őröknek], adtak egy gumibotot, sípot, minden reggel volt kiképzés ott, a börtönudvaron, ilyen katonai gyakorlatok, adták a diszpozíciókat, hogy mit és hogy, titkos jeleket [tanítottak]. És kivittek minket az alakulatokkal a gazdaságokba, gyárakba, és mi voltunk az őrök, mi vigyáztunk fel a munkacsapatokra. Jött egy altiszt, és mi voltunk ötön-haton, akik felvigyáztunk. Az altisztnek volt fegyvere, nekünk csak a gumibot és a síp. De nem szöktek el. És mikor jöttünk haza, mindig meg kellett motozni mindenkit, hogy ne hozzanak valamit be. Mindenféle fogoly volt Codleán, a fele cigány volt. A szobában – úgy mondták –, volt, amikor voltunk vagy harmincan, negyvenen is, akkor volt, amikor csak nyolcan-tízen. Nagy szobák voltak, emeletes ágyakkal, olyan is volt, hogy ketten is aludtunk egy ágyban, olyan sokan voltunk. És amikor kivettek felvigyázónak, akkor már külön tettek, akkor már jobb körülmények voltak.

Azután az történt, hogy egy bukaresti professzor volt a [börtön]orvos, aki hat évre volt elítélve, és azt elvitték Bukarestbe. Úgyhogy a rendelő orvos nélkül maradt. Előtte egy másik orvos volt a rendelőben, egy brassói, szintén katonaorvos volt, akit a felesége jelentett fel – bosszúból. Azután ez a professzor. Ezek felpártoltak engem, segítettek gyógyszerrel, ezzel-azzal, ami csak protekción keresztül volt. Na és azután én kerültem a helyükre börtönorvosnak. Én voltam a férfirészlegen, és a női részlegen volt egy brassói orvosnő, aki szintén hasonló vizekben úszott. Utána már jól ment a sorom, a rendelőben voltam, és lehetett még készíteni ezt-azt. Az utolsó két hónap, két és fél már jobbacskán telt el. Egyszer az történt, hogy ennek az altisztnek [aki a kenyérgyárban komiszkodott] a fogával volt valami baj, jön a rendelőbe, mondja, hogy neki fáj a foga, ki kéne húzni. Én életemben fogat nem húztam, én megmondom. Volt egy asszisztensem ott, egy patikus, aki hat évre volt ítélve. Volt a rendelőben felszerelés, mindenféle, és azt mondta az asszisztens, hogy ő kihúzza. Leültettük az adzsutántot a székre, én fogtam hátul a fejét, az asszisztens vette a fogót, rátette [a fogra], hogy húzza ki. De hát még meg se mozdította, elkezdett [jajveszékelni], „Áoléu, áoléu....” Erre mit lehetett csinálni, lefeküdt ott a kanapéra. Mondom, na, nézzem én, mi a helyzet. Hát benézek a szájába, látom, hogy a fogat alig tartja ott valami. Azzal megfordult a helyzet. A patikus [fogta a fejét], én veszem a fogót, egyből rátettem, kinn volt a fog. „Mulţumesc, mulţumesc!” [Köszönöm, köszönöm], azt mondja. És akkor nem volt semmi sterilitás, adtunk neki egy csomó antibiotikumot, hogy ne fertőződjön meg, és aztán én voltam a kedvence ennek az adzsutántnak, aki a kenyérgyárban a tenyerembe sózott egy léccel.

Egyszer jól leteremtették a feleségemet [ott, a börtönben], hogy nem beszél románul. Leszidták. Jött a beszélőbe, és ott hallgatták, hogy mit beszélünk. És ő magyarul beszélt. No aztán jól leteremtették.

Elmesélem, min megy az ember keresztül. Aki letölti a büntetésnek a felét, arról komisszióban döntenek, hogy eresszék el, vagy ne eresszék el, tegyék szabadlábra, ha jó a magaviselete. És akiket hosszabbítanak, azokat a komisszióhoz odahívják. Hát egy délután a komisszió épp ülésezik. Én is esedékes voltam, hogy hát a komisszió előtt ott a doszár. Megmondták, tudtam, hogy el fognak egy pár nap múlva ereszteni. Brassóból jött egy Balea nevezetű ügyész ki. És jönnek, mondják, hogy doktore, menjek a komisszióhoz. Hát futok, volt egy klubhely, és ott volt a komisszió, haptákba kellett állni az embernek, ugye, mondom: „Ordin!” [Parancs!] Hát azt hittem, most megmondják, hogy… [meghosszabbították a büntetésem]. Azt mondja a komisszió elnöke, hogy hozzak be neki valami gyógyszereket, vérnyomáscsökkentő meg szívgyógyszereket. Fogtam én, és vittem nemcsak a gyógyszert, vittem a vérnyomásmérőt is magammal, odaadtam a gyógyszereket, megmértem a vérnyomását, és akkor azt mondta nekem, hogy el van intézve. De amin keresztülmentem, az izgalom, hogy mi lesz, hogy miért hívnak, futottam. Ilyen élmények, ugye. És pár nap múlva hazaengedtek.

1987. augusztus huszonharmadika körül kerültem haza. Akkor járt le a kilenc hónap, és feltételesen szabadlábra helyeztek. A városban úgy fogadtak, mint egy nemzeti hőst. Ez a bukaresti kolonel [ezredes], akinek én voltam a kezelőorvosa, és semmit nem tett az érdekemben, pedig megtehette volna, mert jó viszonyban volt az itteni milicistákkal és ügyészekkel, itt volt az egyik kórházban. Miután hazakerültem, a nyakamba borult, az is megcsókolt, hogy ki tudtam jönni. Azután eljött haza hozzánk [a zsidó főügyész is Bukarestből]. De meg volt mondva, hogy miért is nem csináltak semmit. Féltek Ceauşescutól, féltek a besúgóktól, és ez volt az oka, hogy nem tudtak semmit se csinálni. Hál’ istennek átéltem, ez is egy tapasztalat, ugye, nem mindenkinek adatik meg.

De nem baj, mert csak létezik, van valami és valaki, mert ezek, akik csinálták ezt a disznóságot, mind meghaltak, egytől egyig. Például, mondjak egyet. Aki a házkutatást csinálta, az a helyettes inspektor volt a megyei milicián, egy Măgureanu nevezetű, nagyon rossz ember volt. Az intézte az egészet, a vallatást, a házkutatásokat, mindent. Ötvenkét éves korukban elmehettek nyugdíjba ezek a milicisták. És akkor egy nagy zsíros állást kapott, a betegbiztosítónál valami főnök volt. És nem tudom, milyen disznóságot műveltek, eladtak valamit, és nem tudom, mit csinált a pénzzel, summa summárum, ez a Măgureanu felakasztotta magát, búcsúlevelet hagyott, mutatta az Antena1 televízió a ravatalon. Meghalt. És mi van még! Hazakerültem. Szolgálatos voltam a kórháznál, ügyeletes orvos, egy este kopogtatnak. Ki áll az ajtóban? Hát nagy alázatosan az egyik gazember ezek közül, kovásznai  milicista, azt mondja, hogy neki volna egy kérése hozzám. Mondom: „Micsoda?” Akkor akik utaztak külföldre, kellett vigyenek egy orvosi igazolást, hogy nincs hasmenésük. És azért jött, hogy adjak egy ilyen igazolást. Mondom, menjen a körorvoshoz, az foglalkozik ezzel. Nem, mert hát ő az éjszaka indul, Magyarországra ment. Aztán megszántam, írtam neki egy adeverincát [igazolást]. Ez leukémiát kapott, abban halt meg. Megint egy másik eset. Ugyancsak szolgálatos voltam. Hozzák egy éjszaka ennek, aki engem feljelentett, a gyerekét. A nő ura csobán [juhász] volt Vajnafalván [románul Voineşti], és egy juhászkutya össze-vissza marcangolta a gyereküket.

Akkor [miután hazakerültem] jártam az állást intézni, ugyanis engem kiengedtek, de egy évre fel volt függesztve az orvosi gyakorlatom. De elértem azt az egyet, hála a feleségem egy volt osztálytársnőjének, aki a megyei szervezési párttitkárnő volt, hogy itt a tribunálnál [a bíróságon] azt az egy évet eltörölték, nem voltam a szakmai gyakorlattól eltiltva. Munkába jöttem, de mint asszisztenst tettek munkába. A saját diszpenszáromban voltam asszisztens egynéhány hónapig. Januárban volt a nagy amnesztia, amikor Ceauşescunak születésnapja volt, akkor általános amnesztiát adtak. Úgyhogy mindent eltöröltek, 1988 januárjában visszanyertem minden jogomat. [Közben] a rendelőbe tettek a helyemre egy helyettest. Az volt a szerencsém, hogy az bukaresti volt, és mindenáron vissza akart menni [Bukarestbe]. Az apja bennfentes volt ott, Bukarestben, nem tudom, milyen poszton lehetett. És én akkor jártam – Bukarestben is voltam –, hogy a doszáromat intézzék el, kapjam vissza az állást. Hát vártam, vártam, ott volt január, az amnesztia, látjuk, hogy nem jött semmi se vissza. És akkor hát ennek az apja elment, a miniszternek a fiókjából elővették a doszárt, elintézték. Lejött a papír, hogy visszakaptam az állást, visszatettek üzemorvosnak, csak a minimális fizetéssel, mint kezdőt.

És közben betették a tizennyolcas törvényt 1987-ben azok ellen, akik törvénytelenül szerezték a vagyonukat. Azt betették hivatalból mindenki ellen, aki el volt zárva megvesztegetés miatt. Ellenem is indítottak eljárást. Volt valami megspórolt pénzem a Csekkben [CEC, vagyis a „Casa de Economii şi Consemnaţiuni” rövidítése, a Román Állami Takarékpénztár neve. – A szerk.], abból száztizenkét ezer lejt ítéltek meg, hogy fizessek vissza az államnak. Megnyertem első fokon, de fellebbezett az ügyész innen, Kézdivásárhelyről, egy nagy gazember, most is ügyész az illető, ha el nem ment nyugdíjba. Akkor azután hát Sepsiszentgyörgyre került az ügy. Elmentünk a feleségemnek ahhoz a volt osztálytársnőjéhez, aki a megyei szervezési párttitkárnő volt, nagy poszton volt, hogy mutassam meg, hogy tiszta falcs számítások vannak, összeadási, kivonási hibákkal csinálták ellenem a papírt. És direkt szándékosan, hogy mutathassanak ki egy bizonyos összeget. Ő azt mondta, hogy „Én nem azért vagyok itt, hogy maguknak újraszámoljam”, vette a telefont, [és elküldött] a tribunálnak [törvényszéknek] az elnökéhez, bizonyos Ördögh András nevezetűhoz – ő is halott már. El is mentünk hozzá, hát fogadott, mert ugye telefonált a megyei párttitkárnő, és amikor leültünk, azt mondja, hogy legyek egészen nyugodt, mert ő is látja a dolgot, hagyjam ott a papírt, úgyis oda fog hozzá kerülni a dolog, ha fellebbez is az ügyész, nincs semmi probléma. Na, megnyugtatott, hogy hát igazságot fognak tenni. Hát csakugyan, megvolt az első tárgyalás, én elmondtam az érveimet, hogy hogy és mint áll a dolog, és hogy jogtalanul követelik, amit követelnek. Az ítélethirdetés körülbelül két hét múlva volt. Megyünk oda, én nyugodt voltam, hogy biztos a javamra fognak dönteni. De nem! Másodfokon megítélték az összeget [az államnak], a száztizenkét ezer lej akkor nagy pénz volt. Tudták, hogy a Csekkben van egy kis megspórolt pénzem. És amikor visszamegyek utána az elnök úrhoz, azt mondja, ezen változtatni nem lehet, ez az ítélet definitítv [végleges]. Az ügyvédem azt mondta, hogy menjünk Bukarestbe, és csináljuk újra a [per]felvételt. Erre azt mondja [a törvényszék elnöke]: „Ezt húsz évig is el lehet nyújtani. Ezt ki kell fizetni, mert definitív, aztán, mondta az ügyvédemnek, pereljük tovább.” Én azt mondtam, én tovább nem perelek. Megjött pár napon belül a felszólítás, hogy ki kell fizetni, nem volt mit csináljak, kivettem a Csekkben lévő pénzt, odaadtam nekik, legyenek boldogok. A mostani városi polgármester volt akkor a pénzügyi osztálynak a vezetője, ő mondta nekem: „A doktor úr az első, akivel fizettetnek.” Nem tudom, hány ellen volt még ilyen eljárás, de egyedül én voltam itt, Kovásznán, akinek fizetni kellett. És akkor mit ad a Mindenható? Amikor megvolt a forradalom 1989-ben [lásd: 1989-es romániai forradalom], a feleségem felment a törvényszékre, hogy vegye ki a doszárt, mert ott volt az összes számla, nyugta, minden. És azt mondták neki, hogy nincs az irattárban, mert már ki volt adva az egyik ügyésznek vagy bírónak, hogy vizsgálják újra. Az nem volt elég, hogy engem kifosztottak, újra akarták kezdeni a pert, mert ezeket a pereket újrakezdték. Úgyhogy szerencsére aztán jött a változás, szerencsém volt a forradalommal, és akkor nem tudtak semmi eljárást indítani, és azzal lezárult, nem volt folytatás. De ezt csinálták. Amit csak egyszer tudtak…

1989-ben, amikor megtörtént az úgynevezett forradalom, akkor az történt, hogy Kovásznán nagyon sok betegem volt, nagyon sokan tiszteltek, úgy fogadtak, mint nemzeti hőst, amikor hazajöttem a börtönből, és mikor megtörtént a fordulat, akkor engem is hivattak, a kórháznál is alakult egy tanács. Azután meg kellett alakítani a városi tanácsot, és akkor felvonultunk a városházára zászlóval – a zászlókat kivágták [kivágták a zászló közepéből a címert] –, és a kórház részéről beválasztottak a Nemzeti Felszabadítási Frontnak [Nemzeti Megmentési Front volt a hivatalos neve. – A szerk.] a tanácsába, én is bekerültem a városi vezetőségbe. Csakhogy láttam három-négy hónap múlva, hogy lassan visszaalakulnak a dolgok, ahogy voltak, minden visszamegy a régibe, én többet arrafelé se mentem. Én még forradalmárigazolványt se kértem, otthagytam az egészet, csinálják. Nem nekem való volt a politizálás. Most [1989 után] se iratkoztam be semmilyen pártba, az RMDSZ-be se vagyok én beiratkozva. A feleségem nem megy szavazni sem. Én elmentem, de igaza van, mert végső soron semmi jót nem csinálnak.

1990-ben elmentem nyugdíjba. Nekem maximális volt a fizetésem, mielőtt elvittek, és úgy akartam, hogy azzal menjek nyugdíjba. Amikor hazajöttem [a börtönből], ötvennyolc éves voltam, és még kellett dolgozzak, hogy a hatvanat érjem el [a nyugdíjkorhatárt], de aztán igyekeztem elmenni nyugdíjba, hogy a maximális fizetéssel nyugdíjazzanak. Volt egy ilyen, hogy nyugdíjazáskor az utolsó [ledolgozott] tíz évből lehetett ötöt kiválasztani, amikor akartad, [hogy az akkori fizetés szerint számítsák ki a nyugdíjat]. És láttam, hogy ugye kicsi a fizetés – amikor hazajöttem a börtönből, először mint asszisztenst, majd kezdő orvosi fizetéssel alkalmaztak –, és amikor betöltöttem a hatvanat, megkértem a nyugdíjat. És így 1990-től nyugdíjas vagyok. Még helyettesítéseket csináltam, azután volt orvosi rendelés a nyugdíjasok egyesületében, azt mint nyugdíjas önkéntesen csináltam, amíg meg nem alakult a családi orvosi rendszer, akkor aztán felhagytam vele, csinálják a fiatalok.

Én be vagyok iratkozva a zsidó hizközséghez, Brassóba. Szoktak a hitközségnél rendezni széderestet, minden évben meghívnak, de én nem tudok odamenni Brassóba, messze van [Kovásznától 54 km-re van Brassó. – A szerk.]. Éppen ma érkezett az őszi ünnepekre a meghívó. Purimot is rendeznek, meg van terítve az asztal, ehetik-ihatik mindenki, és ilyenkor nagy ünnepély szokott lenni, műsorral, rendeznek vallásos színdarabokat Hámánról, Eszterről, ez vasárnap szokott lenni, arra el tudtam menni, azt hiszem, kétszer is voltunk [az évek során Purim-ünnepségen Brassóban].

Most is három böjtöt én megtartok. Az egyik böjt, ami most lesz, az Engesztelés napja, Jom Kipur, Újév után, a másik böjt az Eszter böjtje, és a harmadik böjt a Tesa beáv [Tisá beáv], az Áv hó kilencedike. Én ezt a három böjtöt megtartom, ez a fogadalmam. Annyi mindenen mentem keresztül, amint elmondtam, hogy megtartom. Én akkor huszonnégy óráig nem eszem, nem iszom. Vacsorázom, huszonnégy óra múlva újra vacsorázom. Sőt, meséljek el egy dolgot. Most a nyáron egy nagyon szép kiránduláson voltunk Görögországban. És ez az Áv hó kilencedike pontosan arra a periódusra esett. Hát én úgy csináltam a dolgot, miután aznap, mikorra a böjt esett volna, volt az első napunk Kréta szigetén, és ott kaptunk ellátást, előhoztam a böjtöt egy nappal, hogy ne kelljen nekem megszegni. A [keresztény] nagypénteket is megtartom, úgy böjtölök, mint a keresztények – de akkor lehet azért enni. Én mindenkinek a vallását tisztelem, így a feleségemét is.

A Pészahot megtartom olyan szempontból, hogy eszem kenyeret, de azért máceszem is van mindig, hagyományképp. A bátyám nem tartja például, ők modern zsidók ott, Izraelben. Mezuzám van nekem is a bejáratnál. Bejártam a hitközséghez, és mondtam, szeretnék venni egyet. Egy fiókból előszedték ezt, és ideadták. Ajándékba. És ott van az ajtófélfán. Hát ugye, itt, Kovásznán nincsen ilyesmi.

Én minden nap szoktam imádkozni hajnalban és elalvás előtt: elmondom a zsidók hitvallását – a Smá Jiszráelt, a Halljad, Izráelt –, az a fő, és ezzel együtt elmondom a Miatyánkot is. Én azt mondom, hogy csak van valami, ami az egész világegyetemet létrehozta. Sok mindenen mentem keresztül, és én azt mondom, van valami a világmindenségben, hogy minek nevezzem, nem tudom, ami az ember sorsát irányítja. Én sokat foglalkozok más vallásokkal, sok felekezettel tartok kapcsolatot, egy hobbi ez is, akárcsak az eszperantó. Most legutóbb kapcsolatba kerültem egy alapítvánnyal, a székhelye Bukarestben van, úgy hívják, hogy a Barátság Hídja – Fundaţia Creştină Podul Prieteniei [Keresztény Barátság Hídja Alapítvány]. Ezek felvették a kapcsolatot velem, könyveket küldtek nekem, és minden ünnepre küldenek üdvözletet, tartják a zsidó ünnepeket is. Ezek Messiás-hívők, vannak közöttük keresztények is, zsidók is, akik hiszik a Megváltót. Én is hiszem.

Cionista szervezetek voltak Szatmáron [Szatmárnémetiben], de mi nem voltunk benne. Én őszintén megmondva, nem nagyon ismertem, csak annyit tudtam a cionizmusról, hogy hát Izrael államnak a megteremtéséért van a cionizmus. Herzl Tivadar, ugye, ő volt az Izrael állam megálmodója, magyar származású zsidó volt. Gyönyörű szép mauzóleuma, síremléke van Jeruzsálemben, jártunk ott. Különben Izrael államát 1948. május tizennegyedikén kiáltották ki, pont az én születésnapomon. Akkor született Izrael, akkor jelentette be David ben Gurion Izrael függetlenségét.

Voltunk Izraelben, 1980-ban. Egy hónapot voltunk ott, az összes szent helyet bejártuk, voltunk Betlehemben, a Születés templomában, Jeruzsálemben, Názáretben, a Holt-tengernél, mindenhol voltunk. Nagyon szép ország, és lehet látni, hogy igazán tejjel-mézzel folyó országot varázsoltak oda. Nagyon gyönyörű ország, csak lenne béke, shalom. Állandóan merényletek vannak. Volt a bátyám feleségének az unokatestvére, Jakabovics György, aki ügyvéd, közjegyző volt Holonban. Egyszer Pészahkor volt egy nagy merénylet. Széderestét rendeztek a Park Hotelben, Holonhoz közel. Ez a család elment oda a gyermekekkel együtt. És az történt, hogy a szülők bementek a hotelbe, és a gyerekek elmentek parkolót keresni a kocsinak. Ez volt a szerencséjük, így maradtak életben, mert a szülők ott haltak meg. Felrobbantották a hotelt és a vendéglőt, ahol volt ez a Pészah est. Ezelőtt vagy öt évvel lehetett ez.

Énnekem is számításom volt, hogy elmenjek Izraelbe, miután kikerültem a börtönből. De azután mégis meggondoltam, hogy nem megyek, mert ugye itt a házunk már megvolt, itt ismert mindenki, én nem akartam egy új életet kezdeni, új nyelvet elsajátítani. Semmi célja nem lett volna ötvennyolc-ötvenkilenc évesen. Habár az orvosoknak nagyon jól ment, nem is kellett semmi vizsgát csinálni, de én nem mentem el. És abban, hogy maradtam, az is szerepet játszott, hogy mi vegyes házasságban élünk. Jól tudtam azt, hogy az én feleségem az akkori izraeli viszonyok között, ami volt, nem érezte volna sohase jól magát. Most már változtak a körülmények, nem számít, zsidó, keresztény, de akkoriban számított társadalmi szempontból.

A szatmár[német]i házat a háború után rendbe hozattuk, mi laktunk benne, azután, mikor édesanyám elköltözött Bukarestbe, én egyetemen voltam, lakott benne Farkas Miklós unokatestvérem, ők is elmentek Amerikába, és utána, mint gazdátlant, rólam nem tudva, hogy itt vagyok az országban, államosították. Amikor lehetett visszaigényelni, elővettem az örökösödési papírt, és visszakértem. Négyen voltunk örökösök: két unokatestvérem – az egyik, amelyik elment Amerikába, Anna volt Izraelben –, és mi ketten a bátyámmal. Kétszer is visszakértem. Beadtam a kérést még 1996-ban, akkor egyszer aprobálták, hogy visszaadták. Eladták a házat, nem volt mit csinálni, kellett adjanak kárpótlást. De nem fizettek semmit, mert azt írták, hogy majd ami után felértékelik a házat, akkor fognak valami kártérítést adni. Közben megjelent a tízes törvény, akkor újra betettem a papírokat, és azután, már nem tudom, melyiknek az alapján – azt hiszem, az első alapján –, felértékelték a lakást, és kaptam kártérítést. A bátyám lemondott az én javamra, úgyhogy harmad részét kaptam én. 1996 óta húzódik, és most kaptam vissza, háromszázharminchét milliót fizettek.

Ugyanakkor a birtokon, Vetésen húsz hektár föld volt, de ebből tíz hektárt lehetett visszakérni a forradalom után. De csináltak ott egy hatalmas nagy gyümölcskísérleti állomást, és a mi birtokunk is abba beleesett. Nem tudom, hány száz hektáron volt ez a kísérleti állomás. És amikor vissza lehetett kérni, akkor nem adták vissza, hanem mint részvényes szerepeltem ebben a kísérleti állomásban. Ezek hol fizettek, hol nem fizettek, inkább nem fizettek. És amikor megjelent az új törvény, akkor én is beadtam a kérést, így tíz hektárt visszaadtak. Van rajta egy kis gyümölcsös is, nem sok, a tíz hektárból egy olyan hektárnyin van gyümölcs, a többi szántó, kaszáló. Nem ott adták vissza, ahol volt, az nagyon jó föld volt, de azt megkapták az ottani bennfentesek. De ez se rossz föld, közelebb van a faluhoz, hét hektár van egyben, és három hektár van egy kicsivel arrább. Hát ide hatszáz kilométer Szatmár, én egy évben egyszer, ha el tudok oda menni, széjjelnézni, nem volt mit csináljak ezzel a földdel, hát úgy hozta a sors, hogy ott van egy falusi kocsmáros, az kivette bérbe. Nevetségesen kicsi összeget fizet érte – öt és fél millió lejt adott tíz hektár után –, de az az előnye, hogy művelve van a föld, és az értéke nem vész. Sajnos úgy néz ki, hogy miután alaposan meggazdagodott, nem fogja tovább művelni a földet, mivel a szárazság miatt két éve gyenge volt a termés.

Úgyhogy ezeket rekuperáltam [visszaszereztem]. Aztán nyugdíj mellé mégiscsak valami, ugye, és különösen a földnek örvendek a fiam miatt, azt nem is adom el, mit tudom, milyen viszonyok lesznek, most van munkája, de egy pillanat alatt elveszítheti.

2000-ben megjelent a száznyolcvankilences kedvezménytörvény, ez vonatkozik mindazokra, aki 1940–1944 között meg voltak hurcolva. Miután 1944-ben mi meg voltunk hurcolva, kifosztottak, én is beadtam a papírt, és megkaptam [a jóváhagyást]. Ez is majdnem olyan, mint a veteránnyugdíj, sok kedvezmény van vele, vasúti kedvezmény, adót nem kell fizessek a házra, akkor orvosi kezelés, gyógyszerek ingyenesek. Na, ezt élvezem 2000 óta. Sőt, kaptam Magyarországról is egy nagyon csekély összeget, jóvátételt, hogy kifosztottak mindenünkből, a visszavonuló német csapatok teljesen feldúlták a birtokunkat. 2004 óta a Claims Conference életjáradékot is folyósít mint holokauszt túlélőnek.

Minden évben elmegyünk valahova, ha egy kicsi spórolt pénzünk van. Tavaly voltunk Olaszországban, négy napot voltunk Velencében, onnan Pádova, Firenze, Róma, voltunk a Vatikánban is, azután visszafele jöttünk San Marino, Bécs, Budapest. Egy nagyon szép kéthetes kirándulás volt. Voltunk például Görögországban is, bejártuk Görögországot, és az utolsó hetet Kréta szigetén töltöttük, sok érdekes helyen voltunk, és ott nagyon jól fogadtak mindenhol. Ez egy tizenhárom napos út volt, és az utolsó hét napon biztosítottak ellátást, volt svédbüfé, és volt vacsora is. Ez négyszázhatvan euróba került fejenként, és amellett, amit az ember el kellett költsön. Sok érdekes helyen jártunk. Mint orvos, nekem élmény volt egyszer az, hogy az első éjszaka abban a városkában aludtunk, ahol élt és dolgozott Hippokratész, Kateriniben.

A fő hobbim az eszperantó, azzal foglalkoztam, foglalkozom legtöbbet. Tagja vagyok az Egyetemes Eszperantó Szövetségnek, Universala Esperanto Asociónak, sőt, én vagyok Romániában a képviselője az Orvosi Eszperantó Világszövetségnek, melynek Rotterdamban van a központja. Rotterdamban adják ki a „Medicina Internacia Revuó”-t, a Nemzetközi Orvosi Szemlét is, ahol nekem nagyon sok cikkem jelent – és jelenik – meg. Ezért kaptam 1984-ben egy díjat, melyet Hideo Shinoda alapított, ez egy kétszázötven gramm színezüst éremből és ötszáz holland guldenből állt. Hideo Shinoda egy dúsgazdag kórháztulajdonos volt, aki egy alapítványt hozott létre, és haláláig az Orvosi Eszperantó Világszövetség tiszteletbeli elnöke volt. Én is benne voltam egy ideig a bizottságban, ami odaítélte világviszonylatban ezt a díjat. Most már másképp megy az odaítélés, és most egy kisebb érmet adnak, ugyanis az anyagi helyzete változott az egyesületnek

Minden évben van eszperantó világkongresszus, akkor összegyűjtenek három-négy-öt ezer embert, aki ezt a nyelvet beszéli. Most az utolsó Litvániában volt, júliusban, azelőtt volt Kínában, mindig változik [a helyszín]. 1978-ban voltam Várnában az Orvosi [Eszperantó] Kongresszuson, 2001-ben voltunk Zágrábban a Világkongresszuson, és akkor beszéltem Eszéken, az Orvosi Kongresszuson is. Az Orvosi Eszperantó Kongresszust kétévente szervezik meg, arra rendszeresebben szoktam járni, legutóbb itt volt, Romániában, Nagyváradon. 2006-ban Hódmezővásárhelyen volt tudományos orvosi kongresszus, ahol három előadással szerepeltem. 2008-ban Krakkóban lesz kongresszus, amikor az Egyetemes Orvosi Eszperantó Szövetség (UMEA) százéves születésnapját fogjuk megünnepelni.

Magdolna Palmai
Budapest
Hungary
Interviewer: Zsuzsanna Lehotzky
Date of interview: January 2005

Magdolna Palmai told me about the changes of fortune in her life with energy, belying her age in the tiny dining room of her apartment, where she always received me for our meetings with warm coffee and cookies on the table. Colonial furniture, some family souvenirs and pictures which survived, and the paintings hanging on the wall make her apartment homey. Mrs. Palmai is tireless: she reads novels, goes to the theater, plays cards with her friends at weekends, cooks and bakes anytime at the request of her grandchildren, knits pullovers, and if needed, she helps in planting flowers. Her daughter and grandchildren are daily guests at her house, she is almost never alone.

My father, Farkas Fischer, was born in March 1878 in Opalyi, two kilometers away from Mateszalka. He married my mother in 1909; this was his second marriage. In his youth my father lived in Nagyvarad [today Oradea, Romania], too, but we didn't talk much about this. He perhaps completed six classes of elementary school, then he was a master tailor in Nyiregyhaza.

I know my grandparents' name from the marriage certificate of my parents. My father's father was called Ignac Fischer, my grandmother Julianna Weisz. When my parents got married in 1909 neither of them were still alive. [According to the marriage certificate of the parents - see photo no. 17 in template - only the maternal grandmother had passed away by then.] It is written in the same document that my maternal grandfather's name was Izsak Friedman, his wife was Regina Gluck. My mother's parents lived in Kotaj, my father's parents, I think, lived in Opalyi. I know hardly anything about them, not even their occupation. The only picture of my grandfather I got back from the USA, because all they had was lost in the Shoah. Based on the picture, this grandfather of mine, my mother's father, was religious for sure, because in the picture he looks like a rabbi. But I don't know what his occupation was. This wasn't a topic at home.

My father had four siblings: Uncle Szroli and Uncle Jakab, Aunt Mali and Aunt Eszti [Eszter]. They all died in Auschwitz, except Aunt Eszti, who died in the USA. Aunt Eszter's husband was called Simon Silber. They had three sons, Adolf, Sandor and Jeno. My father's sister got to the USA in that one of her sons-they had emigrated long before the war - had Aunt Eszter and Uncle Simon taken to New York onboard the last ship in 1939. But it was too late then, they couldn't fit in there. Earlier they had been farmers in Nyirpazony, and when they got older they came to our place to Nyiregyhaza. We lived in the same house, they lived in that part of the house where later a Germanophile family lived, too. But Aunt Eszti and her husband went to their sons in vain, they couldn't get used to the USA, one can't get used to that lifestyle in Brooklyn as a pensioner. I kept in touch with Aunt Eszter's grandchildren. They were here, too. Sandor's daughter works as a medical researcher, as far as I know. Jeno has a son. Helen and Irving are Adolf's children. Helen died, but Irving still lives. Helen was of my age, Irving is three or four years younger. Irving lives in Cleveland, of course he also has grandchildren, just like I do.

I was once on holiday at my father's other brother, Uncle Szroli's place. Then they took me along to count melons, but I don't know if the land was their own, or they only rented the land they farmed. Melons had to be counted the following way: when the fruit was not ripe yet one scratched its peel and put a number on it or some sign, so that if someone else sold it on the market one would know where it was stolen from. Uncle Szroli had horses and cows; they sold the milk and cottage cheese in Mateszalka. They lived in a small village near Mateszalka, I don't think that there was a synagogue, they weren't very religious, just like the majority of the village. They had two daughters and a son, Sandor, who came back from Auschwitz, and then he immigrated to the USA. Erzsike and Ilona died in the concentration camp [in Auschwitz].

Jakab was supposedly a farm manager, I only have memories of the time when he was a pensioner. He had at least five children from his first marriage. Some of them immigrated to the USA, the ones who didn't died during forced labor. From his second marriage he had a daughter, Boske [Erzsebet]. His son from the first marriage, Miklos, immigrated to the USA, then he died in Paris. When the Prince of Wales, Edward, was here in the mid-1930s Miklos worked at the Kakukk Tavern as a waiter. They dressed him in herdsman's clothes because of the visit of the Prince, and they took his picture, and the newspaper Az Est [The Evening] published it with the title 'Miklos the herdsman gives a light to the Prince of Wales.' [Editor's note: The Evening was a political daily, published between 1910-1939, it was an afternoon paper, its editor was Andor Miklos; from 1919 it was called 'Az Est Lapok' - The Evening Paper.]. Boske died last year [2004] in the USA. She went overseas in 1956. She was of my age, she spent her holiday at our place many times, and I met her in the USA, too. We kept in touch very much with her. She was a strong, beautiful woman, just like an actress.

Out of Uncle Jakab's children born in his first marriage, Dezso died in forced labor. Ilona, Berta and Elzi lived in the USA until their death. At the age of 96 Margit is still doing well, she is extraordinarily fresh intellectually, and she speaks better Hungarian than many '56-ers.' [Editor's note: Hungarians who left Hungary during and after the 1956 Hungarian Revolution.]

The husband of my father's sister Aunt Mali was Uncle Bence. I don't remember his last name. I didn't see them often, because they lived in Okorito and the family was deported from there, and in the end they also died in Auschwitz in 1944.

We usually spent our holiday at our relatives' because my mother got ill when I was born, her leg got ill, so my father regularly sent her to Felix- furdo [today Balie Felix, Romania]. This place is near Nagyvarad, but she also used to go to Pest to the Lukacs [spa in Buda] to cure herself. We visited my sister Annus in Vasarosnameny several times, and we went to Uncle Szroli's to Opalyi, too. We stayed there for one to two weeks; that was the holiday at that time.

My mother, Ilona Friedman, was born in 1885 in Kotaj. She probably completed six years of elementary school, I don't know exactly. At home she managed the household, she had a kosher kitchen. We always observed the holidays. We called one of her sisters Aunt Leni, her name was Leni Schaffer. Her husband died in World War I, so Aunt Leni remained alone with the five children, who were born two to three years apart: Herman was born around 1906, Farkas around 1909, and Sanyi [Sandor] was the youngest. Aunt Leni was older than my mother, she was probably born in 1881 in Kotaj. She was a housewife, so the children learned a trade early and started to work. My father helped them very much. The oldest son, Herman, learned the upholsterer trade; I was about three years old when he was a young man already. I grabbed his finger, sat in his lap...I have such memories of him. Then they disappeared. They were all drafted into forced labor or deported to concentration camps, and nobody came home.

Aunt Leni's middle son Farkas had a son, whom I looked for after 1945. There were children left on the street near St. Stephen's Basilica, who had been collected from the streets. Farkas' child must have been around two to three years old at that time. I had some bread and lard, and I thought I would take it there. It was an awful sight, only the eyes of the children were alive, they couldn't tell their names. There were a couple of doctors and nurses there, but I didn't find Farkas' child, because they didn't know him. The personnel told me, that the Arrow Cross 1 men had come, and they had thrown the ill and dying children on the street just like garbage on a garbage heap...They were happy for the bread and lard, they cut it in small slices and gave it to them to eat.

Aunt Leni's youngest son Sandor was a stitcher, he was a beautiful boy. He joined up, then he was taken to Ukraine and he didn't come home. They were all charming, mere soul people; it was such a closely-knit family, which is rare nowadays. Rozsi was pretty with her long hair, her braids - she was the younger sister. Rezsi, her older sister contributed to the upkeep of the family as soon as she learned sewing. She married Miksa Klein, they opened a dressmaker's shop, and then they had a daughter, Agi. They also perished in Auschwitz.

My mother had three sisters and she was the middle child, Aunt Leni was the oldest and Aunt Teri the youngest. Aunt Teri [Terez] immigrated to the USA at a very young age. She was orphaned when my grandparents died. But I don't know anything about this story, because it happened 30 years before I was born. Then Aunt Teri got married, too, of course and she had two children. When I was there she wasn't alive anymore, unfortunately. She had a son and a daughter, I still keep in touch with her daughter. Her son looked exactly like my brother, and they were of the same age, too. When we first met I thought that my brother was coming towards me, they looked so much alike, but he didn't speak Hungarian.

Annus was my oldest sister, she was born in 1907. Jeno, who was born in 1910, was three years younger, Frida was born one year later, in 1911, then came Fanni in 1912, then Jolan in 1915. Imre was born at the end of World War I, in 1918, and I in 1921.

My father was an adorable man, he was highly respected in Nyiregyhaza, and he loved all his children very much. I think I was especially attached to him. There was an atmosphere of intimacy at home, which I tried to pass on in my family, too. There was 14 years difference between my oldest sister and I. This seems very much, but it is a lucky thing, too, because I learned very many things quite early. I could recite 'Szibinyáni Jank' [Janos Arany's poem] already when I was at nursery school, because while my sister learned it and repeated it out loud, I memorized it. And when she got stuck I helped her, which my other brothers and sisters laughed at, teasing me, 'Say it Magda! How does that go?'

There are things, which just remain in one's memory, like this poem for example: 'Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten, dass ich so traurig bin; Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten, das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.' [The quote is from the poem Lorelei (1827) by Heinrich Heine, German poet of Jewish origin.] I didn't remember who wrote it. I told one of my former colleagues, who had gone to a German school that I would really like to know who wrote it. Then he told me that Lenau had. [Lenau, Nikolaus (1802- 1850): Austrian poet.]. This is just like many other things, it really remains in the memory for decades.

My father made suits from fashion journals. He ordered the material from Budapest, and those who came in looked in the fashion magazine, or told him what else they wanted, what cut, and they got it. The customers paid a deposit, and my poor father lost money on it many times, because many didn't pay or they paid by installments. When later he couldn't have employees because of the anti-Jewish laws 2, he worked with an apprentice and one of us had to help him out while we were at home. [Editor's note: The 2nd and 3rd anti-Jewish laws only prohibited the employment of non- Jewish domestic servants, and they regulated the number of Jews that could be employed, depending on the size of a factory or workshop.] Then the boys were drafted into forced labor, and the two older girls got married, and I was in Budapest from 1940, but one of us always helped our mother and father; we worked in the workshop.

My father was a genuine middle-class master tailor, he had relations with a textile warehouse in Nyiregyhaza and Pest, too. They sent the samples from Pest, small, square pieces of fabric, and my father bought some of these. If someone wanted a different material, then he showed the sample and ordered that material. The customer chose, and my father covered the costs, and they always sent the bill. It happened that the man who had to pay didn't show up. Once I had a man get really angry with me. This happened at the end of the 1930s. At that time my father was already alone in the shop, because my two brothers had been drafted. My father had sewed a suit for a wealthy young man. The young man came in and said, 'Fischer, is my suit ready?' Then I told him, 'Listen up, go out and come in again, and greet me, because even the cattle moos when it enters the stable. Secondly, for you I am not Fischer, but Miss Fischer, and thirdly, your suit will be ready after you pay your debt. And otherwise, there's the door, you can shut it from the outside.' My father was as white as a sheet: 'How dare you say such things?' I told him, 'Dad, what can we lose, if this man behaves like this?'

But I did this with others, too, with similar persons. Then they told my father that his daughter was a communist. At that time I didn't know what a communist was, but really I was always a rebel. And I saw of course that my father worked day and night. There was a big iron stove, this kind of stove can only be found at museums nowadays, and there was a massive, heavy iron, which they put on the live coal, and they only put its handle on when they took it out. It weighed at least 12 kilograms. My father ironed with that summer and winter, he almost pressed the material, and that's why the suit was so nice. I saw that he worked honestly - because nobody ever complained about him, and everyone still has good memories of him, and then a snotty like this came and dared to speak with him in such a tone, because he was the son of a wealthy merchant! So I told him that one could not behave like that with us.

We always had an apprentice. For example my father always farmed out trousers, because he had a trouser tailor. One of his apprentices immigrated to Paris, I don't really remember the other ones, because at that time I didn't usually go to the workshop. Then the anti-Jewish law came, and he couldn't have apprentices anymore.

We lived in a house in Nyiregyhaza. The Swabian houses in the surroundings of Pest are like that perhaps: a long, narrow L-shaped building, with a big back yard and garden. We didn't have a cellar, but a big pitfall, in which we kept the potatoes, we stored the vegetables in the pantry, in the way that we put them in sand and only their top could be seen. We put the eggs between corn and barley, we had baskets and we put them in those. We always had at least one or two breadbaskets full of eggs. That's how we got ready for the winter. We baked bread in that we kneaded the dough at home, which we took to the baker's every week. We usually had our bread baked on Fridays, and we also took the challah there, which we kneaded and braided at home. So all of the girls learned how to knead dough.

At that time the shopping was done the following way: we went to the grocer, gave him the grocery list, which started with 20 kilograms of flour, out of which 6-7 kilograms were whole-wheat flour, and the rest white flour. We made the bread and challah out of this. Besides this, my mother always made cookies for the weekend. She always kneaded the dough, she was a very skillful housewife. I often got a telling off, because the dough was never round when I did it - I still can't roll the dough out nicely - and this was a big shame at that time. It sometimes occurred that our mother stuffed a goose, but this wasn't general practice. We grew some green beans, corn and fresh vegetables at home for the summer. And my father loved flowers, so the garden was full of flowers. I often go and look for the flowers that were his favorites, for example, the verbena.

We had many problems with the water. We had a well in the yard, but the water wasn't drinkable because of the alkaline soil, we could only use it to rinse clothes or to wash fruits and vegetables. We couldn't cook with it or put soap in it, because it became like curd. We carried the water from quite far away in cups and cans. We were children, and we had to close the can so that the water wouldn't be spilt by the time we got home. We collected rainwater for washing clothes, or we fetched water for that, too. Time by time a washwoman came to wash. But we all had to help, we boiled the clothes, too, and in the winter we hung the clothes out in the attic. But my mother only had an adult helper for the washing-day and big cleaning; otherwise there were we, the girls, who worked.

Most of the books I read at home I borrowed from the library. In the beginning we didn't have light in the evenings, it was only installed in the house later. We read near a kerosene lamp, but we played chess more often, because my father loved to play, so I also learned how to play in my childhood. My poor father kept telling me, 'Don't be hasty, think twice where to step, because you will be in life just like in chess, if you're hasty.' My dear father was such a special man. Father, friend, confidant, all together, which is really rare, and besides this he also had a sense of humor.

When I was already living here in Pest I bought a pair of high-heeled shoes, a smart topper, which was very fashionable at that time, and a big hat with a feather. I visited home in Nyiregyhaza, and I took a walk with him in these fashionable clothes, and one of my former teachers, Henrik Sztraky, who had also taught my sister, came and greeted me saying, 'Good afternoon, Madam!' My father burst out laughing, and said, 'You know that this wasn't because of you, but because of your dress, your shoes and your hat, don't you?'

At home we had a prayer book, I don't remember any other religious books. At elementary school I learned Hebrew already, to read and to write, too, we also learned to read the Bible [Old Testament], but unfortunately nothing of this stayed with me. And of course at secondary school we also had religious classes, because at that time every denomination had religious classes at school. Because the Jewish community supported the elementary school, only Jews went to my class.

My father rather sang instead of studying the Torah. He liked Hungarian folk songs and Jewish religious songs, too. He had a very nice voice. Once I was coming home, and I heard the neighbors say, 'I don't know where the radio is on, but they are singing so beautifully.' His favorite song was 'Zöld erd?ben, zöld mez?ben sétál egy madár' [In the green field, in the flat field/A bird promenades], he often sang this.

My brothers and sisters called me 'Einzig' or 'Liebling' [German for 'my only one' and 'darling,' respectively] at home. On Sundays my father told me after dinner, 'Come Einzig, let's take a walk.' And then they said, 'Of course, because Einzig is allowed to do anything.' Even though the dishes had to be washed I went for a walk, and by the time I got back usually someone had already done them instead of me. So they said many times that my father was partial to Einzig. In spite of this they all loved me very much. I got so much love that I can't even tell.

We observed Pesach and the high holidays. At these times, at Rosh Hashanah and before the Day of Atonement [Yom Kippur] my father took us to the other room one by one and blessed us. These blessings remained in me the most strongly; these are my nicest religious memories. At those times one felt such a spiritual calmness that probably only those Catholics can experience who go to the Pope for a blessing, but maybe not even those, because they do not get as close to the Pope as I got to my father at these times.

Sabbath was not really special, at those times my mother didn't cook, we only warmed up the food and my father went to the Orthodox synagogue in the morning. In Nyiregyhaza there was a Neolog and an Orthodox synagogue. When Uncle Simon Silber and his wife, my father's sister Aunt Eszti, lived with us, then my father and Uncle Simon always went to the Orthodox synagogue together. At holidays there was always meat-soup for lunch, and we loved fish, too. On Fridays my mother cooked fish jelly, we all loved that, too. We ate meat-soup, fried, cooked meat and chulent. But my mother often cooked paprika chicken, too. Otherwise these holidays were nice, because the family could be together.

My father had acquaintances at the Jewish community, I think he was a member of the Chevra Kaddisha, he helped those whose relatives had died. I think this is why he went to the synagogue daily. But he wasn't so religious to study the Torah and the Talmud at daytime. He went to the synagogue every morning, but my mother only went on the high holidays, and we the girls went very rarely, and the boys only had to go on holidays. But my mother had a kosher kitchen, and I think that my father was a really religious man.

On Saturdays and Sundays my father took me for a walk in Nyiregyhaza, at that time I was still a small girl, he put his hand on my shoulders, and I put my hand around his waist, as I could reach it, and that's how we walked next to each other. My father wasn't only a father, but a friend, too, and he replaced my mother somewhat, because she became very ill when I was born. My father had special shoes made for her, out of leather used to make gloves; she could only walk in those, but she still needed help. We did the shopping at the market with my father, we, the children went with him and we took the goods home, because after shopping he went to work at the dressmaker's shop. The workshop wasn't in our apartment, but up in the center of the city.

Lunch was at 1 o'clock sharp. By that time everyone had to be next to the table, and until then one could get home from school, too. The bocherim from the yeshivah came to 'eat days' and those boys who came from the country to the city to learn a trade. They lived at the master's or somewhere else, but they didn't get board there. They did bring some food from home for breakfast and supper, but they didn't have lunch, so they ate lunch somewhere else every day. This is what was called 'to eat days,' namely to eat lunch somewhere else every day. There were always at least 12 people at the table at our place, because two to three people who 'ate days' came for lunch every day.

One of my childhood memories is that we had a very sweet nursery school teacher. The private nursery school where my parents enrolled me was of a very high standard, but it wasn't a Jewish denominational institution. They held classes for us, we recited poetry, and we played and danced. I can still see the teacher, the street, and the house with a garden - we played in the garden - and the rooms inside. It was at a nice place and very close to our apartment. It wasn't an expensive private nursery school, though everything is relative.

In Nyiregyhaza there were Orthodox and Neolog Jews. The elementary school functioned in the courtyard of the Neolog synagogue. We had brilliant teachers. The old teachers went to teach because they had a calling, and they had the children perform at their full potential. That was a different world. Aunt Szabin was the teacher; we learned German with her starting from the 1st grade of elementary school. Formerly churches supported the elementary schools, I don't remember any public schools in town. Our institution was very strict. By the time I completed the four classes of elementary school, I could read very well, and not only I but everyone...; we knew the multiplication table so well, that we could say it even if they woke us up from sleep, and we had to learn calligraphy, too. Nowadays children can't read and write in the eight-grade secondary school like we could after the four classes of elementary school.

Then middle school came, which was public. There was a high school in Nyiregyhaza, and there was a school of the Congregatio Jesu, too. [Editor's note: The sisterhood of the Congregatio Jesu was founded by the English Mary Ward in 1609. Its main aim was to spread and defend the faith and to educate young girls. Peter Pazmany invited the sisterhood of the Congregatio Jesu to Hungary in 1628. Their activity before 1950 was mainly teaching and education.] I could have gone to high school, because I would have only had to take a supplementary examination in French, but I went to the middle school because of financial matters. The high school wasn't as expensive as the school of the Congregatio Jesu.

While at middle school the monthly fee was 5 pengoes, at the school of the Congregatio Jesu it was 25. But at the school of the Congregatio Jesu education was of high standard: they taught English, French and German, too. The children of wealthy Catholic families went there, there were one or two whom they admitted for less or no fee, but mostly the daughters of wealthy Christian families went to the school of the Congregatio Jesu. There was great strictness at their institute in Nyiregyhaza, too, because nuns taught the different subjects. When they walked, the girls walked two by two in black stockings, navy-blue skirt and uniform shoes, but at that time we head to wear uniform hats at middle school, too. Our daily dress was a sailor-suit with a striped blouse, in the spring we wore a white and in the winter a navy-blue blouse for the holidays.

At middle school I only had to pay the 5 pengoes tuition in the first semester, because I was exempt for being diligent. My favorite subject was literature, they organized a literary society, too, and I had a teacher, Henrik Sztraky, who taught German, Hungarian and Geography. I still remember the poem that I learned at that time. Otherwise we performed everything, he made us perform the stories. And at the literary society one could perform monologues, plays, and we were happy to go and see bigger plays, too. This teacher loved children so much! He inspired the students to go to the literary society, but another teacher directed that.

I still bless Henrik Sztraky because there aren't teachers like him anymore. He taught me many things. We performed the 'Erlkönig' by Goethe in German, in the Hungarian class we performed 'Sondi's two pages' [Janos Arany's ballad]. We performed everything, and that's why we remembered so many things. In the geography class he said: 'Geography is easy, because one can read everything from the map.' And he showed us that on the relief map one could see how high a mountain was, and where it was. On the political map one could see what bordered the country, at the towns one could see if there was a mine, and then one knew that the industry was developing. So he was a Zipser German from Temesvar [today Timisoara, Romania]. [Editor's note: He was a Saxon and not a Zipser German. Zipser Germans are a German-speaking ethnic group in northern Romania in the region of Maramures.] In World War I one of his lungs was injured, and he told us that he had to teach at a girls' school, because there was much trouble with boys. At that time there were separate schools for girls and boys.

I was a diligent pupil, but I didn't want to be a swot, I ran around with the others during breaks. Once I bumped into Sztraky. He looked at me, I hunched up, and he said: 'Even you, Brutus?' Henrik Sztraky didn't treat us like small children, but so that we would get through in life. And he taught literature in a way one could only adore.

In my childhood most of my friends were boys. I remember one girlfriend who was an only child. Her name was Ica Raducziner, her parents had a grocery shop in town. Ica had beautiful skin, and everyone kept asking her, 'Ica, how come your skin is so beautiful?' She answered, 'Because my mother bathes me in milk and butter.' She was a Jewish girl, but her family wasn't religious.

We still lived in the first apartment, I wasn't going to school yet, when a relative of Aunt Teri's came home and brought a huge car. At that time there were hardly any cars in the street. This relative picked up every child in the neighborhood and took us for a ride. After this the neighbors said, 'A rich American came to the Fischer's and took the entire street for a ride.' It was a huge car with an open top, as far as I remember, it was a real miracle.

At home I didn't really do any sports. The forest was close to us, we went there to play and to walk at weekends. I did some sports though, when my younger brother played soccer with the boys in the courtyard and they took me on the team. Otherwise physical education was important at school, they organized gymnastic competitions. When I was going to the 4th grade of middle school Aunt Eszti's granddaughter, Helen, came home from America, and there was a gymnastic competition at the end of the school year. When she visited me before her death she still mentioned it: 'Magdi, I remember your school, I was so envious because you had such a beautiful gymnastic competition, and you were all so beautiful, too.' Because in America everything was different in the education system, for example they went to the same class with the boys, and because of that they didn't have such an intimate circle of friends as we did.

I spent my free time at home or we danced and talked at my friends'. But I liked to read very much. Aunt Eszti was angry with me because of this, she said, 'You don't do anything, but only chase the flies away from your leg, instead of doing some work.' Reading wasn't important to her and that's why she was angry with me for reading so much. I really read a lot, and I kept this habit later, too. I liked Jokai and Mikszath, the classics, the philosophers, Kant, Spinoza 3, and theology. [Editor's note: Mor Jokai (1825 -1904) was a Hungarian dramatist and novelist. He was a great romancer, and his novels are widely known and popular among Hungarians. Kalman Mikszath (1847-1910) was a great Hungarian novelist and politician. Many of his novels contained social commentary and satire, and towards the end of his life they became increasingly critical of the aristocracy and the burden that he believed it placed on Hungarian society.] I remember a book, the last name of the author was Gyarfas perhaps. I don't remember exactly the contents, but it was about something like how to learn to pray in a Jewish way, and how to attain faith.

We were going to middle school when one of my friends told me, 'Let's go to swing!' I asked where. 'On the beard of the Jew,' she answered. This was my first encounter with anti-Semitism, but at that time I felt differently about this, of course. One could rather feel this from the newspapers. I was always the one, as the youngest, who brought the Esti Kurir [Evening Courier, a liberal daily, published in the afternoons] for my brother, which was a radical newspaper. At that time I already used to read newspapers, I started reading from a very young age, from when I learned how to read. Arrow Cross men already existed, and it happened that they were locked up because they ran too many riots in the street. But regardless of this the streets rang with: 'Long live Szalasi 4 and Hitler, let's hit the Jews with pizzles.'

At some stage I wanted to be a philosopher. Besides Henrik Sztraky I had another very good teacher, a young rabbi, who taught at high school. This teacher held presentations at the study circle for those young people who were interested in philosophy in the building of the high school; he gave private lessons, as you would say today. He spoke about Kant, Spinoza, and he acquainted us with other philosophers, too. He told us to learn German, because Kant could only be read in the original. In this period I was going to middle school and I wasn't 14 yet, but in former times children were more mature than the 20-year-olds nowadays.

Later, I must have been around 18-19, I learned English with another company in Nyiregyhaza. In that time one could only learn English and French at high school or at the school of the Congregatio Jesu, only in the school system. It was 1939, and the numerus clausus 5 had also been applied, so we could only learn foreign languages as autodidacts. An engineer took on to teach us. He had emigrated earlier, but he came back to Hungary. At that time one couldn't immigrate to the USA anymore, because there was a quota 6, and this man thought that he could help us if we learned English from him somehow. He kept telling us that the future was going to be emigration. He taught us for free in the building of the Jewish elementary school, so mainly Jews participated in these classes.

In the 1930s there was a pilot training unit. At that time many anti- Semitic caricatures were published in the newspapers, they pictured the Jews with a long, crooked nose and always with a beard. At that time the beard wasn't really fashionable, maybe it was because of that. But an officeholder grew nice big sideburns, I think it might have been the sub- prefect. The air-force officers didn't recognize him and beat him, because they thought he was a Jew. So these young soldiers, into whom they hammered the anti-Jewish laws at the training, provoked on the streets already in the 1930s.

At the end of the 1930s I had to learn a civil trade. I said at home that in our family everyone sewed and I hated it and didn't want to become a seamstress. My father told me, 'Why not, you could even become a dental technician. That is very good, though it's a trade for men, you would be the first woman, it's not sure that they would admit you.' They didn't admit me. So I went to learn the milliner trade, but I was a milliner's apprentice only for half a day. We dressed very nicely in my family, but I must say, that I only had a new coat, when I went to Pest, and from my first salary I bought myself material. Until then they always adjusted someone's used coat to fit me.

There was a milliner in Nyiregyhaza, who said, 'Come, Mr. Fischer, send your daughter here.' At that time the milliner's trade prospered, it was very fashionable to wear hats. I went in one morning, I wore a light black velvet dress with a white embroidered organdy apron. The boss said, 'Go and clean the stove with the other apprentice.' And she also told us to bring the wood inside because it was raining. They gave me a white coat and we went out to the courtyard. It rained outside, we cleaned the stove, then brought the wood inside. The morning went by and I went home for lunch. My father asked me what I had done. I told him, crying, what we had done. He told me then that I wasn't going to go anywhere and I was going to stay at home. I didn't go to the milliner's anymore, but my father didn't go to tell her either. On the next day or two days later the milliner came to ask why I hadn't come back that afternoon. My father told her that he hadn't sent her daughter to become a maid, but to learn a trade. This is where my story of a milliner's apprenticeship ended.

I went to learn sewing after all, at a salon, where actresses and other famous persons, countesses, had their dresses made in the summer. They fitted the dresses of a countess on me. But I hated sewing very much. The other thing was that we had to deliver the dresses to the customer, and there they always gave some tip, which I was ashamed to accept. I was ashamed to deliver the dress home.

Later I went to Pest. Because in former times they usually taught the apprentices, and in the meantime they took advantage of them for free, and when they would have had to pay them they let them go to try their luck. So I came to Pest in 1940. At first I worked at different dressmaker's shops as a seamstress. But because I was young, one of my brothers and sisters was always there with me, I was never alone. Once my younger brother was in Pest, but he was drafted into forced labor, then my older sister Fanni, who immigrated to the USA later. Then I was together with my older sister Jolan, who is still alive. I lived together with the other ones, but not with Jolan, because at that time I already lived with someone, and it wasn't possible for more of us to live in that rented room. So she lived on a different street.

I had friends in Pest who had been excluded from the university because of the anti-Jewish laws. In order to earn money many of them went to the baker's and delivered the croissants and rolls in big baskets on their back, because they didn't get another job. They were excluded because only a certain percent of the students could be Jewish. So these former students made a living this way. How humiliating it was, and they had to be happy to get a little change this way.

As I have told you I had six brothers and sisters, but we loved each other very much. And as time went by the youngest family members also arrived: my oldest sister Annus [Anna] had three children: Tibor, Agnes and Marta. My other older sister Frida married a widower who already had two children, and they had two children together. Zoli [Zoltan] was the oldest, his sister was Eva, and Frida's own children were Erzsi and Magda. Zoli was 13 and Magda perhaps three when they were deported from Mateszalka...Annus, Frida, their children and our parents all died in Auschwitz.

Anna got married; she was already a bride when they sent her to the cemetery, to her mother's grave. Because they told her then that not our mother had given birth to her, but my father's first wife. Annus was two years old when her mother died, and she only found out as an adult that not our mother had given birth to her. But she couldn't even imagine having another mother, other brothers and sisters. As I grew up I resembled my older sister Annus the most. When I once visited her in Vasarosnameny they asked me on the street if I was Mrs. Klein's sister, because I looked just like her. I had an old picture of Annus, in which she must have been about 16 years old. At that age I looked almost like her.

Annus's children weren't only beautiful, but Tibor was so clever, that he sent puzzles to children's magazines at the age of ten.

My brothers, Jeno and Imre learned the tailor trade. Jeno was in Paris for a couple of years, but in 1939 he came back. After returning from forced labor, he managed an independent tailor's in Nyiregyhaza. The workshop was in the center of the town, but from the 1950s he couldn't keep it anymore, and even though he remained independent all his life, he couldn't have employees because of the nationalization 7. So from then on he worked alone. In the 1950s, after the nationalization, my other brother Imre worked as a merchant.

We all wanted to become either a seamstress or a tailor. Fanni did this, too, only she did it in the USA. After the liberation in 1945 she didn't come home from Auschwitz because she thought that nobody from the family was alive. That's why she left. First she got to one of the sons of my father's sister Eszti in Brooklyn. In Feldafing [today Germany] they asked after the liberation if anyone had relatives in the USA, and she said she did. [Feldafing, which is not far from Munich, and which was originally the summer camp of the Hitlerjugend, opened its gates to the survivors who had been liberated from concentration camps on 1st May 1945.] But Fanni didn't really like being at Aunt Eszti's son. This was partly because the Jews in the USA simply couldn't believe what had happened. They thought that people made things up, because nobody in his right senses would believe what the Germans had done. And Fanni was in very bad health, and maybe they were afraid that she would infect the family. So my mother's sister Aunt Teri, who lived in Los Angeles, said that she would be pleased to have her, so in the end she went there. And when she got back on her feet, she got settled in Los Angeles, she made ties.

When she got old and sick I told her that she had three choices: to employ someone to look after her, to go to a rest home or come home. I gave her a deadline until she had to think about this. Then she went to a rest home for a week, and she realized that she didn't want that, even though she had her own room, and there were club activities. But she didn't want to employ someone, because she didn't want to live with a perfect stranger. So I went to her in the USA and she agreed to come home from Los Angeles. We brought her home in 2000, and from then on she lived here with us. She was so energetic when we arrived, but then she started to forget things.

One night she had a heart attack, so we took her to the Janos Hospital. But there she fell off the bed and broke her head, all her face was black. She died in one and a half months, in 2001. We buried her at the Jewish cemetery in Rakoskeresztur. My husband was also buried there. But she was very happy before that at home, because we had been on good terms since our childhood. We could always count on each other in everything.

Once in 1943 she fell very ill, and got to the hospital. I worked, but as soon as I found out what had happened to her, I rushed to see her. I didn't write to my parents about Fancsi [Fanni] being ill, but we wrote a letter as if everything was in order, and she signed that she was doing well. She was in the hospital for a month or six weeks with pneumonia and pleurisy. She was very ill, and after that she grew weak. But in the circle of friends - I got to know these young people among the social democratic youth - there was a doctor, Otto Arato, who later became the head physician of the Sports Hospital. He worked with his father, because his father was also a doctor; they did their surgery together, in the middle there was the lounge, and in one room worked his father, and in the other one he did. At that time there was a head physician at the National Social Insurance Institute, whom Otto Arato knew well. He told me to hand in the papers, and that they would try to send Fanni to a sanatorium. I didn't dare to write to my parents that she was ill, even though she had been in the hospital for one and a half months. I worked, because one had to live off something, and in the meantime I arranged for her a place to go. In the end they took her to a sanatorium. She had been there for quite a while when I wrote to my parents that there was a problem. They were quite angry at what this snotty girl - this was me - had done again, that I had tried to act on my own again.

Then Fanni had to go home, because the front was approaching and they vacated the sanatorium. She was deported to Auschwitz at that time with my other family members. She told me later that at the forced labor camp they repaired rails, worked at the railway and they didn't have any food. She ate raw beets, and everything they found on the fields. She told me that she wasn't that hungry, but she rather wanted to sleep all the time. Once she asked the guard to let her sleep for ten minutes to gather some strength, and the guard was nice and let her rest for ten minutes. Then she continued to work. I am sure that Fanni was cheerful at that time, too, and she could raise people's spirits. In the USA her house was always full of guests, they came to get advice from her, and also because she could bake well. If it was needed, if the neighbors had some kind of celebration, she baked for them, too, with pleasure, so they loved her very much.

Both my brothers were at her place in America for a year, because she wanted them to stay there, but homesickness brought them back. Later both of my brothers got married, but neither Imre, nor Jeno, nor Fanni had any children. Only Jolan has a daughter. My brothers' wives weren't Jewish. Both Jeno and Imre lived in a very good marriage with their Christian wives, but neither of them had any children. Time went by, and later one thinks twice about it. I didn't want to have any children either, because I didn't want them to go through what my generation had gone through. But my husband really wanted to have children, and I don't regret having a daughter either.

In our house in Nyiregyhaza there was a separate one-bedroom-apartment with a kitchen, and there lived a Germanophile family. When my parents hadn't been deported yet, the man said that if all the Jews were like Mr. Fischer, then the Jews wouldn't be deported. They set aside a big chest full with things for us, when my parents were deported, but I only got back one box of material. After the war when they came back and I met them, the woman was honest enough to tell me that really they had taken everything, but they had been evacuated to Germany and they lived of those things there.

When I came to Pest I made many new friends. I still have a girlfriend whom I met at that time, even though that's more than 60 years ago. I lived in Budapest from 1940 until 1945. I became a member of the youth department of the Social Democratic Party here. They organized literary evenings, as well as matinees for the workers, where they invited leftist actors to hold cultural performances. I heard Hilda Gobbi and Tamas Major [both famous Hungarian actors] there, who recited poems written by Attila Jozsef and Ady. [Editor's note: Attila, Jozsef (1905-1937) was one of the most outstanding Hungarian poets of the 20th century. He committed suicide at the age of 32. Endre Ady (1877-1919) was a Hungarian poet, one of the most important poets not only in the 20th century but in Hungarian literature in general.] -This happened in 1941-1942, when many poems by Attila Jozsef were banned, like the one entitled 'Tell me what lies in store for a man' or 'Mother.' But there were also poems by Ady or Petofi 8 that could not be recited, because they praised the working class. The programs had to be reported, but there were always some people from the police there, and when the actors started to recite the banned poems they intervened immediately.

Many from among our company, the members of the social democratic youth movement, became leading politicians later. But at that time we listened to Anna Kethly at the Vasas House, and often went to the theater, too, to the cheap performances for the workers. We saw 'The Diary of a Madman' with Varkonyi at that time, which was a miracle. [Editor's note: Zoltan Varkonyi (1912-1979): Hungarian actor, director, theater director. He adapted for the stage many classical Hungarian novels.]. We loved the way he acted. I used to take trips with this company at weekends or when we were free. We often went to God, to Frank Mountain, there was the Gazdagret Housing Estate built, we went on trips to the Ram precipice and to the Zsiros Mountain, wherever we could go without money. There were about 20-30 of us in this company.

I went to Professor Ferenc Merei with my friends from the university. Since they had been excluded from the university because of the numerus clausus, they continued their studies this way. Professor Merei lived on Klotild Street 10, in the 1940s, and we went to his place for cramming courses. [Ferenc Merei (1909-1986) graduated from the University of Sorbonne, then he returned to Hungary where he mainly worked as a pedagogue and clinical psychologist.] Literature, psychology, politics - we talked about everything. Professor Geza Hegedus [Hungarian writer] was there, too. I can still remember the way we sat at Merei's, Geza Hegedus put up a blackboard and said, that if the police came we had to say that we were learning graphology, the letter 'g' in graphology - and he wrote a 'g' - and showed us how, for example, a criminal would write the letter. So this was the conspiracy. It was a wonderful period. We had to leave the apartment one by one, first we looked outside if there was a policeman there or someone else. There were 10-15 of us at these meetings. The lectures went on for two to three years, until 1942 or 1943, but in 1944 we didn't meet at Merei's anymore, that's for sure.

In Budapest I lived in a room, with a very nice Jewish family, I was at home when I found out that my parents had been deported. It was published in the newspapers from where they were deporting people. They deported all the Jews from Ujpest. At that time Laszlo Endre was the sub-prefect in Ujpest. They put the white flag up there and in Nyiregyhaza, too, because they had cleared the town from Jews. This was in the newspapers, the Jewish community knew it, and of course the news spread among people, too. That's how I also found out that my parents had been deported. And from the fact that my sister and I wrote a letter and sent it to Nyiregyhaza, and we didn't get an answer. So I wrote to one of my acquaintances there, to see about this thing...I cried very much when I found out that they had been deported.

The man at whose place we lived was a violinist, and I remember that he rebuked me, 'Nobody cares that you are crying.' Perhaps he didn't want to hurt my feelings, but make me stronger this way, but from then on it was as if my tears had dried up forever; I couldn't cry about anything. Simply not even a tear came out of my eyes for many years. When I was in Auschwitz in 1965 and through the big glass wall I saw the hair, the suitcases, the shoes, the showcase in which they had put the children's wooden shoes and children's shirts, the lamp, which they had made out of human skin, I got a crying fit. We were coming home from Zakopane [today Poland] after a two- week holiday. Everyone was shocked, and those who were more closely affected cried, but I couldn't stop. I haven't been to Auschwitz since then and I will not go anymore. Those pictures are still alive in me.

I had an uncle, my father's cousin, Marton Fischer, who had a Readymade Factory with 20 employees on Kiraly Street 34. My uncle found out somehow that one of his workers sympathized with the partisans and gave him a piece of material. This happened already in 1944, after the Arrow Cross takeover 9. They took my uncle, who was 70 years old at that time, to Svabhegy, to the Majestic Hotel, which didn't function as a hotel but as a lock-up, where they interrogated and kept people. Of course we didn't know where Uncle Marton had disappeared to. One of our acquaintances brought us a card from him, in which he asked us to bring him a pair of trousers, because the one he had been wearing got damaged. Nobody dared to go up, at that time we had to wear a yellow star already, but in the end I took on the task. They sent him bread and bacon, and the trousers he had asked for.

The building was L-shaped. As I was going to the back part of the building, where my uncle was kept, the prisoners shouted names and addresses from every window for me to notify their relatives. These people had been caught on the street or at their workplace, and their families didn't know anything about them. But I could only remembered three addresses. They had captured the driver of the Turkish embassy, too, so I went to Dembinszky Street and I told his mother and sister that he was being kept in the Majestic. Another prisoner was called Cerna and he sent me to the Co- operative of the Tailors. And I went to another place, to Arena Street to a lawyer, to tell him that his son was being kept on Svabhegy, but he didn't care.

My 70-year-old Uncle Marton's trousers got damaged, because the policemen beat him at the interrogatory. I gave him the packages and I left. I met him for the last time then, after this he disappeared.

From the summer of 1944 until the fall we cleared away the ruins 10, for which we got a little salary. We couldn't buy many things from our salary, but we could buy bread and a couple of small things. At that time they had imposed a curfew on Jews, but we could walk in the town this way. And of course any money came in handy, because we had no income. At that time we lived like this. The center for the clearing away of ruins was on Andrassy Street 105; before the building was bombed nuns had lived there.

In the summer of 1944 I found out from an Arrow Cross boy, with whom we cleared the ruins away at the Vazsonyi Villa, what had been going on at Szent Istvan Avenue 2 [an infamous Arrow Cross house in 1944], where they took those whom they caught in the street. It was such a world at that time, we worked together with this Arrow Cross boy. He was a young man, he didn't have any trade yet, so he got a job with the bricklayers. He said that in the house on Szent Istvan Avenue the wall was bloody, then he brought a golden cigarette case. I asked him how he could smoke from that. He said 'with difficulty.'

At night the Arrow Cross men made raids. Once we were sleeping in one of the ruined houses with Klari, with whom we worked together on the clearing away of the ruins, and with whom we were together later in forced labor. We couldn't turn the light on, we looked for pieces of parquet in which there weren't any nails, to put under our head as a pillow. We lay in one corner, so that in case there was a proof shot, and it lit up the place, they wouldn't see that we were sleeping there. We could stay there for a couple of nights, then the foreman told us that they couldn't hide us any longer, the ruin clearing was stopped, the front was approaching, so we had to leave. This happened after September 1944, but before 15th October. [In the summer of 1944 the army granted asylum to many Jewish civilians, too: besides the forced laborers many Jewish men and women from Budapest worked at militarily important establishments and at the ruin clearing after the bombings. (Because of the growing shortage of manpower there were female forced laborers already in 1943, but they were only transferred under the supervision of the Labor Organization of the Ministry of Defense in 1944). It's possible that Magdolna Fischer also worked in such an organization at the ruin clearing before the Arrow Cross takeover.]

At that time I lived alone on Eotvos Street 32. My sister lived on Kertesz Street, in a room with a family. We had to join up for forced labor after 15th October. [Editor's note: After the Arrow Cross takeover in October 1944, approx. 10,000 women were drafted, organized into forced labor units and ordered to work in fortifications and to dig trenches. At the beginning of November, when Soviet troops initiated another offensive against the capital, those who survived the inhuman treatment and conditions were taken to a brick-yard in North Budapest, together with Jewish women who had been given special mobilization orders a few days earlier. From here they were directed on foot toward Hegyeshalom at the Austrian border, handed over to the Germans who ordered them to build the "Eastern wall" defending Vienna.] We went together with Jolan to the KISOK estate 11, so that we wouldn't be separated from each other in forced labor.

When in 1944 the Germans came in, after the Arrow Cross takeover in October, they gathered Jewish women from age 15 to 45 and deported everyone for forced labor. We had to leave quickly, so the neighbors gave clothes to one of us, some food to the other, whatever we needed, and there was one from whom we got a backpack. On the KISOK estate they assigned everyone to companies, I was assigned to company no. 45. We went on foot from there to the Fay farm in Maglod. We got a shovel and a spade, which we took with us on the road.

Later when I was in Beregszasz [today Ukraine] for 14 years after the war, I thought many times about visiting Magda Dickmann. She was appointed as the company commander. Once Magda's friend - who was underground by the way, he was hiding from the police and the Arrow Cross men - got dressed as an officer and collected the packages from the acquaintances that remained at home, and he brought it to the Fay ranch with two forced laborers. They told us to line up when they arrived. I found it strange that many were smiling during the line-up, because this wasn't customary. I found out later that this whole action was a trick. The officer's uniform of the boy was needed only for the role, to fool our guards, and to meet the acquaintances, to deliver messages and food. This boy wasn't a partisan.

One didn't have to be a leftist in order to hate the war and the state of affairs. I knew a Jewish lawyer who hated the left as much as he hated Hitler. He told me the first time, because he could listen to the foreign radio stations, 'You don't know anything, they kill the Jews with gas.' And he also said, 'I hope the Russians don't come, because that would be even worse than Hitler.' This happened in 1944 when my parents had already been deported.

In Maglod we dug trenches and roadblocks. You can imagine what those roadblocks were like. Our accommodation on the farm was a bigger stable with straw on the ground, where we lay in four rows. There was a little woman there, who once said, 'Don't cry, we will tell our grandchildren: one upon a time when grandmother was a soldier...'

During forced labor we went on foot, many times we even had to march 40 kilometers. One evening we arrived at a factory, where they had taken off everything, only the iron mounts were left there. I don't remember exactly where this building was, perhaps in Alag. In our company there was a woman, who didn't have anyone to leave her 13-year-old daughter with, so she took her along. We hid the children, though we didn't have to hide her that much, because nobody cared that there was another Jew. Late at night we were very hungry and tired, we lay exhausted after the march, packed like sardines on the concrete floor of the hall in the cold of October. We huddled up together on the floor, to warm each other up, because we hardly had any clothing anymore.

Once a former opera singer called Erzsi started to sing the 'Yiddishe Mame.' The echo of that in the hall was something miraculous. Once the door opened and there stood the gendarme, a first lieutenant, and he was crying. He said, 'How can this be done to women? How?' And he asked us what we needed. And that night he had so much food brought with a truck, we hadn't seen that much food in our life before - bread, bacon, marmalade and margarine. The gendarmes gave everyone as much as one wanted. He asked how he could help each of us. I told him that I wanted to wash in warm water, because it was awful that one couldn't wash. So he told the guards that those who wanted could go and wash in turns. We could only wash in the presence of the guards, of course, but I can't tell you what that meant for us. Everyone got a demobilization paper from him, so that we would be allowed to go back to our apartments. This gendarme officer told us already in Alag, 'Look, I can't help you, I can only say that they are changing the cadre. Our men will take you from here to Budapest - I think the Petofi Bridge was still standing at that time, we crossed that - after the bridge the Arrow Cross men take over the company.' He told us to watch out, and that those who could should run away, and that we should be careful and use back roads because the Germans were still at the Royal. He told us not to take main roads, but walk on secondary roads.

So from Alag we went on foot with the gendarmes until we reached the capital, and when the company arrived at the Petofi Bridge, where the Arrow Cross men would have taken us over, some of us ran away. No soul was on the streets. We walked on the side streets, and we arrived at Harsfa Street, behind the Royal. The Germans were packing already at that time. It might have been six of us there together and we were terribly scared about what would happen if the Germans caught us. But they didn't care about us, because the Russians were already in Vecses at that time and the Germans were running away. [Editor's note: around 6th November 1944 there were already street fights in Vecses between the Soviet troops and the Germans.]

We made use of the demobilization papers because we went to Eotvos Street 32, where I had lived earlier, and even though the janitor was an Arrow Cross man and didn't want to let us in, the demobilization papers convinced him after all. The forced labor lasted until 6th December 1944. This is written in the demobilization papers, too. [Editor's note: In the demobilization papers it states that she did military service between 23rd October and 6th November 1944.]

Then I went to visit the grandchildren of my lost uncle, Marton Fischer, on Kiraly Street 34, where they caught me during a raid, at an identity check, and took me to the police station on Mozsar Street. There they took from one everything that could be taken. Teenager Arrow Cross men bossed about the police superintendent. The police superintendent and the police officers told us to hide everything, because there was going to be a body search, too. Then they took us over to Teleki Street 10 from there, to a screening center. There I was so sick for the first time in my life that I just lay on a table, where we were packed like sardines, and I didn't really know about anything. I don't know what the matter was with me, I had a fever and I was hungry and exhausted. I remember that the police officers had told us earlier to run away, because they were going to gather us, take us to Gonyu on foot and from there to Germany by ship. [Editor's note: The Arrow Cross men drove about 30,000 Jews from Budapest and 50,000 forced laborers to the western border between 6th November and the end of November. One of the night stops of many of these death marches was Gonyu where they accommodated the Jews on anchored barges. Many fell into the Danube because of exhaustion, others were driven into the water by the Arrow Cross men.]. Then I got better and they took us to the brickworks in Obuda.

While we were in forced labor a friend of mine from Nyiregyhaza, who wasn't Jewish, sent me a Swiss free-pass, a Schutzpass 12, by mail, issued in my name, to my address on Eotvos Street. After the anti-Jewish laws this man became a Strohmann 13 in a big shoe factory. He was a good man, he helped many of us. Of course, I only found this out after the liberation, when we met, because he visited me. I found the free-pass when I demobilized from forced labor and went to Eotvos Street 32. From then on I kept it on me all the time, I got out of the brickworks in Obuda with that in a day. We typed my sister's name on it, too, so Jolan could stay with me.

I'd rather not say anything about the brickworks, because it was horrible...Very many of us were up in the dryer, I remember round holes, everyone relieved herself there...I said that I would leave that place, I would rather want to be killed. But we didn't have to run away from here, because they said that those who had a free-pass could just leave. This happened in December 1944, before Christmas, Budapest was already besieged.

From there they took us to Pozsonyi Street 33/b, to the Swiss protected house, from where we all had to leave before Christmas, because that became an Arrow Cross house, too. 80 of us went to Pozsonyi Street 20 from here, which was a Swedish protected house. They didn't let us go up in the apartments, the refuge was very overcrowded. My sister and I found a place to sit in a laundry room, next to the toilet. This happened perhaps on Christmas Eve. We spent the night sitting there, we didn't have any food, and we didn't get anything either. In the morning I couldn't stand up, I was so chilled through, my legs were completely stiff. Then I decided to go out on the street, even if I was going to be shot, because I couldn't stand it anymore.

The air-raid shelter commander told us that the Jews from Hollan Street had been deported, and that there were empty houses. He spoke about Hollan Street 47 or 49. He said, 'Go there, there is a Jewish organization on the corner of Csanady Street. They can help you, and 80 people can be taken there. In those houses there is still lighting and you'll find other things, too.' There was a curfew at that time because of the siege, but I left, what could I lose? On Csanady Street they asked me how I could prove that I was Jewish; because everyone tried to save his own skin. So I told him, that I couldn't prove that I was Jewish because I was from Nyiregyhaza. A man asked me if I knew a Friedman boy from Nyiregyhaza. I said, 'the young one?' Because the one I knew was of my age. Then they said it was okay.

This was my certificate of being Jewish. They could only give me an address, because the open order of the Arrow Cross men was needed in order for them to let us go into these houses. So I went to Pozsonyi Street 33/b, which was already an Arrow Cross house at that time. I told them that there were 80 Jews on the street and that they needed to be accommodated, because there was already a siege in Budapest. I got a lame Arrow Cross escort, who went with us to the house on Hollan Street. But the janitor didn't let us in, and he asked for another stamp on the open order, so I went back again and asked for the stamp. In the end we stayed on Hollan Street for a couple of days. But one morning they rang and a policeman came and told us to vacate the house, because Jews could not be at a couple of hundred meters away from the Danube. So we got to the ghetto on Akacfa Street. There was bombing at Klauzal Square, so we couldn't go there, there were so many ruins on the street. It was dangerous too, the proof shots were continuous. An 18-year-old girlfriend of mine had lived there. Once she went upstairs to get water, and she died because of a proof shot.

From the ghetto we ran away to my sister's former boss, whose salon called Style Dress Salon was in the Harris Passage. Jolan worked there at the beginning of the 1940s. The owner told us to come back at 5 in the afternoon, after hours. There was a fitting room surrounded by curtains, there they put down the dog's pillow, and we could sleep there. They told us to watch out, to not let the 'water' out, to hold everything back, because the air raid shelter was under us, people hid there during the night. She was a lady, a charming woman, otherwise she would have never opened the salon, but while we were there she always came to open up.

So we could stay there for a few days. She sent us bean soup in the evening, I will never forget, I have never eaten anything so delicious in my life. She said that my sister and I had to be accommodated somewhere, but it didn't work out. She gave me an address, where I had to go as a refugee from Transylvania 14. She told me, 'Magda, listen up, go, one can't tell that you are Jewish. There is an ad that they are looking for a domestic help, go there.' She sent me to Fehervari Street. It was the one- bedroom apartment of an Arrow Cross man who lay in bed, he didn't only want a domestic help, of course, but... While we were talking someone rang and he told me to answer the door. He asked me where I was from. I told him that I was from Nyiregyhaza. Nyiregyhaza was already under occupation at that time. In the meantime I opened the door and a woman came in, the Arrow Cross man measured her with his eyes and told her that the job had been taken. The woman left, and the man told me, 'I won't employ a Jew.' So he employed me. Of course, I didn't go to work for him, but I was so stupid and honest that I sent him a card in which I wrote to him not to wait for me, because I wouldn't come. I was ready to give notice even to such a man.

We had to leave from the Harris Passage, because someone hid in the next shop too, and a nun took the Germans there. So because we didn't have any other choice, we went back to the ghetto. There were so many dead persons in the ghetto, so that they didn't have room for the bodies. They piled up the bodies in one part of the cellar. There was a pharmacy on the corner of Dob Street and Kaluzal Square, which had been emptied, its windows and doors had been shot out... I saw there for the first time bodies piled up like a woodpile. The room was full with bodies: hundreds, thousands, men and women put on top of each other. It was horrible...Then on 18th January 1945 we were liberated. The fence was at the synagogue and everyone went there. I said that I would kiss the first Russian soldier I saw. So the first soldier was a small man with a sooty face.

We were liberated though, but we didn't have anywhere to go. My former rented room on Eotvos Street 32 had been bombed. A couple lived on Keleti Karoly Street, it was a very wealthy Jewish family. When they had to leave their apartment on Keleti Karoly Street, because that wasn't a Jewish house, they moved to Eotvos Street 29, to a six-bedroom apartment. We met them on Pozsonyi Street 33/b, in the protected house. We went over to Pozsonyi Street 20 together with them, then to Hollan Street. Their paralytic mother was with them, I took care of them along with my sister. We went together to the ghetto, too. [Editor's note: After the war they moved back to the apartment on Eotvos Street].

First they didn't want to receive us into their house, but then they realized that we were young and we could help them, because they could use us as maids. I lived in the maid's room with my sister. We could only heat by going to the ruins where we gathered some chips. Once our host came along, and he saw a Russian soldier there with a loaf of bread under his arm. He told me to go there and tell him 'chleb' [Russian for bread]. I went up to him and said 'chleb.' Then he showed me to go with him to 'spat' [Russian for sleep and sleep with someone], and then he would give me the bread. I went back and told our host what the soldier had told me. He was indignant with me and said, 'How clumsy you are, Magda!' I asked him why he didn't send his wife.

My sister Jolan could sew underwear and man's shirts very well. In the hallway near the apartment there were Transylvanian refugees who had robbed the shops and had a lot of material, and of course many other things. Jolan sewed them shirts on a sewing machine, which the Sz. family had borrowed from the neighbors. My sister sewed the shirts quickly, and for that she got a plate of cooked pasta from the Transylvanians, from which she gave to the Sz. family, too, because we divided the food into five.

Our host's wife Vilma wanted to go back to Pannonia Street, where she had left some things with some relatives or acquaintances. She said that Magda - namely I - should go with her. At that time one couldn't walk alone in the streets, because Buda had not been occupied yet, and they kept shooting and there were soldiers everywhere. So Magda was stupid enough to come along. Three drunken Russian soldiers came, and they kept pushing me on the street. My host's wife got scared, turned around and ran home, then at home she said that the Russians had caught me.

The Russians were mongoloid, dirty, full with gunpowder. They dragged me away to the barricade, which was perhaps at the Pest bridgehead of the Margit Bridge. Two soldiers lagged behind, and the other one kept pushing me and telling me to wait, the Germans were 'kaputt' [German for finished, knocked out]. At the beginning of Pozsonyi Street there were small shops, they started to shoot in Buda, and the Russian threw me into one of the shops, stood in front of me and shot back from there. I was scared about what he might have wanted. We walked round the barricade and went to the place where the terminus of tram no. 2 is today. There were stairs there, and one had to go downstairs to their headquarters. He told me and tried to explain to me with signs to stand there because he would come back immediately.

While he went down I took to my heels and ran to our accommodation. I could hardly go upstairs. Of course the janitor came after me and told me that I should clean myself downstairs, where the Russians were, but if I was 'nice' to him, then I wouldn't have to clean myself and that I would also get some bread. I told him to go to hell. This man was called Varga. But I had to go downstairs to clean myself after all, because he said that if I didn't go he would send the Russian soldiers upstairs.

From the bathtub onwards everything was full with garbage, dung and vomit. I couldn't stand the sight, so I went upstairs to the apartment. But because I didn't do what the janitor had asked, he sent some Russians after me in the evening. But by that time my sister and our hosts had hid me, so that the soldiers would not take me with them. After this we got on the first train with my girlfriend's sister Eva with a backpack, and we set off for Nyiregyhaza on the top of the car. This might have happened at the beginning of February.

First we only went to Szolnok, we got off there. But then I was already cautious, I put on a navy-blue coat, my forehead was covered, and I put a shawl on my head. I looked like an old hag. We entered somewhere and an old woman received us; she was happy that there was someone who came from Pest and brought news. A Russian colonel came in after us, but the woman knew him and she knew that he was a decent man. First this soldier called me 'babuska' [Russian for grandmother], but then he realized of course that I wasn't a 'babuska,' but a young girl.

From Szolnok we set off for Debrecen, then Nyiregyhaza. In Nyiregyhaza I didn't find anyone. My brothers had not come home yet at that time, and there was no news of them. The journey from Pest to Nyiregyhaza lasted for six days on the top of the train. When I arrived home I went to the neighbors' immediately. Of course they weren't waiting for me, they didn't know I was going to arrive. My mother's towels and dishtowels with initials were hung up in the kitchen, our dishes that we used for Pesach, because then we always used porcelain dishes, our Pesach wine jug, a typical pink Czech jug, were all on the table. They didn't say anything, but I wouldn't have asked them to return anything anyway.

I went to our apartment, it was empty, the Russians had used it as a bath, as a disinfecting room, the parquet was torn up, they carried the water off there, there were pipes and holes everywhere in the walls. The yard and the garden had been dug, but not the Russians had dug it. Of course everyone blamed it on someone else. A neighbor said that my brother's clothes and coats were at the other neighbor's - they lived opposite us. The neighbor opposite us said that everything was at the ones who had sent me to their place. After this I thought that I shouldn't care about what the situation was like. At that time none of my relatives were home yet, none of my brothers. I didn't have a home, I didn't have anything...beautiful life.

After a couple of days I came back to Budapest, because I couldn't stay in Nyiregyhaza anymore. In Budapest at least my sister Jolan was waiting for me. In Nyiregyhaza I got help from the returned forced laborers, and our hosts from Pest had given me some money to buy whatever I could. At that time I weighed 44 kilograms. I brought to Pest 40 kilograms on my back and in my hands: flour, bread, and lard. But the train did not come into Budapest but stopped near it and I had to walk, because they asked for two kilograms of flour to take my luggage home. Two kilograms of flour...that was worth very much at that time! I don't know how long I might have walked. When I arrived in the house I couldn't go upstairs, I waited for an acquaintance to come down so that I could send word for someone to come downstairs to get me, because I couldn't go on. Of course our hosts were not moved at all when I got home, that I brought so many things.

But after a while I couldn't stay in Pest anymore either, so I said that I wouldn't stay, and went back to Nyiregyhaza. We were raised to be honest, we were all almost stupidly honest. Our hosts wanted to go to the country for a while to 'put on some weight.' Next to our place there lived the widow of a mailman, and she said that she would look after the entire family with pleasure. So my sister arranged for them to come there, and she pampered them there, too.

After the liberation we stayed in Nyiregyhaza with Jolan, in Aunt Leni's apartment, which was inhabitable. They had taken the furniture of course, only the walls were intact, but they collected the abandoned furniture at the Jewish Council in Nyiregyhaza, and there we got a couple of pieces of furniture. There was a man who had come home from forced labor, he supported us, he found a couple of my aunt's and cousin's things and we got these back. We did get a bed, but we slept without a mattress, so we put a broomstick as support, a pallet on top of it, and we lay on this. Since my sister and I slept in the same bed, we were always afraid that if one of us turned around, both of us would fall. This is how we started our life over.

In Nyiregyhaza we were waiting for my brother to get home, because in the meantime we got news that my older brother was alive and on his way home. We waited, then both my brothers arrived, and then in 1945 my future husband also came home.

I met Sandor in 1942, and that's a story in itself. First we met at my mother's sister's, at Aunt Leni's, because Sandor's younger sister was learning to sew with Aunt Leni's daughter Rezsi, who had a dressmaker's shop already at that time. I was visiting home, I traveled home from Pest, and on Saturday afternoon I went over to talk to Aunt Leni. And Sandor was just visiting his sister. He was a very handsome boy, he didn't even say a word to me, he just kept looking at me, he didn't take his eyes off me. This was on Saturday, then on Sunday he asked my father for my hand in a letter. My father said, 'Why are you fooling around, my daughter?' I told him in vain that I had witnesses, that I hadn't said a word. Then I returned to Pest alone, because I was only in Nyiregyhaza temporarily. Sandor stayed in Nyiregyhaza, his sister and he lived with one of his uncles. From then on he went to my father to court for me, and wrote me letters. Then he had to join up for forced labor in Szaszregen [today Reghin, Romania], where he got a day's leave once to go home to Subcarpathia 15, to Nagybereg [today Berehi, Ukraine]. He and his family and brothers and sisters were deported to Auschwitz at that time.

When he came back in 1945 we got married, but that wasn't that simple either, because we couldn't get married in Nyiregyhaza, as Sandor didn't have any papers. Then we heard news from Nagybereg, that there they would marry us in three days, because the secretary there had been his classmate. So we had our civil marriage in Nagybereg. But here at home in Nyiregyhaza a Jewish rabbi married us. We had our wedding at the synagogue because Joli wanted it, I didn't. At that time there weren't any decent rabbis, everyone had been deported, but they did find a young rabbi. In August 1945 nobody was home yet. On the other hand after the Shoah, after they had exterminated my family, I didn't really think it made any sense to get married at the synagogue.

My husband was called Sandor Palmai, this is a magyarized name from Goldman, but let's stick with the Palmai. He was born in Borsova [today Ukraine] in 1922. This is Subcarpathia today, at that time it belonged to Czechoslovakia 16. You know that joke about Uncle Kohn, who writes his biography: 'I was born in the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, I lived in Czechoslovakia, I worked in Hungary, and I retired in the Soviet Union.' They ask him: Uncle Kohn, you have been to many places, then! He says: 'Me, dear? I have never left Munkachevo.'

Sandor was liberated from Gleiwitz 17 in February or March 1945. He worked at a carriage and wagon works where he learned to weld. He welded iron rings illegally for the German workers, and for that he got food, which he took to his father risking his life; they were in the same Lager [German for camp], but worked at different places.

My husband's mother tongue was Hungarian of course, but he also spoke Czech, Ukrainian, Russian and German. He completed four classes of middle school and he was a tailor. He died in Budapest in 1995. He had a brother and two sisters. The mother and the sisters didn't return from Auschwitz, so I never met them. His brother lives in America. Otherwise it wasn't a religious family.

Ironically we lived 14 years in the Soviet Union. My husband's neighbor in Nagybereg got a letter saying that his sister was on her way home from Bergen-Belsen, and because of that on 30th August 1945 we went to Nagybereg from Budapest. And while we waited there, they closed the border and annexed Nagybereg to the Soviet Union. Because in the summer of 1945 Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union made an agreement, that they would hand over a part of the former Czechoslovakia to the Soviets 18. Those who were Czechoslovakian citizens before, automatically became Soviet citizens. I could have become a Soviet citizen at that time at once, but I didn't want to, because I wanted to come home to Hungary. In the end that's how I became homeless and my husband a Soviet citizen, because he was born in Czechoslovakia so he got the new citizenship automatically. But we didn't know anything about this at the time when we were in Nagybereg, everything came out later. My husband and his family became Russian citizens, because before that they weren't Hungarian, but Czechoslovakian citizens. And I became homeless.

When in 1939 the new anti-Jewish law was issued, my father had a citizenship certificate made for all his children. And when in 1945 they closed the border, I sent this document to the Hungarian embassy in Moscow, to ask for a passport. At that time Gyula Szekfu was the ambassador. [Gyula Szekfu (1883-1955): historian, university professor, member of the Hungarian Scientific Academy, after World War II the first Hungarian envoy, then ambassador in Moscow.] They sent my passport from the embassy by return, but the Soviet authorities withdrew it at once. I didn't have a paper certifying my citizenship, I didn't have a passport - that's how I became homeless, and if someone is homeless she is under the supervision of the police almost permanently, they check her, and she has to renew her official papers every three months. Nobody asked if I had enough money for that, because this cost money, of course. I couldn't leave the territory of Beregszasz [today Ukraine] without authorization of the police, but they didn't give me a police authorization... At that time I had no idea, but slowly I realized that Subcarpathia was no man's land, from where everyone who could, had run away earlier.

Since we starved very much during the war, I fell ill because of vitamin deficiency. Pinpoint sized wounds appeared on different spots on my leg and my sole. But I could only go to a doctor in Beregszasz, who had just come home from Auschwitz. He was a very nice man. We didn't have money, but my father-in-law threshed, so he had flour, and so we brought the doctor a kilogram of flour in place of a fee, which was a big thing at that time. But there it was also a problem to get to the doctor's. My husband said that we would go by carriage. But who had a carriage? So he borrowed a carriage from one place, a horse from another place, a driver's seat from the third, and they showed him how to drive the carriage, and that's how we went to the doctor's. The doctor said that I had vitamin deficiency because of privation.

As there weren't any jobs in Nagybereg, I told my husband that I wouldn't stay in the village, that I had no business there. In 1946 we moved to Beregszasz, we lived there from then on. And my father-in-law also sold the house and bought one in Beregszasz, and when he could leave, he emigrated to his other son's in America, and he died there in the 1970s.

I went to the Soviet authorities many times to get a visa. Since we lived close to the border, I always had to cross Csap [today Chop, Ukraine], and they fined me every time, because I didn't have a passport. But who cared? One got used to fooling the authorities during the war. I didn't get a passport. Later they told me to take up the Soviet citizenship, and then I could come home to Hungary. So I became a Soviet citizen. In December 1955 I could travel home for a month, to my brothers. I went back to Beregszasz in January 1956. During this time I lost 15 kilograms, because I knew that I had no choice but go back to the Soviet Union. I was in a terrible state of mind.

At first I couldn't find a job in Beregszasz either, because I didn't speak Russian. Then I learned typewriting, and I did paperwork at a geologist association, and I worked there for a while, until they went to do research in the mountains. Then I worked at the clothes factory. Because in the Soviet Union one couldn't work independently, but did have to work somewhere, in the end my husband also came to this clothes factory, as a quality controller. But he also sewed at different co-operatives - he took whatever job came his way.

While I lived in Subcarpathia I didn't get close to my colleagues. I remained an outsider a little bit. Maybe because I was always precocious, and I also had other problems. And I was so homesick, I can't tell you! One is walking along the street, a scent enters his nostrils, and in his mind's eyes he sees the family house, smells the scent of the garden, sees his parents, brothers and sister... And then you think that your inner self will split in two, the pain is so strong, as if your heart is going to break, and then one learns to cry without tears.

After I completed the four classes of middle school, I learned a trade, and I graduated from high school only later in Beregszasz, then in Budapest I graduated in library studies. In Subcarpathia I started to work as a seamstress, then I was a librarian and a club leader, too. By that time I had learned Russian so that I translated smaller plays in Hungarian, and we performed these in the country, too. But since I was homeless, I didn't have a citizenship and I wasn't a party member either. Once a personnel clerk, a military officer who had been a prison commander, knocked on the window of his office and told me: 'Come and sign the book, the 'prikaz' because you are dismissed. Your successor will be a Komsomol 19 member and you have to teach him.' I had nothing to lose, so I answered, 'We aren't in the prison!' The point is that I tried everything in vain, I had to hand over my job. The personnel clerk told me that I either handed over my job, or I would be imprisoned. So simply I asked what I had done, when the chief accountant called me in and told me, 'Listen to me Magda, I mean good to you. Try to hand over this thing, otherwise you will really be imprisoned.'

I learned what the difference between a chair and a kitchen stool is. That's why I would have been imprisoned. When the workers came to the club to see the performance they brought the stools on which they sat at the production line instead of the armchairs, because they could stand on those to see the stage in the club better. So they exchanged many kitchen stools for chairs. But those were all left on the territory of the factory, all over the place. The chief accountant told me that I had taken over a certain number of chairs, but in my inventory there were fewer chairs than originally, the rest were stools. There was a big difference in price between the two, and this difference appeared as a missing amount, and for that I could be imprisoned...This is only a fine nuance of the state of affairs there.

My daughter was born in 1947. In the Soviet Union they wrote her nationality in the birth certificate. They wrote 'yevrei' [Russian for Jew]. This means that she is of Jewish nationality. I didn't raise her according to the religion but she knew that she was Jewish. We couldn't celebrate the holidays there, though there were some who went to the synagogue, but very few. We had no contact with the Jewish community, there wasn't any religious life. Sometimes, at holidays people went to the synagogue, but I didn't go then either, I didn't have anyone to go with. Frankly speaking, I was on bad terms with God after 1944. I said what a God that is who exterminates my family.

I didn't have to tell my daughter what had happened with the relatives, because in Beregszasz everyone had the same fate. I had a girlfriend who was deported at the age of 14, she got home at the age of 15, and when she was 16 they married her off, because she didn't have anyone. Then she had a child, one year older than my daughter, so they were raised together. The boy went to a Russian school. The children started saying nasty things about him being a Jew, so he slapped one of them in the face, then told him: 'Go to the principal, and tell him that I beat you, but tell him also why I did so.' It was such a world there.

My brother Jeno visited us in Beregszasz, because he got an entry permit. He was among the first who dared to come, or rather who was allowed to come to the Soviet Union. Earlier he had been a big democrat, and when he saw that here people still had to stay in line for bread and sugar he said aloud, 'I can't imagine why people have to stand in line for bread in a state, which had gained victory over the Germans.' I begged him to be quiet, because there were three kinds of people there: those who were, who are and who will be. He asked what that meant. I told him, 'Those who have been in prison, those who are in prison, and those who will be in prison.' He replied, 'Don't talk nonsense!'

Once he went to the hairdresser's and started to talk with the barber. He asked him how much he earned in a month. The man said that he earned 300 rubles. 'And how much does a kilogram of bread cost?' - my brother asked. 'Three rubles.' 'And how much is the rent?' 'A hundred rubles.' 'And what do you live off?' Then the man told him not to ask, because everyone lived as they could. Then I told my brother not to say such things, because I was going to get in trouble because of him.

If a foreigner came to the Soviet Union he had to report to the police. I took Jeno to report. What hypocrites the policemen were! They told me, 'Why did you bring the guest here, you could have arranged this registration yourself.' Of course there was not a word of truth in it.

Later we took a trip with my brother on the plateau of a truck, and we went up to the mountains, to the surroundings of Korosmezo [today Yasinia, Ukraine]. It was a beautiful place at that time, too, but they didn't let foreigners go there. Once they told me that a poor man came home from prison - from the 'tyurma,' as they said. And the poor thing jumped into the lake to swim, and he died. My brother said that an ex-convict who spent 15 years in prison must have committed a capital crime, and he was surprised that people still felt sorry for him. He didn't understand the compassion. Then I told him again about 'those who were and those who will be,' which he could not comprehend, he simply didn't believe it. At home they thought that only I lived among such difficult circumstances, but when Jeno was at my place he saw that others were also struggling. My brothers helped me very much, they gave forints to someone whose son studied in Budapest, and his family helped us there. That's why I think that Russian people have a soul. In my difficult situation I got more help from the simple Russian people, than from my own kind. This is my experience.

Out of the salary, the 300 rubles one could not make a living, so everyone did something. My husband also took on home industry. But unfortunately there were people for whom he sewed the suit, and when they would have had to pay they said, 'Be happy that I don't report you to the police.' Because he should have had a trade license for the home industry, but what can one do with a two-hour trade?'

Once while my husband was working I was pushing my daughter in a pushcart in front of the house, because they had sent the excise officers, who came to check whether he worked on the black market or not. I was walking outside, my husband was working inside, and the excise officer came, and I didn't want my husband to be caught. I asked him to take care of the child until I brought him some tea. And I left him with my daughter and told Sandor to pack up his things because this man was coming. I remember such incidents...Later he told our friends laughing that I had left our daughter with the excise officer until he had packed away his things.

There was a furniture factory in Beregszasz. The boiler broke, it had to be welded, but nobody took on the job, because one had to climb into the boiler. My husband wasn't fat at that time, he looked at it and he took it on. But they could pay only in kind, with wood chips. For the welding we got so much wood that we had enough for the winter. We weren't desperate, because there always turned up some barter business.

A dairy factory also operated there, the butter, the sour cream and the cottage cheese was divine, I don't know with what kind of technique they made them. One of the managers needed something to be sewed. She didn't have any money either. What did she bring? A kilogram of butter. How? So that she put on a loose blouse and she hid the butter underneath it. There wasn't anything in her hands, so it looked as if she hadn't brought anything. Some did this, some did that, and everyone did what he could.

Poverty, like everything else, is relative. I never had that much flour, lard and sugar than at that time, because one could get everything, but everything was corrupt. The entire system was corrupt. They fixed the norm in the mill and the loss of material during the milling of the wheat, so that the real loss was much less. This way they stole bags full of flour for those who were close to the fire, sold it to the acquaintances or shopkeepers, and we also got it this way from the black market.

In Subcarpathia I never had less than 10 kilograms of flour at home, I always had at least five to six kilograms of lard and the same amount of sugar. We didn't starve, it would be an exaggeration to say so. Everyone looked for the back door. There was a joke at that time, which goes like this: they ask Hruscsov what he lived off, because one could not live off his salary. He said, 'work during the day and don't sleep during the night.' That was the answer. Everyone had some pickings. But the merchants prospered the most because of the black market. For example, the goods: they either sold children's shoes or men's shoes, people stood in line whether they needed it or not, because they could pass it on with extra charge immediately. That's why I couldn't understand the 1956 events 20, because when I came home in 1955 I saw the abundance of goods that was here. In Subcarpathia we lived from hand to mouth, so it was incomprehensible for me why people revolted here, when in the Soviet Union they sentenced people to 25 years of prison for as small things as a joke about Stalin.

After October 1956 an agreement about uniting families was concluded between the two states, so in 1959 my daughter and I could move home, then I came home, to Nyiregyhaza, to my two brothers, as a Hungarian citizen. The journey home was also great, because the frontier guards didn't want to let us cross the border, because my daughter didn't have Hungarian citizenship, only a birth certificate that she was Jewish and was born in Beregszasz. In my passport it was written: plus one person. But they didn't want to let her in at the border. They said that my daughter wasn't Hungarian, so they would send her back. My husband couldn't come with us because he was a Soviet citizen.

At that time Bela Biszku was the Minister of the Interior. [Bela Biszku (1921): ironworker assistant, party functionary, minister of the interior. Chief responsible of the reckoning after the 1956 revolution. From 1962 the overseer of all armed forces and justice. He was relieved of all his offices because of his intrigues against Kadar in 1978-ban]. I knew that he had some relative in a village close to Beregszasz, a three-year-old boy who kept saying that he was going to become Minister of the Interior when he grew up. So at the border the guards harassed me and I was stranded on the outer rail for two days, because they pushed our train out. We stood on the rails between the two borders, and the legs of the child were swollen, it was a very hot August. She lay and slept on the seat in the train, then the Russian soldier came up on the train during the night and he started looking for something, then the officer came there, too, and I told him that the child was sleeping. Then the officer told the soldier to stop and get off the train...Then I came over to the Hungarian border - that was at dawn already, and they started looking at what I had brought, and play jokes on me that they wouldn't let the child in, because she had no citizenship, she was only one person in plus, and they wanted to send her back...When one is tired, and spends days in a car without any food or anything, and it is hot, and the child is sick... I told the frontier guard, 'Listen up, do you know who Bela Biszku is?' I said that he could call him or I could call him, saying that his niece had arrived. I was bluffing, but it worked. They put us on the first train in that moment and we were free to go.

Although I had sent a telegram from Beregszasz to my two brothers about when we would arrive, they didn't receive the notification. We arrived in Nyiregyhaza at dawn without a nickel, in a sweat suit, with swollen feet and swollen knees, with a handbag, in which we couldn't bring anything, because we had to leave everything at the border because of clearing through customs. At that time there were still hansom-cabs in the town, taxis weren't customary yet. I got a hansom-cab and we went home. Since the car hadn't arrived for days, my daughter wore my brother's clothes, because there weren't other clothes. That's how we got back to Hungary after 14 years.

When I arrived in Budapest in 1959 many of my old friends didn't want to recognize me when I asked them for help, because they were in high offices. I didn't tell them many nice things about the Soviet years: they didn't believe that they imprisoned people for insignificant matters in the Soviet Union, that there was such big poverty and corruption. The first thing they asked me was why I had come home. And they didn't help me. But I would have told more serious stories in vain, nobody would have believed me, because incomprehensible things happened in the Soviet Union.

Next to us lived a Hungarian man from Subcarpathia who worked in the Russian army as an interpreter. He used to go to Austria, and he lined his pocket there: he brought food, carpets, paintings, everything, and of course the provision was good at the army, too. He met a young Ukrainian woman, who was studying to become an accountant. She became pregnant, so the man wanted to get rid of her. He went to the KGB 21 and reported her to them, saying that she was a spy, and the evidence for this was that she had learned German. They took her in for an interrogation, and they kept her there for three days. Then it turned out of course that she wasn't a spy. And after all this she married the interpreter and gave birth to the child. I heard this story because I found the midwife for the delivery, and right before that she told me everything, so that if she died someone else would know it, too... I was shocked when she told me all this and the most incomprehensible for me was how she could marry this man after all this. Later everything seemed fine in the family from the outside, the interpreter became president of a kolkhoz 22, they moved to the country and lived there, and had a few children.

I couldn't tell anyone either that when they let me home for a month in 1955, after I returned my husband didn't come home once. I went to the police to report to them that he was missing, and he was in the lock-up. They interrogated him, asked where my sheepskin coat and the other things were from. They locked him up then because they said he was a speculator. He spent 24 hours in the lock-up because of this.

My husband could only come a year after I came home to Hungary because he was a Russian citizen, we had to apply for uniting the family again. Since I was working, but lived in a rented room with my daughter, my two brothers took it on officially to provide her with everything, because they had a house and possessions. I wanted to go to Budapest instead of Nyiregyhaza because everyone was here, my friends, my acquaintances, and when I went home they told me in Nyiregyhaza that I could go to the country to teach Russian. But I wasn't really interested in that.

In 1959 Jeno and I went to the Jewish community, because we had been told that there were old people who rather went to rest homes and left their apartments to the Jewish community. We thought that it might be possible for me to register for one of these apartments as a tenant, or to buy it, and then part of the money for the apartment would have gone to the Jewish community. So the Jewish community knew about this, I didn't come up with the idea, the secretary of that time confirmed it, too. So we went there with my brother.

There we met the president - perhaps that was his position - I told him that I had just come from Beregszasz, from the Soviet Union, after 14 years, and my brother told him that he would pay for the apartment. This man stood up and said, 'I object to this, I am not a horse dealer!' Then I became very angry and I said, 'How quickly you forgot Auschwitz!' I didn't tell him many nice things, that's for sure. He climbed down a little, and told my brother to take his sister along, because she was in a very bad state of mind. I answered him that I wasn't in a bad state of mind, but that he wasn't human. And I left.

Then he went to his poor secretary, who was called Uncle Keller, and tore a strip off him for letting us in. That's why I say that I didn't get much from the Jewish community. Not many of my good memories are connected with my kind, besides my father, my family of the time and my immediate milieu. It was for nothing that my father was a good observant Jewish man. It was horrible that one came home after 14 years and got this from others. I can't forget as long as I live. After this I didn't really want to go to the Jewish community. What would you have said? You wouldn't have taken even a step. I didn't take even a step either.

By the time one grows old one becomes wise. Nothing is interesting, only that the family be together. And I am really very lucky, because my husband was a good man, he loved his child, and my daughter adored her father, and we get along well with the present family, too.

When I came home to Hungary I got to the Hungarian Central Statistical Office. That was heaven for me. They employed 2,000 people, then this number kept going down. Everyone had a code number. Based on this we had to fill out some tests, and that way they dismissed the people. But I got among the first 10. We had to take on three shifts many times, because when the materials came in after the census [the 1960 census], those had to be processed, there was no getting away from it. First we coded, then we punched, then they put the data in the computer. My bosses had compiled an aid, from which we encoded, and we had to help in this, we made tables for the questions. It occurred that the boss told us, 'Listen up, I don't care if you do it now or during the night, but this and this plan has to be on my desk by 8 in the morning.' Then ten of us put our heads together, and we had the material on his desk on time.

At the Hungarian Central Statistical Office there were some who had been rebuked for something in 1956, but of course they didn't get too big a punishment, since they could work in the office. I had a colleague, who had just graduated from high school, and an agricultural engineer, who was almost of retirement age also worked with us - so there were people of all sorts, rank and age there. At the finance department they employed a girl from the Teleki family, who was a very nice woman. The three years while I was there was the nicest period of my life. When I left, my colleagues bid farewell to me with a poem, and they made me a certificate of merit. In 1961 they wrote me a congratulatory poem for my name day. [Editor's note: In Hungary it is a custom that everyone has a name day on a certain day of the year, and that is usually celebrated just like birthdays. At some places the name day is considered even more important than someone's birthday.]

It happened once that I was the Russian interpreter of a Bulgarian for a month, then they wrote me another poem for my name day. This is why I liked being here, though we had to work hard: if it was necessary we counted day and night, because the data of the census had to be processed in a year. When the first volume was published we organized a big celebration.

I was at the Hungarian Central Statistical Office until 1962. I got to the Institute of Party History because they were looking for a librarian, and the husband of our personnel manager was the director of the library there, and he told me about the job. But I thought about it for half a year, whether to accept the job or not, I oscillated, because I liked it very much at the office. Since the data processing comes to an end after a while, I left. At the Institute of Party History I was a librarian for 16 years. I continued my studies there, I got my librarian degree at that time.

When I started to work at the institute and had to introduce myself, the director of the library took me to the big boss, who didn't like me from the beginning, simply because it wasn't him who had brought me there, and because he wasn't on good terms with the director. So I started off with a bad report from the start, and he made me feel it in everything. That's why I didn't like it there, because I was an 'inferior citizen' in his eyes.

Here in Pest we were quite badly off, we got a rented room through acquaintances first. A family with four children received us in their two- bedroom apartment with a maid's room on Kiraly Street. They were very nice people. Their oldest child was of the same age as my daughter. This was a single-story apartment, the small room was so small that we couldn't put anything into it. I lived there at first with my daughter, then with my husband. The room wasn't bigger than six to eight square meters. There was room for a small iron stove, a couch and a chair-bed there. We had the firewood brought up, and they piled it up near the stove. There was so little room left that when my daughter slept and kicked, the wood fell down. Then we closed that part and we slept together on the one-man couch.

The child went to the Bajza Street middle school. In Beregszasz my daughter had gone to a Russian school for two years, and when we already knew that we were going to come home I transferred her to the Hungarian school. Beregszasz was almost completely Hungarian, but I usually say that Russians, Ukrainians, Romanians, Hungarians, in one word, everyone lived there. Slowly people got used to each other, but quarrels among the nationalities also occurred. But not loudly. For example Hungarians standing in line said, 'these dirty Russians take everything.' The Russians were mostly military officers, because civilians couldn't really live close to the border, unless they worked in the army, not everyone was allowed to come there. But the Russians were also narrow-minded: they couldn't mix with Hungarians, with nobody, because everyone was suspect.

Julcsika, who had received us into her apartment, was a real 'mom.' She was a charming person, whom the children also adored. She told them everything so jokingly, but she was still strict with them. She considered us family members. When she baked something she brought some for us, too. The truth is that they had heard about the family, that the Fischer family was decent, because they were also from Szabolcs County. They also accepted my daughter as if she was their own child. Julcsi was a tall, shapely woman, a warmhearted mother. We still got together long after we moved out from there. They invited us for all the family and other celebrations. They were Humans, with a capital H. I usually say that the shirt of the happy man is not worn in castles, but in the home of common men.

We lived like that for more than a year, and in the meantime Sandor also arrived from the Soviet Union. The poor thing burst into tears when he saw where we lived. Because we didn't have enough room. My husband got a job as an interpreter with the Soviet army in Matyasfold.

At that time everyone was screened, so Sandor's boss also came to see where the interpreter and his family lived. He was shocked to see where we lived, and he left no stone unturned so that we could move out as soon as possible. And so we got an apartment at the Russian colony, in an old house on Gorkij Avenue. One entered a big round hall; everything was tiled with beautiful tiles all around. This huge hall opened to another room, but its entrance was from the courtyard, which we could close. Sometime the kitchen must have been in the basement and they must have brought the food up by elevator. There was a small recess, from where the lift had been taken out, and that became my pantry. We separated the bathroom and a kitchen with a cardboard wall. Earlier, the room must have been a salon, the windows facing the courtyard. So this is what we got as an apartment. Then we had a tile stove made, we separated the bathroom and the living room with a curtain. We lived there for two years.

After a certain time the Russians handed over this building, because they got apartments somewhere else, and they had to vacate the colony. My husband's boss was very nice because he told us that they had another apartment on Lumumba Street, today Rona Street, a one-room-apartment. So we would have accepted the one-room-apartment, but there wasn't enough room for the three beds - the two adult beds and the child's bed, though we were happy that there was a tile stove, too. A room and a kitchenette. It would have been good of course, but after our big room we weren't that happy, because even though that had been a three and a half-meter high barn, we liked it because there was enough room for us. Then the man who had discussed things with the borough council of the 6th district told us that there was a two-bedroom-apartment next to us, and that they would allocate it to us if the Russians handed over the one-bedroom-apartment on Lumumba Street and the room where we lived at that time. In the end it didn't work out, because a relative of Istvan Dobi got that two-room-apartment. [Istvan Dobi (1898-1968): minister, prime minister, member of the Presidential Council.]

So we had to vacate the old building and they rushed us to leave. Besides us perhaps another family lived in the house. But we said that we could not go on the street. Then my husband's boss went to the Housing Department of the Metropolitan Council and told them about our case. After this we got a two-bedroom-apartment with a hall on Dozsa Gyorgy Street. They built two stories on an old house, and we were its first inhabitants in 1964.

My husband worked as an interpreter for quite a while, and then he went on visits to the scenes of accidents where Russian soldiers were also involved. It occurred that they called him during the night. Once there was a casualty, and he had to go in to the dissection room. Then he said that he would rather die than continue this work, so he quit being a military interpreter. He went to the 1st May Garment Factory, they employed him as a quality controller and interpreter, there were fashion shows abroad, which he organized, so they traveled all over the Soviet Union. Moscow, Leningrad, Georgia, Abkhazia, Saratov, I can't recount all the places they went to. My husband also participated at price negotiations, he made many acquaintances. There was an artist who also illustrated books, they became very good friends, and I became a friend with him, too, this was a friendship that lasted for years. This man painted, too. They lived next to the railway station in Kiev in a first-story apartment, the upper story was the artist's. There was a circular corridor, and everyone had a room. I got two paintings from this painter.

But I also went on business to Moscow. I went very often, we made bibliographies, and we collected for example Gyorgy Lukacs' articles, which he wrote in the exile and which were published in Russian magazines. [Gyorgy Lukacs (1885-1971): philosopher, aesthete.] I was at the partner institution for weeks, and I could do research on the Hungarian connections.

In the 1970s one couldn't speak about many things in the Soviet Union. One couldn't do research on many things either. For example anti-Semitism in the Soviet Union during the 1950s was a taboo topic. At the time when the doctor trials 23 happened in Leningrad we still lived in Subcarpathia. The denouncement of the trial, the executions, were impeded by Stalin's death. The doctors were charged with having killed politicians. They were already arrested. At that time I worked at the garment factory where they called a meeting, and the director, who was also Jewish, had to say that the Zionist politicians wanted to kill the politician called XY and others, too. After this being a 'jivrej,' i.e. a Jew, meant being the enemy. This was undisguised anti-Semitism.

Yevtushenko has a poem, the 'Babi Yar' 24. It is about the Jews whom they made dig their own grave and they shot them in the grave in Ukraine. The mass grave is in Babi Yar [today Ukraine]. Hruscsov didn't like this poem and rebuked Yevtushenko for it, who was already a famous poet at that time, he was internationally known, and that's why Hruscsov didn't dare to take any actions against him. [Yevgeny Yevtushenko (1933): Russian poet, whose name was chiefly made known through his poems dealing with public issues. He could travel across the world already from 1960.]

In the 1970s, when I already worked at the Institute of Party History as a librarian we used to go to Balatonaliga in the summer. We lived in a hut, but we were happy for that, too. In the room the beds were above each other, at the window there was a table, which could be bent down, and there was a wardrobe. We were happy with everything. In the stone building the 'gentlemen' lived, but this is so everywhere, even nowadays, there is a nomenclature everywhere. There was Aliga I and Aliga II. Kadar 25 and the diplomatic guests from abroad spent the holiday on Aliga II. My daughter had a classmate whose family had immigrated to Hungary from Spain. She was an interpreter, but she came over to Aliga I every evening and we sat together on the landing stage and had good talks.

While I worked, my colleagues and I used to go to work out in the gym of the old party college, where there was a pool, too. After working out we went for a swim. In the dressing room of the swimming pool we had to leave our workplace admission card, so not anyone could enter. With this admission card we could also go to the café of the institute, the doctor's office, we could make use of the services with it so to speak. So after exercising, five or six of us went over to swim, but among the six of us we only used three lanes, in the 6th lane Comrade Losonczi swam, and the two guards sat in the small pool. [Pal Losonczy (1919-2005): politician, member of the Central Committee of the Hungarian Socialist Workers' Party between 1957-1989, also member of the Political Committee between 1975-1987.] Nothing special happened. Then on the next day we were told that Comrade Losonczi sent word to us, that if he respected the appointment, we should also do so: namely if he swam, nobody else should go to the swimming pool.

For many years I didn't envy anyone for anything, only a grave in the cemetery, so that I could go to my parents' grave and mourn for them. I wished I could have buried them with due respect, I wished they would have died as humans. I can't forgive either the Germans or the Hungarians of that time for this. Perhaps I am the one to blame, but I will never forget this.

We buried my husband at the Jewish cemetery in 1995. In our soul we remain Jews in any case. If you like it or not, the stigma is on you: a leopard cannot change its spots. And something else: if they bury someone at the Jewish cemetery, they don't throw him out in ten years, it doesn't happen that you look for the grave and you can't find it.

One couldn't defend oneself against anti-Semitism. This happened in the 1960s, 1970s: my husband had a friend, a high-ranking military officer. We went to a coffee bar for a coffee. We were sitting there, he and his wife, my husband and I, the four of us. The waitress, a short, round young woman came there. And then the officer, the 'friend' said: 'What a good rif she would be.' [Editor's note: In the Polish ghettos the German occupants distributed bars of soap with the inscription 'Rif.' The Jews in the ghetto interpreted it as 'Rein jüdisches Fett', that is, 'pure Jewish fat,' and that is why the belief that the Germans made soap out of Jewish bodies spread. In reality RIF stands for 'Reichstelle für Industrielle Fettversorgung'.] He said that smiling, to me, whose parents had been deported. Then I replied to him in German: 'Rein jüdisches Fett.' And the officer just laughed. I was shocked. From then on I couldn't be nice to him, and then our friendship slowly died. He was a charming, nice, funny, helpful man, he just didn't notice that the number from Auschwitz was on my husband's hand. He meant what he said as a joke, but one couldn't have hurt me more with a knife than with this sentence.

If someone wants to know anything about the Holocaust he should read Dr. Nyiszli's book, which he published in 1947. [Editor's note: Dr. Miklos Nyiszli: Dr. Mengele boncolóorvosa voltam az auschwitz-i krematóriumban (I was Dr Mengele's dissector in the Auschwitz crematorium). Budapest, 2003, Magyar Lajos Foundation.] He was Mengele's immediate assistant. He was a doctor from Nagyvarad [today Romania], who wrote everything, it didn't need any commentary. He wrote about how he got to the camp from Nagyvarad, and when they got off the train Mengele asked who had studied in Germany, and a couple of them stepped forward and Mengele chose him. That's how he became Mengele's assistant. He wrote in his book that once they brought a man and his son. The father was a little bit bent and the son was a little bit lame. Mengele said that he wanted their skull by a set date, and he asked Dr. Nyiszli what kind of method he knew to get the bones as soon as possible...

I don't celebrate any holidays, but lately I light a candle. The truth is that I was on bad terms with God, I didn't observe anything. Then once I made a pledge because of something, and since then I have always lit a candle on Friday evenings. Fate wills it somehow that people are compelled to stick together. They get together at the synagogue or somewhere else. It happens the same way in America, too. Those who didn't know what religion was at home, go to the synagogue in America. They go there because we need a community to belong to wherever we are; they don't only get together because of religious life. One persuades the other to be religious. There is my sister, who wasn't really religious, but there she got into a company where they didn't do anything on Saturdays, so she did so as well, partly because she didn't want them to speak ill of her in case they visited her. So this is also formality, I think. In our heart of hearts all of us are Jewish of course...how should I put it...maybe I am a rebel, but I have been one all my life, and after all that we went through...

My sister Fanni, who survived Auschwitz, I visited for the first time in 1970, as soon as it was possible to go. Fanni's husband was from Transylvania, they met in the Lager after the liberation. Her husband followed her to America, one year later. The man got some kind of infection in the Lager, which ruined his lungs, so he couldn't do any difficult work later either. He was at the lung sanatorium many times. In the cold war the American propaganda prepared them so that in Budapest they didn't dare to look back in the street. They thought that there was misery and terror, and they were very afraid. Then of course they saw that we weren't living in such a misery, but decently, so they calmed down.

At the time when I traveled to Fanni to America, the colored imitation leather coat was very fashionable here at home. My husband often went to the Soviet Union as an interpreter and he brought me a mink cap, and I went to America dressed this way. When I came back the customs officers looked at everything very carefully. I was wearing the blue imitation leather coat, the gray mink cap, and there I got from one of my cousins a small beige mink scarf. The customs officer started to provoke me, that it was a leather coat...I opened the coat and told him, that he shouldn't underestimate our home industry, because on the label it said 'Elegant.' He didn't say a word, and then asked about the cap. I took it off and it was written in it how many rubles it had cost. Then he asked about the collar. Then I said yes, I had got the collar as a present. After that he didn't ask anymore, he didn't even open my bag, I could go home.

This was my first visit. Then Fanni was here every other year, because at that time it wasn't really possible to go abroad. They gave one a visa for one month, depending on where one worked. If someone was a party member he didn't get the exit visa right away, but was screened first. But usually I had no problems. Later, from the 1980s I went to America several times a year. Once Fanni fell off the stairs. I told her that I could only go if she sent me a telegram, because then I could get the visa within 24 hours. Then I went there for a month, but first I was screened.

They stole my youth; the reason for this is partly the anti-Semitism of the 1940s, on the other hand the 14 years while I was a fugitive after the war. I could only live a complete life during the Kadar regime 26. So for me, they blame the past 40 years in vain, because that's when I got human dignity. I wasn't exposed to humiliation, I could be a human, I could learn. In that period I could do the work that I liked: bibliography, librarian work. I could go on a holiday for the first time in my life.

In 1965 the institute had the opportunity for an organized holiday exchange or SZOT-holiday. 27: Warsaw, Krakow, Zakopane, two weeks' travel. I thought that I wouldn't go for sure, then someone said that there were six applicants, and that they should put my name in the hat, too. So they did and they drew it. So I went on a holiday for the first time in 1956, to Zakopane. I was in Auschwitz at that time...Then the institute had a holiday home on Dobogoko, we used to go there, and sometimes we could also take the grandchild along. The period between 1959 and 1978 was the nicest period of my life. I retired in 1978.

But I didn't live with a blindfold on my eyes in the 1960s, 1970s. An article was published, perhaps in the Kortars [Literary Critical Magazine] about the local petty monarchs. It was about that there were still some who were privileged. Judit Fenakel [(1936), writer, journalist] wrote the article, in which she asked the question that if this was so then what the difference was between the old lords, the petty monarchs and the party secretaries, the first secretaries who had their own circle of followers and privileges. She got in trouble because of her writing, as far as I remember she was banned, she couldn't publish anything for a while.

We weren't demanding as pensioners either. I learned - there is a Russian proverb - that 'one should have only 1 kopeck more than one needs,' and I stuck to this. I was frugal, and though my husband was a little bit liberal, he gave me his salary, and he only kept a little allowance for himself. He didn't care how I economized the money, that was my business. He liked to bring me presents, for example beautiful bouquets. They say in German: Schöngeist - he was a 'bel esprit.' And he adored our daughter, too. He often went to Moscow, and because he knew that I liked and collected books, and there Hungarian publications, dictionaries were available for cheap, he brought me books from there as a present many times. I have a dedication from him: 'to my skillful, beloved wife.' I don't know after how many years he wrote this, but we lived together for 50 years. He died in March 1995, and in August we would have been married for 50 years. And that is that. There are few marriages like this nowadays, that couples remain together for so long.

I don't have many Jewish friends. I don't know, maybe I am the odd one out, or simply it happened so... Only one of my maidenhood friends still lives. There were three sisters, two of whom have unfortunately already died. They were the ones who helped me when I got back from the Soviet Union in 1959. I got to know the girls at the beginning of the 1940s at the social democratic youth department, when I went to Pest. They lived on Visegrad Street, there was one of the organizations of the young social democrats there. Someone took me there and we met there, and so we became and stayed friends until the end of our lives. They also helped when I worked at the Hungarian Central Statistical Office, and we lived with my daughter in that small room about which I have already told you. Those who did their job well at the census department could take home files for control. I also got a tricycle full of files - in one file there were the particulars of 300 people - and I had to check that. I couldn't even put the files down in the room, because there was so little room there. A girl and her husband told me that they had a very old friend - I knew her, too - who had gone on holiday and their apartment was empty, so they let me live there with my daughter during the summer. I didn't move in of course, I only worked there, but that was enough, because I could work more comfortably there.

I think that in my life I valued myself and others, I tried to keep hope in difficult situation, and I didn't give up, because one mustn't, and I tried to remain human even in the most difficult circumstances.

Glossary

Deniz Nahmias
Thessaloniki
Greece
Interviewer: Valia Kravva
Date of interview: October 2006

Immediately after you meet Deniz Nahmias you have the impression that you have met an important woman, a true lady, who has been through a lot and carries so many life experiences. And this is quite true: she originates from a rich and well-known family and she has met many important people. Yet, all the times we met and talked, she was really friendly and hospitable. She is now 83 years old and lives in a spacious apartment together with her beloved husband Albertos. Her son Iossif lives in another apartment in the same building. Their bond is very strong. I recall her hesitations about taking her photographs out of the house. Iossif reassured his mother that nothing was going to happen to them. Deniz Nahmias "visits" through her memories the old Salonica. Photographs and music - she is an excellent piano player - take her back to a happy and harmonious childhood. To those years that she can never forget and she recalled for me in every detail.

Starting from my mother: my mother's family owned a flourmill; it was a very rich family. My grandfather, my mother's father whose name was Isaac - Matathias Beza had a flourmill and he was a rich, well respected man back in the late 1800s. He owned a flourmill that used to grind wheat. He was very wealthy. He was born in Thessaloniki [in 1867] and also died there, in 1936 at the age of 69. In this city at that time two families owned the flourmills: the Beza family and the Allatini family 1. My maternal grandfather had five brothers but we never met them.

At some point the flourmill he owned was burned down. Maybe it was his competitors who set it on fire. This happened when my grandfather was still young. It had nothing to do with the fire of 1917 2; it happened much earlier. The competitors gave to my grandfather compensation on the condition that he'd never rebuild the flourmill, because they had always the fear that the brothers might unite and rebuild it some day. So the competitors agreed to give them a certain amount of money for the next five years. And the flourmill stopped working.

You know how it is, when there are many brothers they cannot agree upon anything, one wants one thing, the other another. From that time onwards everyone found his own way. The family of my grandfather, as I mentioned before, was very well off, so he was sent abroad to study and this is how he learned many languages: English, French, German, and thought of becoming a representative. In Greece at that time there were no factories but all the imports were done via firm representatives. Back then this was an extremely profitable and popular profession. So he became a representative of the DMC house and of other firms as well. This is how he managed to make his fortune: he established a house of imports and later his son entered the job.

He married a daughter of the Navaro family, which was also a very rich family. They owned all the area of Caravan Serai. Navaro himself was a coppersmith. At that time everything was made of copper, so he became very rich with his work. So my grandfather Isaac married Navaro's eldest daughter, Doudou, and they had two children: my mother Loucie, or Loukia, and her brother [Alfredos]. Doudou spoke French.

At that time, just before the birth of my mother, the Dreyfus Affair 3 was taking place in Europe. My grandfather was ordering newspapers from France and wanted to keep up with the case. When his wife gave birth to my mother he named her after Dreyfus's wife, and not after his mother, so he called her Loucie and later he named his son Alfred after Alfred Dreyfus. He was so moved by this case and he followed it with such great interest that he gave his two children the names of Alfred and his wife, rather than name them after his parents. This was quite unusual at that time. My grandfather died when I was twelve years old, but we were not living together in the same house. Instead he came to visit us every Saturday.

He was extremely extrovert, a very cheerful person indeed. A nice person with a lively personality. I remember whenever he paid his visit at our home he used to bring me a small doll as a present. When I turned twelve I had a party at home; I remember I had organized a party because I had finished elementary school and this was a big event those days. So, he came to my party and we were dancing 'lansiedhes.' This was a popular dance those days, not exactly a modern dance. We were dancing in pairs one after the other. And he said, 'Take two steps ahead.' This was a European dance.

When I was about twelve years old the Greek music was quite popular: 'Ririka,' 'The vest you are wearing,' but also the European tangos. Before the war, 'lansiedhes' was really popular at parties. At that time we also still had gramophones. So my grandfather was showing us how to dance at my party and he was telling us to move back and forth. He was a very lively person.

My grandfather was a pro-Mason, he was quite an educated man; that is why he was not religious at all. He was a follower of the basics of religion, for example he would eat with us during Protohronia [first day in the year in Greece] or Pascha [Passover]. And he was doing this just for his children so that they remember their home. He spoke many languages, as I mentioned before: English, French, German. And of course he spoke Ladino 4, Turkish and Greek.

His wife, my mother's mother Doudou, was already ill before they got married. She had been infected by an unknown fever so her heart had turned very weak. But no one explained to her that it was dangerous to give birth in her condition. Instead they forced her to get married; she became pregnant twice and she died six months after she had given birth to her second child. At that time she was very young, about 26 years old. My mother Loucie was born in 1895 and her brother Alfred in 1898.

My grandmother Doudou had twelve siblings. My great-grandmother - I keep her photograph - gave birth to twelve children and all of them lived. Because she was very rich, instead of breast-feeding them herself she paid a woman to do that. She was just delivering them. They were a wealthy family, enjoying good conditions of living and they passed on healthy genes. I have to tell you that it was quite uncommon at that time to deliver twelve children and to bring up all of them.

My great-grandfather Navaro was married twice, and my grandmother Doudou was a daughter from his second wife: he had four children from his first wife and twelve from his second, altogether sixteen children. And he gave them good dowries, something like 2,000 pounds to each girl.

After the death of his wife Doudou, my grandfather had to find another wife. His second wife was named Fortune and her family name was Koen. She was from Thessaloniki, her family was a good one but had lost all money, so she had no dowry and her parents were looking for a rich groom. She had not been married before; she was a virgin. After their marriage they were all living under the same roof: her parents and the newly-wed couple. She needed her mother to help her bring up the children that my grandfather had from his first marriage. So he married this woman who was not educated, a second class wife, but he had to do it because only a woman could bring up his children. Fortune Koen spoke only Spanish, Ladino.

My grandfather lived in the center of Thessaloniki, his house was on Mitropoleos Street, near Aristotle Square. He had his own house. He was living there with his first wife when I was born. But he was living in another place with his second wife; I don't remember where exactly. He had three more children with his second wife: two daughters and one son. They loved each other very much, one supported the other. I mean all his children from both marriages, and Fortune loved not only her own children but also those from her husband's first marriage. They kept on having good relationships until the end. So did we. Like a family.

My grandfather died in his office and my uncle found him. He was only 69 when he died. Quite young. He was really fine until then. He probably died of a heart attack.

My father's father was named David Angel and his wife was called Diamante, and they gave me her name, but in a more modern version, Deniz. At that time it was a common practice among Jews to give modern names. Now Christians have this privilege and we let them. I sometimes hear very unusual and funny names!

When I was born in 1924 my paternal grandfather was already dead; he must have died in about 1916. I never had the chance to meet him. My parents kept a big photograph of him but it was lost and I don't have this photo anymore. All our pictures were lost during the occupation.

Grandmother Diamante was living with us, so I do remember her quite well. People were saying that her husband was a nice man. They were brought up in the same neighborhood and their mothers were friends. At that time most marriages were arranged. So they had an arranged marriage. At that time most marriages were taking place at the age of eighteen, quite young couples. My paternal grandfather was neither rich nor poor; he came from a middle-class family, not like the family of my mother which was a well respected and well known family.

My grandfather was a merchant; he was selling leather products and products for shoemakers. He imported those products and he managed to travel to England to bring them to Greece without knowing how to speak English. He didn't speak French either, just Ladino. But he made his deals. He was good in business. My grandmother Diamante used to tell me all that, how he traveled to England and ordered the leathers to be sent here, to Thessaloniki.

My grandmother Diamante was wearing traditional clothes while Grandmother Doudou used to dress exactly the way women did in Europe; she was also wearing big hats with feathers. Diamante was still wearing the traditional Jewish costume with the 'kofya' [special headgear consisting of several caps and scarves covering the woman's hair] when I first met her, but after some time she took it off. She had two or three dresses; they used to give them together with the dowry those days. She didn't manage to get educated because a nasty cousin of hers was making her life difficult at school. Her parents were afraid that she might harm her and, because Diamante was their only daughter, they decided to take her out of school. This is why she was left without education. After that they took her to learn sewing. Grandmother Diamante died in 1937.

We were communicating with Grandmother Diamante in Ladino, we spoke French with our mother and in school we spoke Greek with our schoolmates. I remember we used to tease our grandmother by saying, 'Hey granny, you have to learn Greek.' My grandmother knew no other language apart from Ladino, but my mother learned French and as time went by she also learned Greek because our neighborhood was a mixed one. I spent most of my childhood at 25th Kritis and Marasli Streets, I mean the time before the war.

My grandmother was not religious par excellence; well, somehow she kept religious traditions and she used to go to the synagogue. But she loved to play cards, a card game called rummy. She had some friends in the neighborhood and they gathered and played cards. Once a week they used to come to our house and the rest of the time they went to other homes. Those who played cards were Jewish because my grandmother didn't have any Christian friends, as she couldn't communicate with them; she couldn't understand their language.

In front of our house, a family named Kazes, who were very rich, used to invite my grandmother to play cards. I remember that both husband and wife played. Every day, from about four until eight, I remember my granny left the house. She waited until my father had left for his work and then she went to the Kazes family to play cards. She used to go in any weather conditions: in winter with snow, in the cold, in nice, warm weather; she waited until my father had left and then she rushed to that house. Otherwise he would have seen her and of course he would have asked where she was going.

She never said a bad word to my brothers or me. My grandmother Diamante and I were sleeping in the same room until she died. Sometimes we asked her to show us how to play cards but she avoided doing so because she didn't want us to end up playing cards passionately like her. Nowadays I play 'biriba' with my friends, and so did my grandmother; she also played other games to pass the time. Even though she was an uneducated woman she was extremely clever, she even helped her children with mathematics when they went to school.

Grandmother Diamante gave birth to nine children but the first three died of diphtheria, so only six managed to survive, and all of them were girls, except my father Isaac. He was born in 1888 in Thessaloniki and died in 1945 in Athens. My grandmother treated my father with special affection because he was the only boy and, later, he kept her with him in his house. It was a common thing those days for married sons to stay in the same house with their mother.

The three first sisters of my father married while my grandfather was still alive. Then my father accepted the responsibility of marrying off his other sisters and giving them a dowry.

My grandmother told me that they were selling shoe gadgets, leathers, laces etc. in their shop. They were selling great quantities to other merchants but also small quantities to individual customers. Some of these items were produced by the girls of the family, i.e. the daughters of my grandfather instead of having the work done at the market. This is how they managed to save money and, little by little, their dowries. It was like a family enterprise.

As time went by my father became rich because the shop was doing well. He was a partner with his first cousin; initially their fathers, who were brothers, were partners and then their sons became partners as well. The shop had the following sign on it: 'Beniko and Isaac Angel.'

One can still find this shop on Edessis Four Street, near Emporiou Square. This shop and the whole building belong to us and we still owe it. Now it is shut down. A few years ago Dimitriadis, who used to sell haberdashery, paid us rent but after him we never managed to rent it to someone else. Now it is considered a preservable building and it is situated in a preservable area of the city. So it must be preserved as it is. Of course we owe this shop together with the inheritants of my dad's cousin.

Regarding my father's sisters, my aunts: The oldest was called Sounhoula, she married one Mr. Arditi; his grandson is Isaac Arditi. The second sister was called Flore, she was married to David Alfandari and she had a daughter, while Sounhoula had two sons and a daughter. Another sister was called Bienvenida. She got married to someone called Haim and both her husband and she died without having any children. The fourth sister was Dezi, this is how they called her, and she had four children: her first two children, two boys, died from diphtheria and then she had two more that still live, these are my cousins. They live here in Thessaloniki and their names are Rasel and Saoul Saporta, respectively. Then there was the youngest sister called Zouli, who married a doctor called Albertos Menasse; he is the one who wrote a book about the period he was imprisoned by the Germans in a concentration camp.

My husband's sister, Zouli Kastro, immigrated to Brazil but she was visiting us here in Thessaloniki every year. She got married in Thessaloniki and left for Latin America after World War II. Now her children live there, Erna and Zozi, who are twins. Erna went to Israel at some point and she became very religious.

One might wonder: Why did they choose Brazil? It seems that the situation was far better there because immediately after they settled there with their children their status was improved. As soon as they got there they found a groom for one of their daughters. He was a Jewish guy from Volos. Her daughter keeps visiting Greece every year with her husband because she feels homesickness, nostalgia. His surname is Sarfati. He fell in love as soon as he met her. Many Jews were living in Brazil and they were very well off and their community was very organized. The community was not devastated there. They live in Sao Paulo. They left because they were afraid of the whole communist climate in Greece after the war. That's why they left. And this was a very wise decision because they managed to find better conditions of living.

My mother Loucie was born in 1895 in Thessaloniki and died in 1995, when she was 100 years old, in Athens. Her mother tongue was French because she had attended a French school but she could also understand Ladino. No one knew Hebrew at that time; they only read the Bible [Old Testament] in Hebrew but they couldn't understand anything. Our languages were Ladino and French. So my mother attended the French school and this school was located in the market area of the city.

My mother was a fashion victim. She used to wear hats, and every year she went to the dressmaker to have new dresses made but she also altered the old ones; in French this was called 'transforme.' My mom always kept up with fashion and when she was a young woman used to wear little hats with veils. She used to wear costumes. She was really a modern woman. Special shops were selling hats, so every year my mother was buying one or two and she altered the old ones. There was a shop selling hats on 25th March Street, which was near our house. At that time some dressmakers were really expensive but you could also find cheap ones who were paid for a day's work.

Doudou Sounhami was one of the most famous dressmakers at that time; her niece is Ririka Leon. She made haute couture. Paximada was also a very famous dressmaker. Although she was a Christian many Jewish women used to go to her. Those two were the most expensive in that profession, and there were also others who were less expensive. And then some dressmakers were visiting women at home.

I remember we used to practice 'circomon' since nothing was found ready- made in the market. Especially when we grew up. Koen's shop was a famous shoe shop, and it was situated on Venizelos Street. There were some stores that were selling shoes, but they had to measure your feet. This is how they worked. And they made shoes especially for you. From after the war I remember 'Karakala' and 'Loux.' But before the war the only shoe-selling store in Thessaloniki was 'Koen.'

My mother's brothers were saved during World War II because they were Spanish citizens. My uncle, i.e. my mother's brother, Alfredos Beza, escaped to the mountains with the partisans; this is how he managed to survive the war. His sisters, who had a different mother because as I have explained Grandfather was married twice, were also Spanish citizens, and they left for Athens. But the Germans assembled all Spanish Jews in Athens and took them to Germany. When the war was over they allowed them to return to their countries.

The reason they surrendered in Athens was the fact that the Germans, since they were allies with Spain, didn't kill any Spanish citizens. So they surrendered without great hesitations and the Germans caught them and put them on a train and sent them to Germany. But after the liberation they allowed them to return. My grandfather's second wife, along with her brother, who were also Spanish citizens, were taken by the Germans from Thessaloniki to Germany, then to Spain and then to Casablanca [today Morocco] and finally to Israel. Some Spanish Jews came back and some remained there.

My mother's sisters Sarina and Irma were married to two brothers, Haim and Albertos Boton, and after the war they settled in Mexico. They were afraid because there was a popular scenario after the war that the Russians would take over Thessaloniki in collaboration with the communists. And this is why they left. I never went to Mexico to visit them but my daughter went there to find them.

Here in Thessaloniki, they owned the textiles shop 'Cosmos' on Venizelou Street. Now it has been replaced by the store 'Fokas.' The new store kept the old name 'Cosmos' for a certain period of time and then changed it.

Our relatives in Mexico came to visit us almost every year, because they were missing their old friends, especially those who had stayed in Athens. Until they were very old and helpless they used to come to Greece every year. This was very helpful from a psychological point of view because they knew that back here good and loyal friends were expecting them. They had friends that loved them very much.

My mother's sister was in Athens during the war. She was also a Spanish citizen. As I have explained, the Germans didn't kill them but they sent them to Germany. They were imprisoned in Bergen-Belsen 5 but still they had a much better life. My uncle's sister was taken to Casablanca and then to the Middle East. She got on the same ship with her husband and her daughters but her boys were forced to board another ship. The ship on which the boys had boarded sank. Maybe the Germans did it on purpose to kill them. Anyway this ship never reached its destination. It is still a mystery what happened to those people. Some argue that the ship was sunk so that the Germans could get the money of the people onboard.

My elder brother is called David, we called him Mimis, and he was born in Thessaloniki on 31st June 1918. I was born in 21st June 1924 and Solomon, my younger brother, was born on 18th October 1926, also in Thessaloniki. My oldest brother, Mimis, died at the age of 69 in Athens, while my youngest brother still lives in Athens.

Solomon was also called Haim because my mother had dreamed before delivering him of one of her cousins whose name was Haim. They also named him Reimon, because this was a really modern name when I was young. Solomon in his house in Athens keeps the double bed we used to have in the house we were brought up; this is pre-war furniture. I don't quite remember how he managed to get it back since everything else was lost: furniture, utensils, and all house equipment. But I think that our neighbor Morozinis managed to save the double bed because we had moved all our furniture to his place. And of course all the photos we kept at home were lost.

I was very close to my youngest brother and since I was a couple of years older I protected him. David was six years older [than I], so he didn't really mix with us, whereas Solomon and I, exactly because we were so close as far as age was concerned, had a special bond, a unique relationship. We used to play together in the neighborhood; we use to do all the nutty things together. I remember when he was young they always dressed him up as a sailor-boy or in Tyrolese clothes, because they were very much in fashion those days. As I mentioned, I always protected him and I allowed no one to come and tease him. If this happened I used to fight with the ones who teased my brother. I remember when we were kids our parents used to take us for excursions to Asvestohori.

David completed the American College 6 and attended the public high school in Thessaloniki and then went to France where he learned the work of the textile producer. The mother tongue of my brothers was Greek but also French and Ladino. They also learned English. None of them got married. My oldest brother fought on the Albanian front 7 during World War II, and Solomon only completed his military service after the war was over. When he was in Athens, during the period of the Civil War 8, a British soldier, who was drunk, hit him in the stomach. The hit was strong and my brother lost one of his kidneys.

My husband, Albertos Nahmias, was born in Monastir on 4th April 1915. He attended the Lycee Commerciale, a three-grade gymnasium with a technological direction. My husband became a fibre merchant. He speaks many languages: Greek, Serbian, Albanian, Italian, Turkish and German. During World War II his family and he escaped to Italy where they hid for some time. After the end of the war they all settled in Thessaloniki and after a few years, in 1949, we got married.

We had two children together: Ernestine, who was born in 1951, and Iossif, born in 1955. Iossif graduated from the Department of Biology at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki and then he went to America for a Masters of Science and from there to Germany for doctoral studies in Biological Research. He worked in America, in Britain, and during the last four years in Iceland. But he returned to Greece because he couldn't stand the weather in Iceland. But his job was fantastic. So he returned to Thessaloniki and now he is doing some kind of research in association with the university. He is not married.

My daughter left for Israel, if I remember correctly, it was in 1979. She graduated from the Department of English Literature at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. She got married while she was living here, they had a child but they got divorced. Her first husband was named Iakovos Angel; he was a doctor. After her divorce she moved to Israel to work at a university there. In Israel she met someone, they got married and she remained there. She had a son from her second marriage; he is now completing his military service in Israel. Her second husband - whom she also divorced - was called Sam Hassid. He is teaching at the Polytechnics University in Haifa.

My children don't keep any Jewish traditions, especially my son. He is a citizen of the world; he has many dear friends in Germany, England and Iceland. And he avoids any interaction with the community here. Many of his friends from abroad come and visit him, even the Germans. They are not responsible for what their ancestors did to our people. Ernestine is also not religious at all. She keeps almost no traditions, not even at home. My husband and I, when we were younger, used to visit her in Israel. Now that we are old she visits us instead, almost once a year.

My family house, the one where I grew up, is on 25th March, Kritis and Marasli Streets. Before that we used to live just a stop away, on Vassileos Georgiou Street. Our neighborhood was the good one, with the three-story houses; you can see even nowadays the very few houses that are left. My family house was really nice and a big one but it didn't belong to my father. He rented it because he needed cash for his business. Our first house, the one I was born in, was on Mavromaton Street and it was close to the sea. When I was three or four years old we moved to our new house on Kritis and Marasli Streets. We went there because my father by then owned his own factory and he was partners with a Christian called Kazazis. Filotas Kazazis belonged to a very well known family from Monastir. So he was the one to make the laces and my father, along with his cousin, provided the name and of course the financial support. So the three of them became partners. But within six months Filotas died and his cousin Ioannis Kazazis took his pace. I remember he had a nickname: Vantso. So they became partners and they never disagreed on anything.

My parents never punished my brothers or me. My father didn't really interfere in the way my mother brought us up. But my mother was really modern and open-minded and didn't impose any restrictions upon me. She allowed me to go to parties and she kept saying to me, 'You are responsible for yourself.' I never had the need to lie. Since my father didn't interfere, my mother had all the responsibility.

My parents were not very religious and they used to go to the synagogue only during the high holidays like Rosh Hashanah. Thessaloniki had so many synagogues 9 when I was young. We used to go to the one near our house, 'Sarfati.' This was close to the sea but the Germans bombarded it. Sarfati means French, maybe someone called Sarfati was the donator. During the holidays such as Yom Kippur I remember our parents took us there and we played in the big yard of that synagogue. I remember everyone was fasting those days. They ate at six in the afternoon and until seven in the afternoon of the following day they didn't eat anything. Our parents kept this fast as well.

We always had a piano at home. My mother used to play. At that time all the girls coming from good and respectable families learned French and how to play the piano. It is funny. Playing the piano, especially among girls was a tradition. The first book in order to get the first degree, 'Becker,' was really difficult because we had to start at the age of eight. You have to start learning piano at a very young age because at this age your fingers are soft and tender. I kept on playing when I was in Athens. The daughter of my mother's friend went to the music school and this is why I wanted to go on with my piano studies. I still play. I remember my mother was playing only one melody. Always the same.

However, many girls who learned the piano gave up after some time. I had a cousin who had a piano degree and she stopped playing immediately after she got married. Maybe they forced them to learn it and this is why they eventually disliked it. I played all the melodies you can think of on the piano. Even now. This is a gift that a few people enjoy; I think that my fingers move automatically.

The elementary school I used to attend was a private one and it was situated in the area of 25th Martiou, where we lived. Initially I went to 'Natsina' and when this one closed I went to 'Zaxariadis' opposite the building of the Prefecture today. Nowadays this school is demolished to let the street pass. Zaxariadis himself was an excellent teacher and I remember we used to play in many theater plays there. And we had great fun because we used to change many costumes. We also had a kind of drama dancing: we used to dress as the flowers of the spring, and we used to imitate how flowers fell asleep in winter and how they woke up during spring. Our parents came to see us perform. When I later attended the Lycee nothing of that kind happened. And I hardly remember any patriotic plays at that time.

We used to have a dance teacher who taught us all the Greek traditional dances like 'kalamatiano.' We also had music lessons and we learned how to read the notes. Our music teacher was called Pavlidis and he used to play the violin. Some of the songs we were learning: 'In the afternoon there in my arms' and 'The birds were flying.' As a Lycee student I learned nothing of the kind. When I was a student we had costumes made for students to wear over our clothes. They were blue and the soft collar was white and we had two or three to change.

During high school I used to go to the Nuns from early in the morning till six at night. Classes stopped at some point early in the afternoon and then the school functioned as a baby-sitting place. Our house was near the sea so we went swimming, both boys and girls. But near the statue of Alexander the Great girls and boys were swimming separately. We used to go there when we grew up, at the age of sixteen, with our swimming costumes, which covered the body. I always liked swimming. Even now. And I remember I always went swimming with my friends. So my parents used to send us to the Nuns and we always managed to take some time off to go to the sea and swim, especially early in the afternoon.

Then the Nuns forced us to get some rest for three or four hours every afternoon. This was a torture for me... I couldn't be idle; I always wanted to read something. Anyway during the third year of high school I had a good relationship with the Nun in charge and she always sent me to get something and I ran away. I couldn't stand staying in bed all these hours without doing anything. Then in the afternoon we used to eat something at school and then the teacher we had at home used to take us from school to 'Luxembourg,' a famous coffee-shop and we had our lemonade - one for three people - and we played there in the yard until eight in the evening. And then we had to get home.

During the last high school classes they sent me to the Lycee de garson, - this was the Lycee for both boys and girls. We used to go to the Lycee every day, morning and afternoon, and we also went there on Saturdays. But on Saturdays we didn't have to be there in the afternoon and we didn't have to wear the apron. We, I mean the Greek citizens, attended classes both in French and in Greek. Those who were non-Greeks had to attend only modern language lessons in Greek, for three hours every week. We were also attending classes in ancient Greek, history, geography etc. At noon we returned back home and then from 4-5pm we went back to school.

I remember all students had an ID card to use on the tram, because that school was a long way from home. It used to take me half an hour to get to school because the tram was extremely slow and it had to stop many times.

My favorite subject was mathematics. We also had a fantastic French teacher, his name was France, and I was very lucky to attend his classes for four years. Yet our school wasn't as good as it used to be in the past. Our French director didn't care much. When I went there I was very weak in French and I remember the teachers allowed us to easily pass the classes. But after two years I managed to learn French. I remember my mother insisted that I learned that language. So she took me to a French school basically because she didn't want me to forget the French I had learned at home. But I disliked this language. She insisted though.

The foreign language we learned at school was English. But the English teacher wasn't really good and he used to punish us a lot. He wanted us to learn everything by heart. We had to memorize almost everything otherwise he gave us very bad marks. I was a student who was attending classes but didn't study at home much. Yet I listened carefully and this is how I learned.

When I was young we used to play football, there was a big open space in our neighborhood and we used to play boys and girls together. The balls were made of caoutchouc and I remember when we visited the Fair of Thessaloniki 8 every year they bought us a new one. We used to go to the Fair every year; it was a big event those days. We could see acrobats walking on ropes. It was great fun. We went to the stalls, they gave us promotion leaflets, and we also had an uncle who was working there. Our dad used to buy tires for the factory and I remember they used to give us a ball made of caoutchouc as a gift. At that time, the Fair of Thessaloniki was functioning as a kind of big music-hall, like a famous circus. I remember at that time even in cinemas there was a big show after the screening of a movie.

There was a summer cinema called 'Ilisia' in Aristotle Square. Three or four cinemas were located in that square, now you can only find modern coffee shops. I remember when I was twelve years old we still had that home teacher, I mean the French teacher who took us home from school. We didn't want this anymore and we disliked her. So, once my mom sent us to the cinema with her to see a movie. But for some reason she took us to another cinema to watch another movie, which was followed by a show and which was more expensive. As you can understand we returned home much later than our mother expected us and on foot because we had no more money left for transport. Our mother was worried sick and furious. Next day the teacher was fired and this is how we got rid of her. In normal circumstances we would have returned much earlier by tram. Instead we returned after midnight, on foot and without having any money.

I remember another time, when my brother was at the American College, and they took us for a walk to the Agricultural Faculty. My younger brother and I wanted to go there and find him. So we went on foot. And we made the French teacher - we called her mademoiselle - to take us there. We came back home very late...

When we were young we used to rent bicycles, we didn't buy them, we rented them because our father was really afraid that we might get hurt. There were stores that rented bicycles for a quarter of an hour. All our money was spent there. I remember I used to cycle up to Karabournaki and when I returned Vardaris [northern wind stemming from the river Axios or Vardaris] was blowing. I had a nice time: excursions with the school and with my friends.

I remember that in pre-war Thessaloniki the danger number one were the mosquitoes. We couldn't sleep at night because of them. And we also had bugs. Every two days they lifted up the beds to check if there were any bugs and they used to clean them with pure alcohol. The bugs were indestructible. Maybe they were surviving because the floor was made of wood.

We also had stoves made of clay and we used to burn wood. I told you about the problem with the mosquitoes. This is why there was a malaria epidemic despite the mosquito nets we had over our beds. We used to get ill quite often and we had high fever and they gave us quinine, the only available medicine at that time. In winter our feet were always wet and this is why we suffered from chilblains and we sat near the stove to get warm.

Before the war they measured our feet and they made us a pair of shoes every year. One pair at the beginning of autumn and one pair of white shoes every Easter. They had amiantus underneath. You know kids feet get bigger and bigger so they made us only one pair every year.

I remember when they gave us the anti-diphtheria vaccine. Our uncle was a doctor and one day - after a private discussion with my parents - they took us to his place for that injection. This is when I first experienced the 'anti-doctor syndrome' and this has chased me throughout my whole life. Those days this was a new vaccination.

When my brother got sick with scarlet fever I went to stay at my grandmother's place, I mean the second wife of my grandfather, because they had to take me away to avoid contamination. My grandfather died in 1936 and this is why the sisters of my father came to visit us. But unfortunately one of my cousins had scarlet fever and after two days I got sick as well.

I remember when I was young they used to put leeches on our grandmother's body to keep her blood pressure stable. They put them at the back of her ears. Some people were bringing them to our home in a bottle and I used to get sick watching this. This is why I left home that day and only returned late in the evening.

At that time the Campbell 11 pogrom took place and then the earthquake in Thessaloniki in 1933. I remember all the families were given tents and we were living and sleeping there for quite some time.

I remember the ceremony of bar mitzvah, which took place at the age of thirteen. This was an important ceremony for all the Jews in pre-war Thessaloniki. We first went to the synagogue and then relatives and friends came to visit us at home and we were treating them to sweets and ice creams. Guests were visiting us all day and for the first time in their lives the young boys were allowed to wear long trousers. During Easter, and generally during holidays, men were visiting friends and relatives and women used to stay at home. Men used to have their children with them and women were treating kids to this dark egg. And then they took it home to eat it. During holidays the following was a common practice: the men of the family paid visits to the women of the family.

Right after our summer vacations we used to go to Florina, a city in Northern Greece, located in the mountains. So after our summer baths at Thessaloniki's beaches we went to that mountain city. During the first years we went to a hotel but then after some time we met some people and we rented a house. How did we spend our days? In the morning we went to the nearby mountain called Pissoderi and then we were visiting the coffee shops playing backgammon and chess. This is how we learned all these games. Then in the afternoon we went for a walk in the city.

I remember Manthos Matthaiou also used to spend his summers in the area of Florina. He was the director of a famous hotel in Thessaloniki called 'Mediterrane.' He had a girlfriend, a very beautiful woman. They really liked my brother, so they invited him all the time to join them and I was so jealous about it. Matthaiou was killed during the Italian bombarding because he climbed up the terrace of his hotel to watch the airplanes but a bomb hit him. I remember he was a tall bachelor, a playboy. And his girlfriend used to wear make-up; she was a prostitute, a woman with weak resistances.

'Luxembourg' was a famous coffee shop in pre-war Thessaloniki. This was by the sea and it had an orchestra playing live music. It was situated in the area of 25th Martiou in Antheon Street. A famous artist called 'Tilda' used to play the violin there. People would go there at about eight in the evening, and I remember children like me were dancing on the dance floor. 'Luxembourg' was situated at the same place for a long time. Even after the war this coffee shop was in the same spot. After the war I also used to go there as a young lady.

When I grew up, I mean before the war, at the age of 15 or 16, I used to walk with my friends around the center of the city and especially so in the summer just before the war. We used to return home on foot to the area where we lived, Vassilissis Olgas. A famous cinema called 'Pate' was situated in this area. This was a cinema and a patisserie at the same time. We liked all sweets but especially pastry with cream and éclair with chocolate. In the same neighborhood another cinema, 'Apollon,' was to be found together with a dance club.

Every Wednesday and Saturday all the students from high school used to go to the cinema together. We went to the 'Apollon' cinema, which was screening two films. The second one was part of a series, a story to be continued like, for example, about a cowboy who was killed. The first movie was a romantic one and it was of a better quality, sometimes it was a musical. Most plays were American but others were French. My favorite actors and actresses were: Hari Bore, Teilor Paouer, Robert Taylor, Michele Morgan, Zan Pier Remor.

We used to go on Saturday nights to the city's nightclubs, I mean, of course, when we were a bit older. Just before the war started we were sixteen years old and boys used to come and pick us from our homes with the permission of our mother. In those clubs there was live music and everyone danced on the dance floor, mostly tango, the waltz and foxtrot. We used to go on excursions to Peraia but not that often. We also went on excursions with our parents; there was a small boat those days going to Peraia and there were some coffee shops there.

I remember when we grew up we went for walks in the center area, near Venizelos Street. Somewhere there a famous pastry shop was to be found, 'Galliko,' and we went there to have pastry and lemonade since we were not allowed to drink any coffee yet. We also went for walks near the 'Luxembourg' area, in Antheon Street. This was near our home. We used to go for walks separately, boys with boys and girls with girls. We were looking at each other and flirting, of course.

As I've mentioned before, I was attending the Lycee de garson, which was a mixed school for both boys and girls. But there was a Lycee only for girls. Those who were attending mixed schools took boys for granted; they meant nothing special to us and we paid no attention to them. But those girls who were attending schools exclusively for girls acted like crazy. I remember every Saturday they used to wear very eccentric clothes. Boys made no difference to us, and it was better this way. I think that mixed schools are much better.

Those days were very different than nowadays. Once a year, they used to make us a dress, which was the one we would wear on special days, and then we had our everyday dress. For example, we wore that special dress when we went to parties. As I said I was attending a mixed school and we were going to parties from when I was 14 to 15 years old every week together with our schoolmates. So every Saturday we put on our best dress.

Before the war Thessaloniki was full of Jewish neighborhoods 12. Especially in the area where I live now, on Vasilissis Olgas Street. Our neighborhood was a mixed one, both Jews and Christians lived there. Poor Jewish neighborhoods were supported by the Community; we called them 'koulivas' in Ladino, which means very poor huts. Palombita, a Jewish- Spanish mate of ours, lived in such a poor area. She was a young girl and her fiancé was named Massista, he was also Jewish-Spanish. His job was to visit local festivals in the periphery and demonstrate his strength on stage. For example, he was breaking chains and stuff like that. I remember that once Palombita sent him away, he came in the middle of the night, and he was shouting at our doorsteps: 'Palombita te cero.'

I remember when we were young we never visited the Vardar area, as this was a neighborhood with a very bad reputation. Rezi Vardar was a Jewish neighborhood that was built near the railway station. I think the Community supported it as well as two other impoverished neighborhoods: '6' and '151.' In the Vardar area one could find all those houses with the red light. I suppose ordinary people were also inhabitants of that area but I knew nothing about them. For me and my friends the city ended on Venizelos Street where my uncle, the husband of my mother's sister, had a shop with textiles called 'Cosmos.' This was the geographical limit for us.

All the central streets were paved. But the area where we lived, 25th Martiou, it was all earth and we used to clean the floor every day and especially when it rained. It was a disaster.

Before the war every family was celebrating the high holidays at home. I remember for Pessach we used to buy matzah from the Community. It was in big pieces and we used to put it in chests. There was also a big bakery owned by the Community on Vassileos Irakleiou Street. This bakery used to bake matzah for the Easter period. During Pessach you wouldn't find a single piece of leavened bread in our houses. Of course all that happened before the war. I remember when the Germans entered Greece we stopped eating matzah and we kept it because we were afraid that we would not be able to get any more. From the time the Germans came I believe we stopped keeping the traditions. We keep nothing now...

We had a good time with our neighbors and there was no tension between us, anyway our neighborhood was a mixed one. Only some bad boys were making fun of us and they called us 'tsifoutides' meaning stingy and we called them 'giaourtides' [yogurt men] from 'gkiaourides' ['gkiaour' was a Turkish nickname for Greeks]. I have no idea were those rascals came from.

I remember the customs we kept before the war. For example, before New Year's Eve [Rosh Hashanah] we had to practice 'kapara,' meaning sacrificing. We used to bring cocks home, which were kept on the balcony of the kitchen. We waited until the night of Protohronia and then the hahamis came. He used to sit on a chair and my father put a ribbon on his head, called 'kapara' and he slaughtered the animals. Afterwards we had to offer them to a poor family. It was forbidden to eat the sacrifice. And I remember we knew some poor families and they used to visit us every Rosh Hashanah to get the slaughtered animals. You know Jewish families before the war were so extended and we had so many relatives that during feasts we ate at home. We used to have friends within our family but we also had friendships with our neighbors. Anyway until the war we were all together.

At that time we were friends with the boys from Kostandinidis School. During the occupation, I mean during the war with Italy, we had rented a house all together. This was a shelter like our school, the lycee. Since our parents were very worried and didn't allow us to go to other neighborhoods we spent our time there. We had rented this house as a family, the so-called Voga's house, but four other families were living there as well. When the alarm was on we were not allowed to be away from the house. So we found ways to spend our time there as pleasantly as we could.

This house was situated near the sea, on Vassileos Georgiou Street, opposite the Lycee, and now it doesn't exist anymore. It was a two-level house with a yard and a garden and in the yard I remember we used to play volleyball. The father of Boubis Vogas was very rich and his sister, Mahoula, had married a rich guy called Georgiadis who owned the FIX industry. Boubis' mother was dead and his father was almost deaf. That's why all the parties were taking place at his home. I played the piano, we danced, and we played modern records on the gramophone. We used to dance tango, the waltz, and modern dances like rock and 'gianga.' We also liked light Greek songs like 'I'll take you away' but not 'laika.'

I remember most of my friends from Kostandinidis School: Moris Alien, Arthur Mortician, Thanassakis, he was the son of Kostandinidis, the director of the high school, Bernard Benveniste, Haralambos Psaltis, David... Christians, Armenians, Jews all together. We were friends and schoolmates and there was no discrimination among us. Arthur Mortician died eight years ago. After many years he rented the apartment downstairs. I remember one day I had met him on the street and I rented this apartment to him because he was a good friend and we played cards together. We played 'biriba' also with Loucie, his Armenian girlfriend, and Ismini Ioannidou. Boubis Vogas had a tragic death: he drowned while he was diving for fish and as I remember, he died quite young. This happened in Athens.

There was no radio in our house before the war, and not even a telephone, although you could find some radios in Thessaloniki from the 1930s onwards. My mother's brother, Alfredos Beza, owned one. My uncle was really modern, he had a motorcycle, he went on excursions and he was a climber. He joined the mountain climbing club and I wanted so much to go with him whenever he went to the mountains.

My uncle didn't get married until he was 48 years old. I will explain how it happened: At that time my mother used to invite many people to stay with us, in our house in Athens, and at some point her cousin, Claire Matalon, the daughter of Doctor Matalon arrived. She had just returned from a concentration camp. And at the same time when she was staying with us my mother's brother came to visit us. So this is how they met and fell in love. According to Jewish tradition it is allowed for first cousins to get married, so they got married. Claire was married when she left for the camp. Fortunately her daughter hid in Athens and eventually she was saved, but Claire took her son along. When they arrived the Germans said to all women with little children, 'Leave your children to the eldest and the Red Cross will come and save them.' Unfortunately her little boy was only seven and they killed him.

Claire and her sister made it because they were knitting for the German doctor of the camp; he took them to the hospital. They managed to survive but of course they were in a very bad condition when they returned. They had been infected by typhus. My cousin told me how they forced into hot water all those children that were born in the camp. You know, pregnant women were also imprisoned.

When we first heard all that we couldn't believe a word. We though our relatives, our people, had lost their minds. We used to say, 'They are crazy.' I remember the first one who returned to Athens was called Assae; he was a piano player called Michel Assae. He was saved together with his sister because they were members of the orchestra of the camp. As time went by more and more returned.

What was happening in Thessaloniki with the climate the Germans were cultivating against the Jews was definitely a bad sign. This is why my father decided that we should move to Athens to hide. So we left Thessaloniki on 28th February 1942 just before the imposition of the Nazi measures on 15th March. The fact that we managed to escape was exceptional luck.

At that time it was very difficult to find a house to rent in Athens. But after searching we found a place, rented it and went there to hide. We had a Christian landlord and when the Germans started searching the house for Jews we left this house and returned when the situation had calmed down.

When we returned we found living in our house some women who had good relationships with the Germans. They had occupied our house and they were living in it. After the war we took the matter to court and we got half of the house. Later those women collaborated with the English. What can you say? Those women were going where the wind was blowing. Women with a very elastic morality. I remember they used to invite me to the parties they were organizing.

They kept another house in Halandri, on the outskirts of Athens. Things were different than they are nowadays: at that time all those who owned a house away from the center of Athens wanted to find one closer to the center.

Anyway, for some time we stayed together with those women, we lived under the same roof but we divided the house. Then, with the court decision we practically managed to send them away. This house is on Kefallinias Street near Amerikis Square. Later we bought the house from its owner and now my brother lives there.

When we were in Athens we met a woman called Teresa, maybe she was German- Jewish, and I remember she had an affair with someone from the police force, someone very high in the hierarchy. We used to invite her to our houses and everyone was flirting with her. She had provided us with false identity cards. She was quite mature in age but she had done something like a face lifting in order to look younger. The results were very bad though...

In Athens we had been provided with false identity cards, Greek identity cards. They called me Aggelidou, derived from my real surname, which was Angel. My whole family had similar identity cards. But they were perfectly valid because Teresa had issued them in the police force. But of course we had no card for the food distribution and, you know, in Athens during the war there was a great hunger. Here in Thessaloniki and especially in the periphery things were much better.

I remember my brothers left the house and they were searching for almost two hours to get us something to eat. At the beginning the situation was very difficult. But as time went by things got better. You could find something to eat. We mostly ate legumes. Every noon and every evening a big casserole of legumes. Next day beet roots with garlic sauce, next day black spaghetti, next morning honey from grapes that we bought at the black market. We also bought German bread at the black market.

My mother didn't seem to be upset. When we went to Athens we hid separately in three houses: my big brother in one house, my parents in another and my little brother and I in yet another. And when things got better we moved all together to one house. I must tell you that we were hidden by Christian families, our friends. Initially my youngest brother and I went to Mavraki's place; he was a factory owner. My mom went to a neighbor opposite and my brother and I went to the house of Gavalas, who was my father's friend. He lived in Palaio Faliro. At the time when we were hiding the Germans bombarded Piraeus. But I must say that they respected Athens and didn't throw any bombs. Of course I cannot say the same for Thessaloniki.

When we were hiding in Koukaki in Athens I remember the Germans were chasing the partisans all night. You know, revolutionists. There was resistance in Athens, ELAS 13 partisans were fighting in the streets. People were really afraid of what was going on and they were locked in their houses. So there was great resistance in Athens. But nothing of the kind was happening in Thessaloniki. Locked in our house, we used to hear the gunshots. There were rumors that the liberation was near.

When we were hiding in Athens some people came and blackmailed us. My dad was going out all the time, talking to all the people in Koukaki so that's probably how they learned about us. I remember we had rented a house from a spinster who had an affair with a pensioner. I didn't like his face at all, I have a kind of intuition with people, and I told my mother so. She was very angry and said to me, 'Stop the nonsense.' But I was right. I remember we left from the kitchen in order to avoid those people and went to the terrace and this is how we managed to escape.

I couldn't say that our life in Athens wasn't good. Next to our house there was a theater and every week there was a new play. We used to watch classic plays and once, when we returned home, we learned about those blackmailing us. My father gave them gold pounds but after 15 days they came back. This is why we went to hide in a neighbor's house for a few days. I was watching and I saw no German road block and after this incident we left this house forever and we stayed for a while in the house of my dad's friend. When the blackmailers knocked on the door we had already left our house.

As I have said, we stayed at Farantatou's place and we rented a room in his big house. He owned a big house: the bottom floor belonged to someone else. So we rented a room in Farantatou's place and another from the one who owned the bottom floor. I remember at that time we used to pay the rent by giving them oil, a certain quantity of olive oil.

Thank God we had good friends in Athens who gave us shelter whenever we needed it. They managed to hide us for a whole year. After we left Farantatou's family we went to a place near the French Academy. Our friend Pantelis found a room there for us. This was a friend of my eldest brother. Pantelis also helped a communist and an Italian to hide there. Imagine: a communist, an Italian and some Jews under the same roof! The last place where we lived in Athens was also near the French Academy. Rose Milliex lived on the top floor; I remember he was married to a Greek woman called Tatiana Milliex. We stayed there until the liberation. So we changed four houses within a year.

We heard rumors about what was happening to our friends and relatives in Thessaloniki. We knew that the Germans were cutting them off in ghettos and they were soon deporting them. We didn't know exactly what was going on but surely we didn't like the behavior of the Germans. Exactly because we felt that things were bad, we hid in Athens. As for the Athenian Jews: they had to register at the synagogue every week. And one fine day they caught them and sent them to the camps. Our people were really surprised because they hoped that they would enjoy a different treatment, and nothing would happen to them. But we were afraid and this is why we were hiding.

Our relatives from Thessaloniki were telling us about all the horrible things happening there. When they returned from the camps, I mean after the war was over, at the beginning no one believed them. Everyone was saying, 'What stupid stories are you making up?' And really, how could anyone believe their stories? Anyway...

I continued to play the piano but the one we had in Athens was in a bad state because at some point it caught fire and we poured water on it. The one I have now in my house is a 'Gavo.' This one is really old. We sold the one we had in Athens and we bought this one. It's a fine piano, a very nice piece. I bought it from a friend who inherited it but she didn't need it. This is much better than the one I had before.

Back in Thessaloniki we still owned a factory and our Christian partners were sending us products to Athens. Those that went to Athens never came back because that city offered better prospects. My family never wanted to return to Thessaloniki. After what had happened... But my lucky star brought me back. I didn't want to set foot here again but sometimes things in life come quite unexpectedly... At the beginning I was very unhappy. I cannot say that I don't love Thessaloniki but I never wanted to return here.

During the war I remember every Monday there was a concert of classical music at the theater of Irodis Attikos. I was also attending lectures on art and speeches by Papanoutsos. Since it was forbidden to walk at night we were partying all night and in the morning my friends and I were going for excursions.

In Athens every Monday we were going to the theater and we also attend concerts of classical music. I remember we were sitting at the rocks of the theater listening to this music. I must tell you that even though it was a difficult period, the period of the German Occupation, the theater was nevertheless full of people. It was a time when we had so many interesting things to do. And watching theater performances was certainly among our priorities. I remember Rena Vlachopoulou, now known as an actress and a comedian, who was a singer back then. She used to sing a song that goes: 'The flower you have in your hair.' I also remember Oikonomides who was always performing the role of a civil servant.

The most famous theater in Athens was 'Kotopouli' in Omonoia Square. When I first moved to Athens musicals were the most popular kind. I remember a musical with the famous Nana Skiada, which was really a success. And the song she sang was: 'Salt and Pepper.' This was also was a great success, or so I was told, because I didn't manage to watch it myself.

The parea in Athens was really big and the leading figures were two doctors. We were 19 and they were 25 years old and they wanted to hold Bakalorea so they could be able to go to France and go on with their studies. They were the organizers of our little group. It was very nice. We were organizing lectures and every Sunday we went on excursions. We were visiting many places on the outskirts of Athens but we avoided the seaside because were afraid of the German bombing. You know the Germans had already bombed the harbor of Piraeus. We were really making fun of the whole situation although it was very scary indeed.

We used to go to Penteli in some small buses called 'gazozen' that were using wood instead of gas as a fuel. Cars were very rare at that time. And we put our suitcases on the top. These buses were more like mini buses and we liked sitting on the top of them instead of sitting down in our seats. If I remember correctly, we rented them. We had the permission of our parents. Especially my mother was a very open-minded person. She said to me, 'You are responsible for yourself,' and she let me go out wherever I wanted. But my mother had brought us up with very strict principles, almost puritanical...

The leaders of this friends' club we had organized belonged to the left wing. One of them was called Giorgos Kelaiditis and he was writing for a newspaper. He came from a very rich and educated family from Constantinople. The other guy was called Giannis Ioannou. The discussions we had were not political but of an artistic nature. Twice a week Kelaiditis used to invite home people of all kinds and he used to lecture us. Most of them, as I have said, belonged to the left wing, and they where trying to pass the exams of Bakalorea in Athens, and the majority were Thessaloniki Jews. But of course Greeks joined our club as well. The Goulandris family and other Greek tycoons were also joining these French classes, i.e. those who spoke French. By then the pogrom had not yet started, that's why we still had our own identity cards and everyone knew that we were Jewish.

I remember when the Germans came and the issue was raised Kelaiditis, who was organized in the resistance and was a doctor said, 'Whoever needs to hide I am going to help.' And he did. He helped many people, for example he put some girls in hospitals, pretending they were nurses. I never went to him for help. My parents had taken care of everything and had found a shelter to hide. All the members of my family had new identity cards issued; I really don't know how but I do know that these identities were valid. The only thing we missed was a coupon for food but we could find something to eat at the black market anyway.

Of course my father had stopped working at that time and closed down the shop he owned in Athens. But we still had this shop in Thessaloniki, together with our Christian partners who were working during the war. Yet we had no contact with them during the years 1943-1944.

We had taken with us to Athens all our savings, in Greek money that was constantly devalued. So we started changing it into pounds that we used at the black market and this is how we managed to survive. But we soon ran out of money. In the end the money was so much devalued that one English pound equaled 1,000,000 drachmas and the next day 2,000,000 drachmas. I think the pounds were changed at the black market but honestly I don't know for sure. You know these were not stories shared with little kids. Our parents kept all the sad things that were happening to themselves...

So when the war was over we were in Athens hiding in a place in Sina, Arahovis and Akadimias Streets, this was the last house we were hiding in. We wanted to get back home but almost immediately after the [Great] War the [Greek] Civil War started. We were living in the center were the English were, opposite the Anglican Church. I remember the English were hiding in their church and from there they bombarded the Elasites, the guerillas of the left. Every day it was possible to walk freely only for two hours and then you had to hide at your home because the streets were turning into battlegrounds.

Whenever the battles ended people used to get out of their houses in order to find something to eat. And it was so difficult to find something to eat! Everything was so expensive, we couldn't afford it! We bought the necessary things at the black market near Kolonaki by exchanging goods for olive oil. Olive oil was so expensive you needed several pounds to buy just one liter. Well we bought anything that was available on the market. At that time you really had no choice. Some people even lacked fuel to cook. I remember we used to take our food to the French Academia and we cooked it there. Things were really difficult.

I remember once a truck full of dead people was passing by. And the only thing we could do was to pull the curtains... This entire situation lasted two or three months. The English were at the center of Athens and the guerillas were all around.

My father said nothing about the situation and his only comment was, 'We have to be brave.' He was a very optimistic person. He used to say, 'The war is going to be over soon. In one month we will be free.' And we replied, 'Dad you keep telling us the same thing over and over again.'

Well the most tragic of all was the fact that from one war we went right into another. The Elasites were armed and they got this opportunity. They wanted to take over Greece. But there was an agreement that they should have kept. I remember the day of the liberation. I mean when the Germans left. We rushed out into the streets and we were enjoying the taste of freedom but soon after that the Elasites were walking in the streets singing: 'EAM 14, ELAS' and those that liked the monarchy were singing: 'The King is coming.' Gradually the guerillas became more and more aggressive. In the end only the guerillas were walking freely on the streets and the Civil War started. We could feel this tension: the guerillas of the left on one side and the warriors of the right on the other.

When we were hiding during the Civil War the guerillas were looting store- houses. But I must tell you we felt like paralyzed during the Civil War because we didn't know what was going to happen. In Thessaloniki communists were in charge of the city. In Athens things were different; we managed to get rid of them. When the Civil War ended the communists left Athens but in Thessaloniki things were different. There was still this feeling of uncertainty. All that time, even after I got married and returned to Thessaloniki in 1950-51, we still felt this danger that the Russians would come and take over Greece, and it would eventually become a communist country. This rumor was in the air for many years. Even when I got married in 1949. We were afraid that the Russians would take over Greece. We had the feeling that this could happen anytime. This was the climate of the Cold War. And the guerillas of EAM had taken over Thessaloniki. My mother's sisters were so much affected by this political uncertainty that they decided to leave Thessaloniki and immigrate to Mexico. They were already married to two brothers and they all went to Mexico.

My cousin Zermen Koen introduced me to my future husband in 1948. We were only dating for a short while. We used to discuss everything to see if our ideas matched. I was trying to understand his personality, but I must say that he was an honest man brought up with morals. I had heard about Albertos that he was honest and very capable. My mother's sister had married someone from his family so I got to know about him. And I remember my aunt saying, 'He is the most capable, clever and nice in this family.'

At that time we were going through a kind of brainwashing: 'You have to get married.' This was a common mentality at the time; I mean to get married at a certain age. I think that Albertos wasn't really thinking about getting married but his mother kept saying to him, 'What is going to happen? You have to get married; I cannot take care of you anymore.' It was a kind of brainwashing. My husband had some friends before getting married, Jewish and Christian friends, like Giorgos Slavis, Sam Saltiel, and others that had promised each other never to get married. And one fine day they found out that Albertos was engaged. He was the first among the parea to get engaged and all the others followed into his footsteps. I remember when we met, the first night we went to 'Bouki,' a nice tavern near the new sea- side. We used to walk together a lot then.

Our parents forced us to get committed but we kept telling them, 'We have a nice time together. We'll see.' But they insisted that we should get engaged. At that time, especially with arranged love affairs, after a short time you had to say whether you wanted to go on or not. So after all this pressure we finally got engaged and I went to Athens to get ready for the wedding. The wedding took place in Thessaloniki a few months later, on 6th March 1949.

The engagement took place at my mother-in-law's house, and that day the house was full of flowers and relatives and friends were coming to visit us all day. This was the custom. We treated them to almond sweets and sweets called 'bezedes.' Our dowry - sheets, night dresses - were all over the house because they had to be shown publicly.

So we got married on a Sunday, on 6th March 1949, in the big Synagogue 15 on Suggrou Street and the same day my daughter's future mother-in-law got married. A lot of marriages were happening then. I mean after the liberation, a lot of group marriages 16 took place. Another couple was to get married immediately after us. The son they gave birth to was to be called Hassid; he later became the future husband of my daughter. I remember the couple had complained because he had booked the synagogue first and they said, 'You got all the flowers.' Well the future mother-in- law of my daughter was a difficult woman. At that time one marriage followed the other.

All the family got together after the ceremony. The very same day it snowed in Athens so we didn't manage to get there as we had planned.

I had my wedding dress made at a dressmaker's in Athens. She made me very nice dresses; she was haute couture. Her name was Elli Perigiali and she was married to Notis Perigialis, an actor always playing the nice, naïve person. He played in the film 'Lola,' I think he acted in all the films of the time. So Elli made all my dresses and I must tell you she was really good at it. I took her with me when I went to Athens and she stayed with us for fifteen days. I wanted her to make a suit for me but she didn't have the time. For the wedding she made also nightdresses and robes for me.

I remember I kept my wedding dress several years after my marriage but then I altered it to an ordinary dress. I remember I had the color at the bottom changed. Underneath the wedding dress there was a material to lift the hips because I was really thin at that time. But I had a fantastic silhouette.

I remember Elli and I used to alter my brother's suits so that I could wear them. We didn't throw out anything. At that time we used to wear trousers and short pants only when we went on excursions. And in Athens we were playing tennis and we used to wear shorts. I remember I had made one after a pattern from a French magazine. I used to make many things myself and I kept these shorts for many years. They were made from a good thick fabric.

At the beginning Elli knew nothing about our Jewish identity. Then she found out and we became very close friends. She was a very nice person; that's why she was so popular. She had a very good taste and she knew how to make beautiful dresses. When I first met her she was very young and she was paid for a day's work. Then she fell in love with Notis, who was also a violin player and a poet. But her mother was against this marriage and rejected him. Elli was so angry that she left her father's home and went to live with Notis. Her house was in Nea Smirni. At that time she was a pioneer, an economically independent woman.

As I told you Elli became a very good friend of mine. Whenever I gave a party she was always invited. But my mom thought that it wasn't proper to have a friendship with someone who works for you. I guess we had more democratic feelings than my mother had. After I went to live in Thessaloniki we kept in contact. I also introduced her to my dressmaker here and they started working together. After the war Aggeliki, my dressmaker in Thessaloniki, and Mattoula, her sister, transformed their apartment on Vassileos Georgiou Street into a fashion house. Aggeliki was talented and self-trained. Her daughter was later married to someone called Siapikas, who was a doctor. Another famous dressmaker was Kiouka. These were the most famous in Thessaloniki.

As I've mentioned before, after the wedding we went to my mother-in-law's house to celebrate. All the family gathered there, we had dinner together and later we left to sleep in a hotel that night. We had planned to go to Athens for our honeymoon but the weather on 6th March that year was so bad. It was snowing so the airplanes couldn't fly that day. So we stayed at the hotel 'Pallas' during our first night and the next morning we managed to get a plane and fly to Athens. Times were difficult then and you had no options really. So we went to Athens and we stayed there for eight days. We celebrated our marriage in Athens as well. All the family came to visit us.

During the first years of our marriage we stayed at my mother-in-law's house. Then, after some years, we exchanged it for an apartment. This house was like the old houses: semi-basement, first and second floor. It was a beautiful house with a big corridor leading to the rooms. This house had a garden as well with flowers and many trees. I must tell you that the Jews didn't give a house as a dowry to married girls. I think this was bad. The father gave her some gold pounds to start, and actually he gave them directly to the groom. Then the groom used them for his business. This was a tradition. I believe people at that time were more honest. If your marriage was arranged you had all the information you needed about the qualities of the groom. Especially if he was working in the market place. This way marriages were safer in a sense.

During the first years after our wedding we lived all together: I mean Albertos and I together with his brother's family and his mother. And we stayed at my mother-in-law's house since we didn't have enough money to live alone. I remember my husband's brother had said, 'I will pay the rent, go and find a place for the two of you,' but my husband didn't accept his offer. Anyway this house was quite big and one room was where my husband's brother, his wife and his child lived, while Albertos and I lived in another room. Of course my mother-in-law had a room for herself. We lived all together for four years. Certainly we didn't have the money to live on our own so we decided to live all together and share the expenses.

The rest of the house didn't belong to us because other people lived there. You know after the war you couldn't send away those people who had found shelter in your own house. This was a very traumatic experience: having a house but not being in a position to use it exclusively for your family. This was called 'enoikiostasio' and was a common practice after the war. And those people were living in our house without paying any rent to us and still we couldn't kick them out. In some cases they were paying a ridiculous amount of money. This was going on for many years after the war and the house prices had fallen because at that time no one bought a house since there was no money.

In that house my mother-in-law cooked and we had two maid-servants. At that time you couldn't manage all the housework, it was really heavy. I remember there was no electricity and we had to use coals. Of course in our case there were so many people and therefore there was so much housework to be done. In the meanwhile my sister-in-law, who already had a boy, delivered twins, so she had three children to look after. After two years of living together I got pregnant so things were getting more and more difficult.

Here in Thessaloniki everything started from zero. At that time my husband had his own fibre store on Syggrou Street and he really started from scratch. I insisted that he opened a store in Athens but he was not ready yet. But we kept visiting Athens quite often since all my relatives were in Athens. At the beginning of every week he used to buy a specific quantity of fibres, sold it and then he paid for it at the end of every week. There was no cash available at that time. Everyone had run out of money. But my husband had a good reputation so the factory that produced the fibres gave him large quantities for which he could pay later.

These years were very difficult because the occupation had destroyed economically almost everyone. But my husband had a good name and sooner or later he was paying back for everything he bought. This was a time when all the cities and villages in the province were buying fibres. All the houses in the periphery had a loom to make carpets and the entire dowry at home. So my husband was like a merchant who bought the fibres from the factories and sold them to little local stores in the periphery. Whenever my son meets owners of local stores in the periphery these days, they recall my husband's name. Because of my husband they were able to educate their children. We were so famous. At that time local stores used to sell almost everything: from food to fibres. And women bought all the necessary things in order to make their dowry by themselves.

He paid all the taxes and they kept books and records for all the clients. After the war I was helping my husband with all these price-lists and with the book of incomes and expenses, he also kept a receipt note-pad, you know, the one with the blue carbon paper. I remember that even my father paid his taxes and he had some employees, women, working as accountants. But I used to help my husband with his business affairs. Things were quite different those days because information was not stored in computers the way things work now. We kept double records for everything, we classified them each for every client and tax collectors were coming to check if everything was in order every three months. I was helping because my husband was trying to cut down expenses and save money. We also had an accountant, who was working with us for two hours every day, but the truth is that we were responsible for everything ourselves.

The factory that was providing us with 'nimata' was in Naoussa, most such factories were based in that city. My husband had a close cooperation with all the owners of those factories - to the extent that we almost felt like citizens of that city. I mean we used to go to Naoussa very often and my husband had very good relationships with the owners of those factories. My family and I used to visit Naoussa quite often. During the first years my husband had a cooperation with someone and then with Lanaras who was the owner of 'Klostiria Naoussis.' We were very close with Grigoris Lanaras until quite recently but he then moved to Switzerland. At first Lanaras and my husband were partners but as the years went by my husband became almost a representative.

In our store we had a lot of employees, especially because we needed people to pack the stock. So after we packed everything, we sent it to the periphery. I still remember the names of those who worked for us: Vassilis, Toula and Maria. They were good, hard-working employees that worked for years for us. After some years all the fibre-sellers made an agreement to join forces instead of being competitors: Hristidis, my husband's brother, Tsoukalas and my husband thus created the union 'Nimateboriki AE.'

Their union worked well until Lanaras was shut down because women in the periphery stopped working with looms. Lanaras was shut down and after a while we had to shut down our business as well. It was inevitable, we had grown older. Our store was situated near Vassileos Irakleiou Street, I think the name of the street was Leontos Sofou.

After the war there was nothing. There was not an organized Community in the sense that there is one today and no one kept kosher. Before the war many butcher's shops were selling kosher meat and the Christians used to buy this kind of meat, too. Those days there were no vets ensuring the healthiness of the slaughtering method, so kosher meat was thought to be healthier. After the war the only one I remember was some Jewish guy, who used to sell chicken on Vassileos Irakleiou Street. There was a Jewish butcher but he wasn't selling kosher meat. Daniel used to sell 'uevos haminados' on Komninon Street; I think he still does.

I remember before getting married, and before I got pregnant and delivered my daughter at the end of 1951, I used to see other pregnant women and I said to myself: 'These women are going to give birth in a very uncertain world.' I was afraid that we might find ourselves caught in a very difficult situation. Then I got pregnant myself and from the very first minute I had realized it I cared about nothing. Maybe it is due to women's hormones but I really didn't care about a thing. This is something that is well discussed in the literature. The Chinese have a proverb saying: 'I have happiness in me.' Since I got pregnant nothing mattered to me, nothing at all.

I delivered my first child at the Anagnostakis private hospital. You know those days there were many marriages and women used to have many children. I didn't get pregnant immediately after I had got married, but after one year had passed. The first time I was pregnant no one knew it and then, one day, I helped my sister-in-law - who was also pregnant - with the laundry. It seems that I got really tired and I had a miscarriage. After one year I gave birth to my daughter. Until she was one-and-a-half years old we stayed all together at my mother-in-law's.

Then we paid the guy who lived on the last floor of our building on Komninon Street. It was a roof apartment with a corridor, a room, and a kitchen, and you needed to climb ninety steps in order to get up there. So we gave this guy many gold pounds to make him leave our house because we needed our own place. The situation at my mother-in-law's home was very difficult indeed: three families living under the same roof. And so we moved to this small apartment on Komninon Street. In any case this was very near our store so in ten minutes my husband could get there.

My second child was born near Agia Sofia church, in the Tandanasi private hospital and my doctor was called Tsaoussopoulos. I remember those days some doctors were more 'in fashion' than others and mine, I mean both of them were professors at the university and very good doctors.

After some time we moved to the second floor of the same building on Komninon Street. I remember there was still this post-war law about those renting someone else's property so we had to give them money if we wanted to get our property back. This apartment on the second floor was a bit bigger. The family of Akis Tsohatzopoulos, the famous politician [born in Thessaloniki in 1939, Minister of Development until 2004], lived next to us. And after some time we moved to the apartment on the first floor, which was even bigger. This one had three rooms instead of two.

My daughter attended the Valagiannis school and then the 'Koraes' until the first classes of elementary school and then she attended the American College of Thessaloniki. My son went to this college from the beginning. You know many Jews used to go to this college. After many years, when my son entered university, he was very thrilled and told me, 'Mom, I think I met real people just now.' Children of the nouveau rich families who attend private schools are 'spoiled' and 'rotten.' The nouveau rich families are the worst families. We grew up very differently: my father had a lot of money but still we used to alter our old clothes, we kept everything and never threw anything away.

My daughter met her first husband at university; she had an unfortunate marriage, she got divorced and then she left for Israel. We couldn't do anything to stop her, since it was her decision. So she moved to Israel for a while where she met her second husband and she got married there for the second time. They had a boy together and then she got divorced for the second time.

As I've mentioned before, my daughter attended the Valagiannis school for some years. I think she had very nasty classmates there because they shouted at her, 'You Jews crucified Jesus Christ.' There was another Jewish girl in the same class as my daughter but for some reason she used to hide her identity. No one knew that she was Jewish and she was on the same side as the Christian girls. She was also responsible for all these scenes. I think in the end my daughter left for Israel because she couldn't cope with the 'guilt syndrome' she went through. That's why I sent her to 'Koraes' here many Jewish girls used to go and there was no fear of such behavior. But unfortunately these incidents left traumas that cannot be healed. My daughter visits us with her children every summer. When we were younger we used to go to Israel to see her.

When my son was born he was circumcised by the rabbi at home. Afterwards a celebration took place. When he was thirteen he had his bar mitzvah at the synagogue and then we went home where we had invited all our relatives and friends to celebrate.

I raised my children in a quite liberal way. I never said to them, 'Don't leave, don't go abroad.' They've lived where they really wanted; they've lived their lives the way they wanted. My son was away for many years and then after he had spent four years in Iceland he decided to come back to be close to us, to take care of us. I think he returned to Thessaloniki because of me and his father.

He wanted so much to continue his studies that he earned a scholarship and went to America to get his master's degree. After one-and-a-half years in America he came to visit us and I remember him saying to us, 'This country was almost like a prison. I had forgotten how the rest of the world lived.' He had to teach and study at the same time, they took advantage of him. Then he went to Germany for his doctoral studies, where things were much better.

When he returned to Greece he worked for a while at the University of Crete. This is a very good university. There things function the way they function in America. They wanted him to stay and work there but the money was so little. It was almost like working for free. He was lucky because he had kept his relationships with people at the University of Thessaloniki. Now he is working as a researcher of the Aristotle University. But he has also kept his friendships from abroad, so friends from Germany and England come and stay with him quite often. The English are quite reserved but the Germans are very extrovert, just like us. We must not blame them for what their ancestors did to us...

During the first years when my kids were little they couldn't play in the neighborhood as I did. We used to take them to Aristotle Square and we used to sit at the near-by coffee shops in order to watch them. In the neighborhood there were no open spaces for playing as there used to be before the war. I had to be with them all the time. We had a maid who was cooking and my responsibility was to watch my kids. I didn't trust her [with the kids].

I remember when the kids grew up and became teenagers we used to go on organized excursions. But when they were little my husband was working very hard and he had no time off. We went to many places; we even visited London by bus. We met other people on the bus and we became friends. These trips were really nice. During the first years of my marriage my husband and I went alone but when our son and daughter grew up we took them with us. Once, when my daughter was almost sixteen, we visited the Island of Rhodes and we also took my mother and my mother-in-law with us. We used to go to the beach from July until the end of August. I liked swimming very much, so when my kids were at school I used to go to Peraia for a quick swim and then I came back.

I used to go to Athens every year. I used to stay there for about a month together with my children. I wanted to visit my mother, who was a widow by then but used to come and visit us here in Thessaloniki. After Rhodes we visited England and on our way there we had the chance to visit many places. We spent four days in London. Then we visited Paris and Geneva. This was a long trip and we got very tired. On another trip we visited Vienna. When my kids were little we had some friends and we used to go to the Island of Thasos for vacations: only women; our husbands came to see us during the weekends. I used to have tea with my friends. We all stayed in a nice old hotel called 'Amfipolis.'

Here in Thessaloniki I used to visit the coffee shop 'Totis' with my friends. We were going there until very recently. We kept this tradition for almost thirty years. I remember, the well-known photographer of Thessaloniki, Takis was his name, had his studio next to the coffee shop. He took pictures of us all the time. I still have friends who come to our meetings. Their names are: Rita Iliopoulou, Florence Hristofilidou, Koula Georgiadou, Nitsa Oikonomou. We used to go two or three times a week for a couple of hours, in the morning.

Every Thursday Lilika Papadimitriou, Silas Papadimitriou's wife, used to join us. She belonged to the left wing; now she is dead... This was our place. And some still go. I have stopped going. We used to talk about many things. We were psychoanalyzing each other. We were such good friends! You know good discussions are much better than any kind of psychotherapy. I had a friend, Mrs. Eksakoustou Eleni, who lived close to me. We used to go to the meetings together but now we have both stopped. Almost a year ago.

We used to spent time with someone called Hristofilidou, she was a doctor's wife. Our daughters were of the same age so we were very close for many years. We went for walks every Sunday and she used to take her father-in- law and I took my mother-in-law along. Sometimes I invited my cousin and she also invited her mother. A lot of people! It was so funny. And every Sunday we had dinner together. During Christmas we went to all the clubs.

At home we used to gather to play cards. Rena Molho's mother used to join us; she was somehow a relative because one of my cousins was married to one of her cousins. So we were relatives but also friends. And Hristofilidis and his wife were also invited to play cards with us.

The political events during the dictatorship didn't affect us. We were not affected and anyway I have the opinion that we couldn't have done anything... I personally never got involved with politics.

Until last year I used to have coffee with my friends and I was going everywhere on my bicycle, I used to go shopping this way. I even went to Peraia. I stopped riding the bicycle three years ago. Until last year I was able to swim. I could have done the same this year but it was a pretty unstable summer. In the old days I had a lot of friends. As time went by most of our friends died so ...

As middle-aged people, I mean when my son and daughter were old enough, we used to go with 'Golden Age' on trips organized by the Community. The Community also organized for us nights with food, music and dance so that we'd have a good time. We thought that it was our duty to join all these activities since the Community really cared about us. We also went to the events organized by the 'Hellas-Israel' association, to lectures, to everything that was organized by the Community. It has been almost two years that we have stopped going.

We used to go the synagogue only for Kippur and to the weddings that were taking place. We avoided going to the synagogue because we don't understand any Hebrew. I remember my mother forced us to learn Hebrew but we had a bad teacher and no one learned it. My mother paid Zahariadis to hire a Hebrew teacher exclusively for us. Since then I tried to learn this language many times but I failed. If you are not in Israel, it is difficult to learn Hebrew. Only my daughter speaks it.

We played bridge. We had a neighbor, he was Armenian, his name was Atzecan. After my daughter left for Israel I rented her apartment to him and he played bridge with us. I knew him for many years. So we played all together: me, my husband, my neighbor and one more couple. It is difficult to find people playing bridge because most card-players like 'biriba.' At first Rena's mother and I used to play cun-can but when I started playing bridge I forgot all other games.

Now that I am an old woman I think I am very choosy and I cannot read trash, it has to be a serious article. My life has changed completely during the last two years. Imagine that two years ago I used to ride to the seaside of Thessaloniki with my bicycle and now I just go for a short walk near my house, just to stretch my legs. I got sick and I became what I always hated: dependent on others.

I never managed to go to university although I wanted that desperately. The war started when I was sixteen so all the schools had to shut down. Then I attended the French school, the Lycee, but this one was not authorized by the Greek state. Three times I tried to finish the gymnasium and every time I was pretty unlucky not to do so. My father didn't let me continue school in Athens because he was afraid that the Germans might find us. I would have liked to become an architect or a decorator...

Glossary

Masha Zakh
Tallinn
Estonia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: March 2006

I conducted this interview with Masha Zakh in the Jewish community in Tallinn 1. Masha was willing to tell me about her family and her life story, though she warned me there was hardly anything quite thrilling there was to hear about whatever events in her life, but still she wanted this interview to be in the memory of her deceased father, of whom she has dim memories, and the family of her husband, who had passed away before time. Life did not pamper Masha, but she has never given up or lost her sense of humor. Masha is a plump lady of average height. One can tell she was quite pretty, when she was young. Her gray wavy hair is cut short. Masha is sociable and friendly. She lives with her daughter's family. Her mother-in- law helped her to raise her daughter at her time, and now Masha is raising her grandson.

My paternal grandfather and grandmother came from Tallinn. My grandfather's name was Meishe Stumer and my grandmother was Hane-Rokhe. I don't know when they were born. I don't know what my grandfather did for a living. My grandmother was a housewife like all married Jewish women at the time. They had three children. My father, Solomon Stuper, was the oldest. He was born in 1905. My father's brother Zemakh was born in 1907, and his sister Bertha was born in 1909. As far as I know from what my mother told me, my father's parents were quite wealthy. My father studied in a general education Jewish school. His brother Zemakh and his sister Bertha studied in a Jewish gymnasium in Tallinn 2.

My father's family spoke Yiddish at home. All of them could speak fluent Estonian and Russian. Estonia belonged to the Russian Empire at the time. Russian was the official language, but all residents in Estonia spoke Estonian in everyday life. Russian was common in the areas near the Russian border. In Tallinn most residents spoke Estonian and German.

My father's parents were religious. They observed all Jewish traditions celebrating Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. They went to the synagogue on holidays and celebrated Sabbath at home. My grandmother followed the kashrut. It goes without saying that she had special Pesach crockery. She kept it in a specific cupboard, and the family used it once a year on Pesach. As for everyday use, we had two sets of crockery: for meat and dairy products each. There were kosher stores and a shochet, a kosher slaughterer, in Tallinn. There was also a large choral synagogue 3. Doctor Aba Gomer 4 was the rabbi. Daddy told me he was an intelligent, kind and educated man. Gurevich was a chazzan in the synagogue. People arrived from remote areas to listen to his singing.

There was a large Jewish community in Tallinn. Estonians had a good attitude towards Jews. There were Jewish pogroms all across Russia during the tsarist rule, but they never happened in Estonia. After the war of liberation 5, when Estonia gained independence and became an Estonian Republic 6, the attitude of Estonians grew worse. Jews had equal rights with Estonian citizens, except that they were not entitled to having officers' ranks in the army. However, they could choose any career or trade. There was no Jewish quota of admission to universities 7, which was applicable everywhere else in the Russian Empire, including Latvia and Lithuania. Young Jewish people from all over Russia studied at Tartu University. In 1926 cultural autonomy 8 was granted to Jews in Estonia. This strengthened the Jewish community in Estonia.

My mother's family lived in Põlsamaa [about 250 km east of Tallinn], a small town in Estonia. My mother's father was born in Estonia, though I don't know the town he was born in. His name was Meishe-Ele Zitron. My grandmother Rachel Zitron, nee Eizmann, was born in Põlsamaa in June 1886. My grandfather was my grandmother's second husband. Her first husband, Mr. Strazh, died shortly after they were married and they had no children. This is all I know about my grandmother's first marriage.

My grandmother had five sisters: Anna, Reize, Rebecca, Fanny and Bertha. Anna, whose family name was Feitelson, moved to Saint Petersburg with her husband. After the revolution of 1917 9 the Soviet rule was established in Russia, and there was no way for them to move back to Estonia. Anna came to Tallinn after the war. Her husband and son died during the siege of Leningrad 10, but Anna survived. She never remarried. Grandmother's other sisters lived in Estonia. They gradually moved to Tallinn. Reize's family name was Maizel. She had two sons and two daughters. Rebecca, whose family name was Danzig, had two children: son Abram and daughter Dina. Fanny had a son. Bertha married Iekusiel Naimark, a Polish Jew. He moved to Estonia from Kodin, a town in the vicinity of Warsaw. She had five children: daughters Zelda, Miriam, Roche and Alte-Dina, and son Zelek-Mikhl. All of my grandmother's sisters were housewives.

My grandfather earned his living, and my grandmother took care of the household. They had two children. My mother Dina - her Jewish name Alte- Dina - was the older one. She was born in Põlsamaa on 31st December 1912. My mother's younger brother, whose name I don't know, was born in 1916. He died in a hospital in 1940. He was still very young. This is all I can tell about him. As far as I know there was just this one brother. My mother finished an elementary Jewish general education school. Her mother tongue was Yiddish. My mother's parents were religious. They observed Jewish traditions, celebrated Jewish holidays at home and went to the synagogue on holidays.

My grandfather died, when my mother was still a child. My grandmother, who had to take care of her two children, decided to leave Põlsamaa for Tallinn to be closer to her sisters. In Tallinn she rented an apartment from a building owner. My mother had to go to work, when she was still very young. She had to earn her living. Mama had no vocational training. She was employed as a worker at the socks and stockings shop, Punane Kojt haberdashery factory.

My father became a shoe leather supplier. He cut out shoe top leather delivering it to shoe makers. My father lived with my grandmother and his brother Zemakh. My father's younger sister Bertha married Efraim Goldman, and they lived by themselves. The families of my parents happened to rent an apartment in the same apartment building. My parents just met on the staircase in their building. My father told his family that he would only marry Dina Zitron, if he were to get married at all. So it happened. My parents got married in October 1935. They had a traditional Jewish wedding. After the wedding they rented a large two-room apartment with a spacious kitchen in the same apartment building. My father's sister Bertha and her husband also lived in this same building. In 1936 her daughter Fruma was born.

I was born in 1936. I was given the name of Masha after both my grandfathers. Both of them had the name of Meishe, and my name also started with M. After I was born, Mama had a maternity leave to take care of me, and when it was over, she resumed her work at the Punane Kojt factory. My mother liked going to work and communicating with people. She actually didn't have to go work. My father earned quite sufficient, but my mother wanted to be independent. Both grandmothers were helping to raise me.

We talked Yiddish at home. I pronounced my first words in Yiddish. I picked up Estonian later and since 1940 I've spoken Russian.

I can't say my parents were deeply religious, but they did observe Jewish traditions. We always celebrated Jewish holidays at home. On Pesach Mama always cooked traditional Jewish food. We celebrated all holidays according to the rules. On holidays my parents went to the synagogue. I cannot remember celebrating Sabbath at home, but my parents didn't go to the synagogue on this day. The older generation was obviously much more religious than their children. This was what they needed, while for their children this was merely a tribute to traditions.

In 1940 Estonia became a Soviet Republic 11. Nothing seemed to change for our family. We had no wealthy relatives, and our family was not persecuted. My father went to work as a shoe leather cutter at a shoe factory, and my mother continued working at the Punane Kojt factory. She was well-respected at work. I don't think there was any anti-Semitism before the war even during the Soviet rule in Estonia. At least, this is what my mother used to say.

On 22nd June 1941 the radio broadcast that Germany had attacked the Soviet Union. The war began 12. This happened at noon, and the war was already on-going in Belarus. They were bombing Kiev. A few days later my father was conscripted to the Soviet army 13. His brother Zemakh and Aunt Bertha's husband Efraim were drafted, too. We were still in Tallinn. We were scared. I remember everybody arguing about whether it was worth leaving Estonia for some remote areas in Russia. Both my grandmothers were saying that nothing bad was going to happen if we stayed at home. Estonians had always had good relationships with their German neighbors. However, my mother must have known more about fascism than my grandmother. She insisted that we went away. My mother was a resolute woman. She managed to convince the family to leave.

My mother, my grandmother Rachel and I packed whatever we thought we needed and went to the railway station. There were trains all over the tracks. As soon as a train was full of passengers, it departed. We managed to somehow squeeze into a train before it departed. My father's sister Bertha, her daughter Fruma and Grandmother Hane-Rokhe Stumer caught the next train. We didn't even know where we were going. What mattered was that we went as far away from the German army and the front line as possible. There were bombings on the way, but fortunately, our train wasn't damaged. This was a long trip. We arrived at Nizhniy Yar where Mama obtained a letter of assignment to Dolmatov, Kurgan region in Russia [about 1600 km north-east of Moscow]. This was where we spent our years in the evacuation. We lived in a house on Sovietskaya Street.

We rented a room. Initially there were six of us sharing this room: my father's sister Bertha, her daughter and Grandmother Hane-Rokhe joined us there. Mama and Bertha went to work. They had to work to be provided food cards 14. My cousin, my grandmothers and I received dependants' cards for 200 g bread ration per day each. The bread was heavy and under-baked. It also contained bran and straw. Our daily rate was one slice per day, while Mama and Bertha's rate was larger. They shared their bread with their children.

Our life in town was more difficult than in villages where they could grow vegetables on the land plots that were provided to them. Those, who lived in town, could only buy vegetables at a market or trade food for whatever valuables, but we still had insufficient food products. My cousin and I picked nettle in spring and summer, and my grandmother made soup with it. We were very poor and starved. It was a good thing that we managed to survive. Our landlords and even strangers were giving us assistance. This was a terrible time, but people were kinder trying to support the needy ones.

When we arrived in Russia, we couldn't speak any Russian. I knew few words and before long I picked up more Russian playing with our landlady's children. Gradually, everybody else learned it. My grandmother took me to the market with her. I helped her with interpreting before my grandmother picked up a sufficient vocabulary to be able to speak the language. Mama and Bertha learned from their Russian co-workers. In the evening we all listened to the news on the radio.

A year later Bertha found new accommodation in another street in the same neighborhood where she moved together with Fruma and Grandmother Hane- Rokhe. In late 1941 my mother was notified that my father was dead, and Bertha also received a notification about her husband Efraim's death. Both of them served on a Soviet battleship, which sank near the Hanko Peninsula, Finland. Mama didn't mention to me that my father had died. I heard about this after we returned home from the evacuation.

In 1943 my cousin Fruma and I went to the 1st grade in the local Russian school. Studying was a challenge for me. Perhaps, this was because Russian wasn't our native language. I don't know why, but I often received low grades for my efforts. My classmates and teachers treated me and other evacuated children well. They were sympathetic and helpful. I felt no stranger among my classmates. There was no anti-Semitism either.

In November 1944 we heard that Estonia had been liberated from the fascists. My mother, my grandmother and I were the first to leave for home. Aunt Bertha, Fruma and Grandmother arrived in Tallinn a couple of months later. We had no problems with going back home. We were forced to leave our home and had the right to go back to our hometown. Our house was ruined by bombing. We stayed with our acquaintances. My mother went to the executive committee 15 where she received a two-room apartment on the 1st floor of a five-story apartment building. Initially it was stove-heated, and a few years later the municipal authorities provided for gas supply to the house.

Life was gradually improving. My mother went to work at the human resources department of a tram/trolleybus agency. I went to the 2nd grade in a Russian school. My grandmother did the housework at home.

In 1947 Mama married a local Jewish man. My stepfather's name was Haim Benjamin Kitt. He was born in Tallinn in 1909. This was his first marriage. He had not been conscripted to the army due to his health condition. He was in evacuation in the Ural with his parents. My stepfather had three sisters and three brothers. They survived the war and returned to Tallinn. My mother and stepfather were members of the Party. They didn't have a traditional Jewish wedding. They registered their marriage in a registry agency and had a wedding dinner at home.

My stepfather moved in with us. My mother and stepfather had their room, and I shared my room with my grandmother. I got along well with my stepfather. I remember being impolite with him one day. He told me to clean the floor and I replied that he wasn't my father to give me orders. However, this was the only time we had an argument. My stepfather was the director of a perfumery store.

We spoke two languages at home. My mother spoke Yiddish to my stepfather and grandmother. My Yiddish was rather poor, and so they spoke Estonian and Russian to me. However, I could understand Yiddish well, but my knowledge was insufficient to speak it.

When my grandmother was alive, we observed Jewish traditions. My grandmother did the cooking and did her best to follow the kosher rules. It was hardly possible to buy kosher meat after the war. It was hard to buy any food at that time. However, if there was meat at home, it was beef, veal or poultry. My grandmother didn't accept pork meat. She watched it that we ate dairy and meat products separately. We didn't even add sour cream to meat soup. We celebrated all Jewish holidays according to the rules.

For some time after the war matzah wasn't available in stores and my grandmother made it herself. I was there to assist her, since matzah has to be rolled during a 15-minute cycle to be appropriate. My grandmother used to roll the dough and I poked holes and put it into the oven. It was hard to cook all traditional Jewish food on holidays during the post-war years, but my grandmother did her best to manage. She made gefilte fish or chicken. She tried to make something delicious for holidays.

My stepfather also celebrated Jewish holidays with us after he moved in with us. On Yom Kippur we fasted as required for 24 hours. Well, my mother or stepfather didn't go to the synagogue, though. They were members of the Party, and if somebody had known they observed Jewish traditions, they would have had problems at work. The Soviet rule didn't appreciate religious people and fought against religion 16.

During the war the large choral synagogue in Tallinn burned down. Germans killed Aba Gomer, the rabbi of Tallinn. They tortured him before taking away his life. The town authorities didn't restore the synagogue after the war. The religious people were provided a small wooden house to accommodate a prayer house therein. There was actually no rabbi in Tallinn before the 2000s. There was no rabbi in the prayer house. There was a gabbai, an old man. He knew Jewish traditions, Hebrew and could read prayers. The gabbai could also conduct the services on Jewish holidays, wedding ceremonies and funerals. However, he had no special education. People just elected a knowledgeable man.

My grandmother always went to the prayer house on Jewish holidays. She was old and I accompanied her as far as the prayer house and met her after the service. I went there a few times with my grandmother, but I didn't know traditions and couldn't understand any prayers in Hebrew.

My grandmother always celebrated Sabbath at home. She cooked food for two days on Friday morning. We bought challot for Sabbath. In due time in the evening my grandmother lit candles and recited a prayer over them. Well, the rest of us, but my grandmother, had to go to work on Saturday. Saturday was a standard working day in the Soviet Union. It wasn't before the 1960s, when it became another weekend day, which was officially a day off. Previously there was a six-day week with only Sunday off. Mama and my stepfather went to work on Saturday and I had classes at school. My grandmother tried to do no work on Saturday. She spent her Saturday reading the Bible [Old Testament].

In 1949 my stepbrother Leo Kitt was born. When my mother and he returned home from the maternity home, he was circumcised. The elders from the prayer house were invited to our home. There was also a doctor to do the circumcision. Though we knew well all those we invited to my little brother's brit milah, the authorities somehow found out that we had this event at home. My mother and stepfather had to go to the militia office for an inquest regarding this subject. They also were questioned by the district party committee. I don't know what they explained at the police and at work, but there were no further consequences. I don't know, perhaps, there was some reprimand imposed on them as party members. However committed the authorities were to combat religion and traditions, most local Jews had their sons and grandsons circumcised. Whatever efforts the authorities undertook, this did not hinder people from observing Jewish traditions. They even had a chuppah at their weddings.

1948 was the time, when cosmopolitan cases 17 were prosecuted in the Soviet Union. This campaign was widely covered in the mass media. Since there were no cosmopolitans in Estonia, they fought wealthier farmers. They were called 'kulaks' 18, a common definition in the Soviet Union. In 1948 and 1949 resettlement 19 of large numbers of these farmers to Siberia was going on. The rest of them were forced to join the kolkhoz farms 20. Also, those resettled on 14th June 1941, and were back from exile, were subject to resettlement again. The police had their records, and they were arrested again and were subject to resettlement to Siberia. Large numbers of people were affected then. The survivors returned to Estonia in the late 1950s, when rehabilitation 21 began, but many had died in exile and the Gulag camps 22.

Of three men from our family that went to the front, only my father's brother Zemakh returned home. He served in the Estonian Corps 23, and took part in the liberation of Estonia from the fascists. Zemakh got married after the war. His wife's name was Anastasia. She was half-Russian and half-Estonian. She was a very nice person. After the war people didn't care much about mixed marriages. They loved each other well and lived in harmony. Their older daughter Ilona was born in 1946, and son Boris in 1950.

After returning from the front Zemakh went to work at the Prosecutor's office in Tallinn. Veterans of the war were well-respected then, and veterans of the Estonian Corps held high-level official posts in Estonia. However, Zemakh had to leave his office, when persecution of Jews in the form of fighting cosmopolitans and the Doctors' Plot 24 began. Actually, he didn't wait there until he might have any problems and left the Prosecutor's office for the Ministry of Road Transport. He worked there until retirement.

Zemakh's son Boris lives in Tallinn, and we keep in touch. Ilona lives in London, England. She visits Tallinn almost on a yearly basis, and we see each other. When she goes back, we talk on the phone sharing our news.

I studied at school until I finished the 8th grade. I had Russian, Estonian and Jewish classmates. There was no different treatment of any of us. I faced no anti-Semitism at school. I think, my Jewish classmates would say the same. Our teachers and classmates treated us well. We choose friends based on our interests. I did all right at school. I wasn't in the ranks of the best students, but I was no failure either.

I was a pioneer 25 and a Komsomol 26 member. I wouldn't say I was eager to join the pioneers or Komsomol. It's just that it was common that all students joined these organizations, and I did, too. However, I didn't care too much about this. I had older and younger classmates. The age difference was three or four years due to the war. My closest friends, Pesia Marienburg and Tsylia Perelman, were Jewish girls. They live in Tallinn now. I keep in touch with them. My other Jewish friend Lilia Malkina lives in Poland. We correspond and talk on the phone. I also had Russian friends. Many of them moved to different towns and countries. We see each other, when they visit Tallinn. We are old now, but when we get together, we feel like schoolgirls again. We recall the time, when we were schoolgirls and spent vacations in summer camps.

In March 1953 Stalin died. We heard that he died at school. We had no classes on this day, and got together in the school conference room. The school principal held a speech, and everybody was crying. I cried, too. I wouldn't say I was grieving that much. I believed it was only natural when old people died. Besides, he was someone I didn't know personally, but tears must be as contagious as laughter. Everybody cried, and I did, too.

I left school after finishing the 8th grade. I believed it was time for me to go to work and support myself and my family. My friends Pesia and Tsylia also quit school. Pesia went to work as a shop assistant at the perfumery store where my stepfather, Benjamin Kitt, was the director. Tsylia went to work at a plant, and I went to work at the knitwear factory. My mother worked at the HR department at the factory. I was a worker in the knitting room. I was a winder machine apprentice. When my training was over, I started working there.

I also went to the 9th grade in the evening school for young working people. However, I quit this school after finishing the 9th grade. It was difficult to attend classes after work. Besides, I was young and wanted to have some free time for myself. Some time later our factory merged with the Marat knitwear factory. They had three-shift work cycle, which was substituted by a two-shift cycle and finally by a single-shift cycle. I was a quality assurance crew leader. I worked at the Marat factory till I retired.

In 1959 my grandmother Rachel died. She was a strong woman and had no diseases. She died in a tragic accident. My grandmother was cooking and didn't notice, when her apron caught fire. Before my grandmother could reach the bathroom to extinguish the fire, she was on fire all over. She had many burns all over her body. She was taken to hospital right away. She lived three days before she died from the burns. My grandmother was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn.

My grandmother Hane-Rokhe Stumer died in the early 1960s. My uncle Zemakh installed a monument on her grave. Besides my grandmother's name, he had my father's name inscribed on it. My father had no grave, and this gave us at least an opportunity to come to our Jewish cemetery and recite a prayer in the memory of my father.

I met my future husband, Lev Zakh, at work. He was a mechanic at our factory. Lev liked me and asked me to date him. I liked him, too. We kept seeing each other. I was in no hurry to get married. We got married in 1960. We had a common wedding. We registered our marriage, and our mothers made a wedding dinner. After the wedding I moved in with my husband.

Lev's family came from Tartu [Estonia, about 180 km from Tallinn] where both his father, Itzhak Zakh, and his mother, Ida Zakh, were born. Ida was born in 1898. As for Itzhak, I can't remember, when he was born. Both families were quite wealthy. Itzhak finished a German gymnasium. Ida also studied in a gymnasium, but I can't remember any details. Itzhak took up some training related to jewelry business. He became a skilled jeweler and could make whatever fine pieces of jewelry. Itzhak's only brother Khirsh finished the Medical Department of Tartu University. He was a doctor. My mother-in-law Ida had a sister. I don't know how my in-laws met, but what I know is that finally both brothers married the sisters. Itzhak was doing well. He earned all right.

My husband Lev, the only son of Ida and Itzhak, was born in Tartu in 1929. Two years after he was born the family moved to Tallinn. Itzhak was the breadwinner, and Ida did the housekeeping. Itzhak had a little jewelry shop in the center of Tallinn. Itzhak had one employee working for him. He was also a skilled jeweler.

Lev went to the Jewish gymnasium in Tallinn, and Ida worked as a teacher in a Jewish kindergarten. Everything went well. Even when the Soviet rule was established, it didn't affect the Zakh family. The shop was appropriated by the Soviets, but Itzhak and his employee continued working in the shop. The resettlement didn't affect the family either. When the war began, the family evacuated.

As for Khirsh, Itzhak's brother, his life was harder. His daughter Sima married a young Jew from a wealthy family. His father owned a small jewelry store on Viru Street in Tallinn. In 1940 Soviet authorities appropriated this store, and on 14th June 1941 the whole family had to forcefully depart to the town of Kirovsk in Siberia. Sima's four children were born in Siberia. Avi and Nafthole, the older brothers, were quite strong and healthy. After Nafthole Sima had a daughter. At the age of six months the girl fell very ill. There was no doctor in this village near Kirovsk where the family lived. It was winter. They wrapped the girl in a blanket to take her to a doctor in the town. The girl died on the way. This was a terrible blow for the family. A couple of years after her daughter died Sima gave birth to a boy. His name was Benjamin. So the family had three sons.

They finally returned home after 15 years in exile. This became possible in 1956, after Stalin died, and after the 20th Congress of the Party 27, when Khrushchev 28 allowed rehabilitation of those in exile. However, the family wasn't allowed to reside in Tallinn. They received an apartment on the outskirts of Tallinn. Sima went to work as a teacher in the kindergarten, and later she was promoted to the position of director of this kindergarten. Sima worked there till she retired. Her sons received proper education and had their own families. Avi, the oldest son, died of cancer. Sima is still alive and all right. I often talk with her on the phone, and we visit each other. Sima is 87, but she is hale and hearty, she has a bright mind and good memory.

There was another tragic accident in my mother-in-law's family. Her cousin Frieda, much younger than Ida, was a very beautiful woman. Frieda and her family lived in Tallinn before the war. When the war began, Frieda didn't want to leave her home. She was telling my mother-in-law that there was nothing bad about the Germans, and that they were not going to hurt Jews. Estonia had been under German rule at some time, and there was nothing terrible happening. They knew German well, and she believed things were going to be all right. She was saying they would wear yellow stars, if necessary. What else was there going to be? They had managed more or less during the Bolshevik 29 rule, and they would survive the Germans somehow. Therefore, Frieda stayed in Tallinn.

When the Germans occupied Tallinn, they started arresting and killing Jewish residents. Many Jews stayed in Estonia thinking like Frieda did. Frieda was arrested right on a street. German soldiers pushed her into a bus where they raped and shot her. Some acquaintances told my mother-in-law what had happened after she returned to Tallinn.

My husband's family was in evacuation in Barnaul [Siberia, over 3000 km from Moscow]. My husband went to school there. Itzhak and Ida worked in a shop. They were accommodated in the house of a Russian family that treated them well. My mother-in-law told me that no one ever commented on their Jewish identity. Vice versa, their surrounding was helpful and supporting. They returned to Tallinn in late 1944, when Estonia was liberated. Itzhak went back to his jewelry store, and Lev went to work as a mechanic at the knitwear factory. He also studied in an evening school where he finished the 10th grade. My mother-in-law was a housewife after the war.

My husband's parents were kind to me. My father-in-law died in 1960, shortly after my husband and I got married. He was buried according to the Jewish rules in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. We lived with my mother-in- law. My in-laws led a traditional Jewish way of living. My husband's parents were religious. My husband was not as deeply religious as his parents, but he also observed Jewish traditions. Even during the Soviet period my mother-in-law did her best to follow the kashrut. She only cooked Jewish food. We only ate beef and poultry. We never had any pork or sausage at home.

When my husband's family returned to Tallinn after the war, my husband's parents always went to the prayer house on Jewish holidays. The former prayer house was quite near our house, but later it was removed, and the prayer house moved to another premise on Magdalena Street. This was quite a distance from our house, but my in-laws went to the synagogue regardless. After my father-in-law died, my husband and I accompanied my mother-in-law there and after the service we saw to it that she got back home safely. I attended the prayer house with her a few times.

My mother-in-law was a great cook. On holidays she always made something special: gefilte fish, chicken broth and forshmak with herring. We always had matzah on Pesach. My husband and I bought bread anyway, while my mother- in-law only ate matzah on Pesach. Se also strictly observed the fast on Yom Kippur. On holidays our relatives got together at our home. Sometimes we visited them.

We didn't celebrate Soviet holidays at home. However, we celebrated them at work. This was a mandatory requirement. We were also bound to go to parades on 1st May and 7th November 30. Those, who missed the event received no bonuses.

My mother-in-law only spoke Yiddish at home. My husband knew Yiddish well to speak it with his mother. Ida also spoke Yiddish to me. I understood everything she was saying, and I replied in Yiddish mixing it with Estonian, if I lacked words to express myself. My husband and I only spoke Russian between ourselves and to our daughter.

We had no children for quite a long time. Our only daughter Ilona was born in 1965. At that time maternity leave only lasted three months, and when it expired, I had to go back to work. My mother-in-law was there to take care of my daughter. When Ilona turned three, she went to a kindergarten. However, Ilona started getting ill very often, until finally my mother-in- law said she preferred to take care of a healthy child, rather than staying at home with a sick child. Ida actually raised our daughter, actually. She died, when my daughter was in the 9th grade.

Ilona was four years old, when my husband fell ill. He had headaches and was weak, but at first he ignored the symptoms. When doctors finally examined him, the diagnosis was frightful: he had malignant growth in his brain. It was too late to have a surgery, and neither the doctors nor we could relieve his suffering. In January 1970 Lev died. This happened a few months before he was to turn 41. We only lived ten years together. We buried my husband in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn.

I stayed with my mother-in-law after my husband died. I couldn't go back to my mother. My stepbrother was there, and there was not much space in their apartment. Besides, my mother worked, and there was nobody at home to look after my daughter. Besides, my mother-in-law was very happy to have Ilona and me with her. She was very attached to her granddaughter, particularly considering that she was absolutely alone. Ida actually raised my daughter, and this was a great contribution on her behalf.

However, it was due to Ida that I never remarried. She told me that she didn't mind, if I decided to take care of my private life, but she wasn't going to have to put up with a stranger at her home. I understood my mother- in-law and had no bad feelings toward her. I know how terrible it must feel to outlive one's own son. So, we lived our life together. Ida died in 1982. Her grave is near her husband and son's graves in the Jewish cemetery.

When Soviet Jews were allowed to move to Israel for permanent residence in the 1970s, many of our relatives left. My father's cousin brothers and sisters, four of six brothers and sisters of my stepfather moved there. His two brothers died in Tallinn. My mother-in-law's family also moved to Israel and so did my father's cousin sister. I gave them whatever support I could, but I never considered departure myself for a number of reasons. I was at home here, and I felt uncertain about giving up everything, moving to another country and starting there from scratch. Had my husband been alive, we might have decided for moving to Israel, but I was afraid of going there with my young daughter and old mother-in-law. Besides, I'd lived my whole life in Tallinn and just could not imagine living elsewhere but in Estonia. The thing is, even visiting the Soviet Union from Israel was not allowed at the time. People were going there for good leaving their friends and relatives behind. That was nobody's fault. It's just that life changes and so do people. They have their own life and make new friends.

My daughter studied in a Russian general education school. She did well at school. She was a quiet and friendly girl. After finishing school, she entered the Light Industry College for the specialty of 'secretary and document control.' After finishing the college, my daughter came to work as a secretary. When Estonia gained independence 31, the factory was closed as an unprofitable enterprise. It took Ilona a few months before an acquaintance of hers started her own business and offered Ilona a job in her office. This is where Ilona works now.

Ilona married Anatoliy Avdeyev. Anatoliy is Russian, but I had no objections to their marrying each other. I only wanted Ilona to be happy with her husband. Anatoliy was born in Tallinn in 1956. His father served in the Navy and moved to Tallinn after the war. Anatoliy is the youngest of three sons. He works in a security company in the port in Tallinn. Anatoliy is a shift supervisor.

After the breakup of the Soviet Union, when Estonia gained independence, only the ones born in Estonia before 1940, or children of the victims of resettlement, regardless of their place of birth, were granted the Estonian citizenship. The ones who arrived in Estonia after its accession to the Soviet Union had to obtain the citizenship. Many people left the country, and the rest of them believe this to be rather unfair. However, they have to learn the language, pass their exams to obtain the citizenship, which they are rather reluctant to do. Anatoliy passed the exam and was granted the citizenship of Estonia. He's a bit shy to speak Estonian. He needs to work on his pronunciation. My grandson can speak fluent Estonian, and he often corrects his father.

My grandson was born in 1990. He was given the name of Lev after my husband. I was still working, when he was born. When he turned one, my daughter talked to me about my retirement in order to be my grandson's babysitter. I agreed and quit my job in 1991. We live together and share all household responsibilities.

Lev only spoke Russian before turning two. We spoke Russian at home. When my grandson started working with our neighbors' children, he made an Estonian friend. I was his interpreter for some time, but one day I said: 'Well, that's it. From now on you study the language and start speaking it.' And he did. We sent him to an Estonian school. At first we were thinking of sending him to a Jewish school, but we changed our mind. Teachers and students speak Russian in the Jewish school. Lev is going to live in Estonia. Therefore, he will need Estonian to continue his studies after school and to work thereupon. And so, we sent him to an Estonian school. He is in the 9th grade now. He is taller than me. Before the 8th grade he only had the highest grades in all subjects. Now he starts getting the 'good' ones. Lev has many friends at school. After classes they keep calling him asking, if he would go out. Unfortunately, Lev prefers the company of his computer. I don't think it's healthy to spend so much time at the computer. I tell my grandson to go see his friends, but I rarely succeed.

My stepbrother, Leo Kitt, was born with a heart disease, which became apparent, when he was a child. However, Leo never gave up. He finished an Estonian general education school in 1967. He still keeps in touch with his school friends. Leo then finished the Light Industry College. He worked as an engineer in a design office. When perestroika 32 began in the Soviet Union, and private entrepreneurship was allowed, Leo started his own construction business. He is doing all right. His business is not booming, but he is not starving either.

Leo married Rena, who was born in Tallinn. Rena's father is a Jew, and her mother is Estonian. Leo and Rena get along very well. They love each other dearly. They have two children. Their older son Robert was born in 1977, and Lenart, the younger one, was born in 1983. Robert was a very talented boy since childhood. He finished a general education school with a gold medal and entered Tartu University. When at school, he participated in various Olympiads and contests. He had numbers of medals and awards. Upon graduation, Robert became a post-graduate student. He defended his dissertation, and now he is thinking about the professorship. He's a smart guy.

Leo holds a very important position in a bank. He is a pension division manager. He often travels to Japan where they have an affiliate. Robert has two sons, one was born after another. Robert built a house for his family in the outskirts of Tallinn. It's a beautiful neighborhood, and the houses there are nice. The children just enjoy living there. Lenart, the other son, is a 3rd-year student at Tartu University. Five years ago Leo had a heart surgery. Everything went very well, and my brother says he has never felt better in his life.

My mother died in 1991. My stepfather lived two years longer. He died in 1993. They both lived a long life, and people treated them with respect. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. All our relatives were buried there. The generation of my parents is gone, but also, all of our relatives of my age are gone. My father's sister Bertha died in the early 1970s. Her daughter Fruma married an Estonian man. He is a very nice person. In 1970 their son Edward was born. When he was three years old, Bertha took him for a walk. Edward fell and broke his arm. My aunt was so upset that she had a stroke. Poor thing, she was paralyzed for a long time before she died. My cousin Fruma also died of breast cancer in 1994.

Frankly speaking, when perestroika began in the Soviet Union, I had no high expectations in this regard. We were so used to whatever promises party leaders made never keeping them. I didn't think Gorbachev 33 was the man capable of turning the country in an opposite direction. One day Gorbachev visited the Marat factory during his trip to Estonia. He seemed too gentle and irresolute to me. He was joking and laughing. This was not the way Soviet leaders presented themselves. However, in the course of time I started noticing changes in our life. Actually, I've never been interested in politics. All I cared about was my family and my job. Why think about politics, if there is nothing you can do to change it.

However, some changes were evident at the beginning of perestroika. The first thing that drew my attention was that Soviet newspapers started covering events in Israel. Also, the manner of presentations changed a lot. While calling Israel an aggressor before, during perestroika newspapers became more objective writing about Israel. They also wrote that people in Israel were talented and hardworking. During the Soviet rule traveling abroad or visiting relatives was impossible, while during perestroika this became possible. My father's cousin sister lives in Israel. She must be 90 years old, probably. She invited me to visit her. I didn't visit her then, though for other reasons: tickets were expensive, and besides, my health condition didn't allow me to travel that far. I believe we've benefited a lot from perestroika.

In 1991 the Soviet Union broke up. It was hard to believe this could be true, considering how monolithic and powerful the country had been and then it disappeared all of a sudden. Estonia gained independence. I can't say unambiguously that it was good or bad. Everything has its pro's and con's. It's good that we live in our own country now. It's a good thing we can think by ourselves how we want to live.

However, there are some things I don't like about it. During the Soviet time people were free to move from one Republic to another. There were no borders separating them. Members of one family live in different regions. They are not so free to reunite nowadays. My mother's cousin sister lives in St. Petersburg, Russia. It becomes a whole problem, if we want to visit her. We need to obtain a number of papers and have visas adjudicated. It takes a lot of time and effort. Traveling to any country, but Russia, is easy. My mother cousin's birthday is in summer. She's invited us. My daughter has been busy gathering all necessary papers for herself and her son since winter. She's also saving for this trip. It's rather expensive. I don't like it that all roads to the FSU Republics have been closed for us.

Everything else is all right. Life in Estonia is gradually improving. There is no anti-Semitism in Estonia. In this apartment building we are the only Jewish tenants. The rest of them are Estonian, but they are very friendly, and very polite with me.

Our Jewish community was established in 1985. Now I can't imagine my life without the community. It goes without saying that the community supports us in the material sense. They deliver food packages to pensioners, partly pay our utility bills, particularly in winter, when our heating bills are so high. Now I have a higher pension. The state ensured that those who were in evacuation and those subject to resettlement had equal allowances and benefits. This includes partial coverage of the cost of medications, while before these were taken care of by the Jewish community. What can I say - this is a significant support.

Well, I think, the most important thing that the community does for us is getting us together. This is so very important. I have a family, but I enjoy visiting the community so very much. I like talking to people there. The community provides support and the joy of communication to lonely people. We get together on all holidays. We celebrate Jewish holidays, and they are always very nice. We also celebrate birthdays. Each month people having their birthday this month get together to celebrate. The community takes care of the treats, greetings and gifts. They may also invite their own guests to the event. It's very important for these people to know that they are remembered and needed. Therefore, the community has become a family for many Jewish people.

Glossary:

Miklos Kallos
Cluj Napoca
Romania
Interviewer: Cosmina Paul
Date of the interview: March 2004

Professor Miklos Kallos carries on his professorial activity by coordinating doctoral dissertations.

Although he renounced the leadership of the Jewish community in Cluj, he remains an outstanding figure of the community.

From our very first meeting, Mr. Kallos realized the purpose and the significance of his testimony.

The coherence of the account and the clarity of mind are rarely seen in an autobiographical report; but Mr. Kallos had them.

I remember his kind expression, the emotion which he made me feel, and the respect which he inspired in me during our first session, as we sat in the privacy of his study – a room filled with books and old furniture.

He didn’t change, even when we had to move to the kitchen for two sessions of our interview (due to objective reasons).

I recall myself standing in front of an old and tall house on Brancusi Street, waiting for the hour of my appointment; he would show up… with the same friendly eyes.

• My family background
• Jewish Oradea
• Growing up
• During the War
• After the War
• Glossary

• My family background

I don’t know anything about my grandparents. They probably died at a rather early age. In any case, I never met them as a child. All I knew was that my maternal grandmother was buried at the Oradea cemetery; her native tongue had been Hungarian and she had been a religious woman.

My mother’s name was Helena, nee Schwartz. She was born in 1895, in a village called Sasvar, located in the former Czechoslovakia. It belonged to Austria-Hungary before 1918; I don’t know the new name of the locality. My mother’s education consisted of a few years of elementary school. She had a sister who had got married in Budapest and whose name had become Guttman. I knew of her existence, but I never met her – she lived in Budapest and that’s all I can say about her.

My mother also had a brother, Zoltan Schwartz, who lived in Oradea. He was a short man with fair-red hair, wore glasses and was very sociable. Unlike my father, he purchased and read literature – he had this cultural necessity or inclination. He wanted his daughters to learn to play the piano, so he bought them one, which means that he tried to attain a certain level of culture; of course, it was a petit bourgeois kind of culture, but it was still culture.

Zoltan worked a lot. He was an employee of the [Neolog Jewish] Community and ran other small businesses on the side. One of them was to buy fire wood wholesale from large warehouses and to sell it to less prosperous people by installments, thus making a small profit. He did pretty well. Eventually, he bought a house in Oradea and led a life that, without being bourgeois, was petit bourgeois, rather well off.

I don’t know how my parents met. I don’t even know where or how they got married.

I did meet my paternal grandmother, who was actually my father’s stepmother. I know nothing about his real mother. When I was six, my father took me to Teceu Mare, to his stepmother’s. She was a very simple Jewish woman, from the countryside, uncultivated. I remember her house, with the flies that kept invading the kitchen – it was a rather sordid life, a peasant’s life like in the old days.

She and my father’s brother, Szrul, had a plot of land – it might have been a hectare or a hectare and a half – and I think this is what they lived from. Their life was very hard. My father helped them until their deportation. He sent them money, as they were very poor. They ended up like all the others ended up: they were surely deported. So my grandparents were absent from my childhood.

My father, whose name was Zoltan Kallos [Jewish name: Zalman Jikusziel], was born in Teceu Mic, in 1893. There is Teceu Mare, which used to belong to Czechoslovakia, and there is Teceu Mic, which is still under Romanian administration. I know they were separated by the River Tisa. They are located in the Sighetu Marmatiei and Sapanta area, somewhere around there.

Back then, there used to be an iron bridge between the two villages. My father and I crossed it a couple of times in order to go visit the relatives on the other side of the river and some tombs – I can’t remember whose tombs they were. We would pay a pol [unit of 20 lei in Romanian] or two to the Romanian border guard, cross the bridge to Czechoslovakia and do the same with the Czechoslovakian border guard on our way back. So crossing the border was not a problem, like it became afterwards and like it still is. Nowadays, one doesn’t just pay a pol to the border guard, for one needs a passport, papers and money.

My father’s brother in Teceu Mare, Srul [Israel], was younger than him. He also had a stepsister there; her name was Reize Feuer. Reize survived the Holocaust and I saw her after the war. He had another brother living in Sighet, whom I also knew. It was before the Holocaust that I met all these people.

[Editor’s note: Mr. Kallos remembers his relatives because he remembers his trips in the area as a child. However, he does not recall anything specific about them because he was too young in that period and because his parents – who both died at an early age, in the concentration camp – did not tell him much about those relatives; and he never asked them.]

My father’s native tongue was Hungarian. He was a tailor by trade, but his practice was rather small. He had other occupations too. Before my birth – in 1926, in Oradea – I know he worked as a baker’s aid or even as a baker – I’m not sure. In any case, when I was born, he had already been working for the Neolog Jewish Community in Oradea. As he was a sort of factotum, he also took care of the funerals. He always made the outfits for the deceased, using a sewing machine, at home.

When they are buried, the Jewish departed wear a linen garment composed of several pieces – it’s called a kitel – which looks like a robe worn by doctors or druggists. This kitel is also worn for the great religious holidays, at the synagogue. The religious Jews wear it on Rosh Hashanah and on Yom Kippur.

And they are buried in it. Then there is a cap that looks like the cap of the head-chef, which is pulled over the face, and there are other clothing parts. My father made them all. When I was a child, he made some clothes for me too – a sort of jacket or something – but he didn’t earn his living working as a tailor.

• Jewish Oradea

The pre-war Oradea was a town well known not only across the country, but also abroad. There used to be a poor little river, beside the Crisul Repede, which was the main river, that was called Pete, or Pece in Hungarian. For decades, Oradea was known as the ‘Paris on the banks of the Pete.’

The locals had nicknamed it like that as a mockery, but also, and especially, in recognition of its remarkable social and cultural life. Even before World War I, there was a very strong literary circle there, led by the great poet Ady Endre 1. It was a group of poets and literati called ‘Those of Tomorrow,’ ‘Holnapostok’ in Hungarian.

Just for the record, I have a very large volume about the Jews from Oradea who perished during the Holocaust. It’s in Hungarian, it was edited in Israel and it was entitled ‘The Town of Those of Yesterday’ – the town that used to be, as a reminder of the town of those of tomorrow. [‘A tegnap varosa’, ‘A nagyvaradi zsidosag emlekkonyve’, Tel Aviv, 1981.

Edited by the Association of the Oradea-born Israelis at the 37th commemoration of the deportation of the Jews from Oradea and the neighboring areas. From among those who edited the volume, Mr. Kallos mentions three reputed figures: Dezso Schon (journalist and writer from Oradea), Jozsef Greda and Otto Rappaport.]

The interwar Oradea had seventy or eighty thousand inhabitants. Almost one third of them were Jews. This numerous Jewish community made Oradea an attraction for the Jews from Maramures, who were forced by the harsh living conditions to go seek their fortune in other places of the country.

Most of them came to Oradea, where they did whatever they could. Like all the towns with large Jewish communities, Oradea had all sorts of Jews: there were people of great fortune, prosperous tradesmen, small and medium enterprises – the town had an effervescent economic life.

Like in Cluj, the rich had a decisive contribution to the architectural heritage of the town. The most imposing buildings in Oradea were erected by the Jewish economic elite. Take the Vulturul Negru [the Black Eagle] Palace for instance, right at the center of the town, before the bridge leading to the state theater, which was the only theater in Oradea in those days.

It’s a huge building, with some interior passages. It used to be one of the prides of our town, so to speak. It was built by a man named Adorjan, who was also the president of the Neolog Community. The Black Eagle Palace was for rent – there were scores of stores and apartments there. Adorjan had another place, for his own, a sort of family house; again, one of the most beautiful buildings in town.

I can say that the most architecturally valuable buildings in Oradea were built either by the prosperous Jews or by the churches – the Catholic Church, the Reformed Church. Still, the Jews were the ones who erected most of the buildings used for dwelling.

Oradea was an important Jewish center. All the Jewish trends and communities of the time were present in the town. There was a large and powerful Orthodox community 2, there was a Neolog community 3 and there was a small Sephardic community 4, some of the Spanish Jews who happened to end up in Transylvania 5.

There were two large synagogues: the one of the Orthodox Community, which is still functional, and the one of the Neologs. One can see on any postcard featuring the center of the town a large cupola with a magen David on top – that’s the Neolog Synagogue, which is still there today.

Beside these two synagogues there were several prayer houses. The synagogues were mostly used on Saturdays and on holidays; on the rest of the days, people usually went to the prayer houses. The attendance was rather scarce. There were no more than twenty, thirty or forty parishioners at a time. So there was no need to keep the synagogue open during the week.

There were also all sorts of Jewish associations with different names within the Community, and most of them had their own smaller synagogues. The Orthodox, for instance, had two other smaller synagogues: one was located on Clujului Avenue, and the other on a street that was called Teleki Street back then.

I think the synagogue on Clujului Avenue has been rented or sold, while the one on the former Teleki Street lies there, in a very poor condition; I don’t know what the exact situation is. Then there were also these small synagogues of the various Jewish associations: Zionist associations, craftsmen’s associations and the likes of them. Most of them built a small synagogue of their own.

There were several Hasidic communities 6. These were not Orthodox in fact, but a sort of state within a state, so to speak, because they grouped themselves around a rabbi whom they followed as their spiritual leader. In Hebrew, this was called a tzaddik, meaning holy man, righteous man and so on and so forth.

These Hasidic rabbis had different degrees, to say so. ‘The status of the tzaddik depended on how large the Hasidic community was. If it was large and the rabbi was a powerful one, they had a sort of ‘court,’ with ‘ministers’ and ‘secretaries’ and the likes of them.

In order to get to such a rabbi, one would have to go through an entire procedure.’ [Sandu Frunza, ‘Nicolae Kallos. Crampei de viata din secolul XX. Un dialog despre evreitate, Holocaust si comunism ca experiente personale’ – ‘Nicolae Kallos. Fragment of Life from the 20th Century. A Dialogue about Jewishness, Holocaust and Communism as Personal Experiences’ – The Publishing House of the Axis Foundation, Iasi, 2003, p.17]

There was this rabbi who was the most powerful not only in Oradea, but almost in the entire country; he was the rabbi from Vijnit, named Vijniter. [In 1915, the Russians invaded Bukovina. One of the localities they occupied was the town of Vijnit, where Rabbi Jisrael Hager shepherded a Hasidic community.

Enjoying the Russian administration’s consent and support, he managed to get, together with 70 companions, to Austria-Hungary, after transiting the Romanian territory. He was allowed to settle in Oradea. (Tereza Mozes, ‘Evreii din Oradea’ – ‘The Jews of Oradea’, Hasefer Publishing House, Bucharest, 1997, p.93)] He had a large synagogue and an entire court, with all sorts of ‘secretaries of state’ who were in charge of the rabbi’s daily concernments.

The building is still there, but I don’t know what it is used for today. All these Hasidic rabbis and their small Hasidic communities had their own prayer houses. There were dozens of such houses. So the Hasidic community was very powerful too.

The Orthodox community had an elementary school and a four-year gymnasium for boys and girls. The Neologs, in their turn, had an elementary school and an eight-year high school. These were secular schools, but they were supported by the Jewish communities.

There were cases of Jewish children who went to the Orthodox school, but came to the Neolog high school for their religion classes, or of Jewish girls who went to non-Jewish schools – because Oradea didn’t have a Jewish high school for girls – and who studied religion at the Neologs too.

In the late years, after 1940, under the Hungarian occupation [during the Hungarian era (1940-1944)] 7, our Neolog high school turned into a co-educational high school – there were girls in the boys’ classes too. Because of some anti-Jewish laws [in Hungary] 8, a number of Jewish pupils were banned from various schools, so some Jewish girls gained access to Jewish education.

Jewish girls used to attend non-Jewish schools and only came to our school for the religion classes, which were provided for a fee. My father was the one who collected this fee.

Why do I remember this? Well, my father trained me for various small chores, and one of them was collecting this fee. I would go through the entire town, to girls’ hostels and to private houses, in order to cash this money. This is, in fact, how I got to know Oradea and its streets. I also helped my father with the funerals, at the synagogue and so on and so forth. And these were my father’s basic occupations.

Only a few Hasidic rabbis had a yeshivah. The communities didn’t really have such schools. But since the Hasidim belonged to the Orthodoxy, and since some Hasidic rabbis led these yeshivot, it was said that the Orthodox had yeshivot. But note that there never was a yeshivah of the Orthodox Community proper.

These schools were formed around some learned men. Not every Hasidic rabbi had a yeshivah – there were only a few of them who had one. But the two or three yeshivot in Oradea were not very famous. The ones in Marghita or Valea lui Mihai or Dej, for instance, were more famous as institutions of religious education than the ones in our town.

A man attended such a school and studied with renowned rabbis in order to become a rabbi himself. After finishing the yeshivah, he would get a graduation certificate from a group of rabbis. Then he would have to go through what is now called post-graduate studies:

spending time next to a rabbi who finally issued an authorization stating his qualifications. In the end, he had to gather several letters of recommendation and validation from the existing rabbis. This process had nothing to do with the state education.

Beside these schools, there were several notable newspapers in Hungarian which were owned by Jews, like ‘Naplo’ [‘Journal’ in Hungarian]; this was an ordinary newspaper, not a Jewish one, only it was owned by a Jew. The Orthodox had a weekly of their own; it was in Hungarian and it was called ‘Nepunk’ [‘Our People’].

I would read it every Friday. It addressed the issues of the internal life of the communities, as well as political issues, like the situation of the Jews in various countries. It also contained Jewish and Hasidic stories, literature, poetry and all. ‘Every issue featured accounts, notes and short stories about what had happened in Germany, about the pogroms conducted mostly after the Crystal Night 9 in 1938.

We knew what was going on there. But we didn’t feel threatened in any way here.’ [Sandu Frunza, ‘Nicolae Kallos. Crampei de viata din secolul XX. Un dialog despre evreitate, Holocaust si comunism ca experiente personale’ – ‘Nicolae Kallos. Fragment of Life from the 20th Century. A Dialogue about Jewishness, Holocaust and Communism as Personal Experiences’ – The Publishing House of the Axis Foundation, Iasi, 2003, p.32]

There used to be a saying back then; whatever happened in no matter what field, the question was: is this good for the Jews or is this bad for the Jews? This was our only way to talk about politics. Of course, there were some events that affected us to a certain extent – for instance, the coming to power of the Goga-Cuza anti-Semitic government 10, in 1936 or 1937, brought about a number of anti-Semitic laws. This caused worries to the Jewish collectivity. And when this cabinet fell, there was great joy. From this point of view, we did talk politics. But, for the rest, we weren’t into politics at all.

We lived in a Community house. The Community had three buildings for the use of its employees. One of them was a house of three or four rooms that was inhabited by Chief Rabbi Vajda Istvan. Before him, the office was held by an extremely famous rabbi, Dr. Lipot Kecskemeti 11, who died in 1936; the Jewish Neolog High School was named after him. For several years after his death, the Community didn’t have a rabbi. Then this Vajda Istvan was elected chief rabbi. That house is still there, on Cuza Voda Street.

There were two other houses with several apartments for those who worked in the religious field – the shochetim, the chief cantor etc. We lived in one of them. ‘There was also a Christian family in the courtyard where Community employees lived.

They were Hungarian and had a boy who was two or three years younger than me. They were the housekeepers. Again, this is a detail that is less known: the Jewish households had to employ a Christian; every Saturday, he or she would light the candles, start the fire and do all the necessary things that Jews were forbidden to do on that particular day.

This family, apart from taking care of the house, did these things too: on every Friday evening, they would enter each apartment and put the lights out; on every Saturday, they would start the fire and so on and so forth.’ [ibid.11.]

• Growing up

We lived in a modest place: two rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom and a pantry. We didn’t have a garden and didn’t keep animals. There were only three of us, so we did rather well, we didn’t have too many problems. We didn’t lack anything because, thanks to my father’s office, he always received, apart from his salary, donations from the Community members for various services:

whenever he organized a wedding, he would get something; at a funeral, he would get something too. For the Neologs didn’t know the ritual very well. ‘The Neologs were the members of the Jewish population who were more assimilated than all the others. Many didn’t attend the synagogue anymore; they only went there for the great holidays and when the Maskir, the commemoration of the dead, was celebrated.’ [ibid.27]

Before the high holidays, the Jewish custom is to visit the tombs of the departed. On this occasion, a prayer is recited – it’s called Kaddish. People didn’t know the prayer very well and my father was always around those days. They could ask for his help and my father would recite the Kaddish and get something in return.

So we didn’t lack anything from the material point of view. We lived the life of the middle class, an expression that is widely used today: we weren’t rich, but we weren’t poor either. We had everything we needed when it came to food, clothing, electricity, running water and heating; everything we needed for a decent life.

We spoke Hungarian at home. Sometimes, my parents used Yiddish with each other. Yiddish is, in fact, a variant of the medieval German, sprinkled with Hebrew words. I got the hang of it myself; I can still speak it – not very well, but I can still speak it. Anyway, we usually used Hungarian in our family. As for the customs, we had the usual customs for a religious Jewish family. Although my father worked for the Neolog Community, we were Orthodox in private.

Now you may ask me why an Orthodox was working for the Neologs. Well, all the employees of the Neologs who were responsible for the ritual – the shochetim who slaughtered the animals, my father and others who worked in the religious field – were Orthodox, for these people were supposed to really know their job. The Neologs weren’t too familiar with these things.

‘Another difference was that Neologs usually held their prayers in the local language. Until the time of the Hungarian occupation, prayers in Oradea or in Cluj were held in Romanian; then they were held in Hungarian. In contrast, the Orthodox held their prayers in Yiddish. (…) Getting closer to the Neolog masses by using a language that was accessible to them was undoubtedly an advantage. The bad part was that a series of precepts and rules were set aside and forgotten.’ [ibid.27]

The Orthodox kept a strictly kosher diet. My father was what they called a shammash. In Hebrew, shammash literally means servant. Each community had a shammash, a servant, who conducted the cultic life. His responsibilities included watching over the divine service at the synagogue and making sure that everyone had their prayer book and their tallit, that ritual garment.

He was the one who chose and invited the parishioners to read the Torah. So he took care of the synagogue during the religious service. He was also the one who organized all the ritual events: weddings and funerals, with all their adjacent rituals, were his responsibility too.

In the case of a death, there was the washing of the deceased, the dressing of the body, the laying in the coffin, the organizing of the funeral, the coordination of the cantor, of the rabbi, the liaison with the family – my father had to take care of all these things. He was also a sort of cashier – there were all sorts of sums that had to be collected by the Community. However, he did not cash the membership fees; someone else did that.

My mother wore a wig, like all religious Jewish women did. On holidays, my mother and I would go to the Orthodox synagogue, not to the Neolog one. But we did the ritual slaughtering at the Orthodox’ place. So we were Orthodox from the religious point of view. I always wore a cap or a hat – I always kept my head covered. We observed all the traditions.

Let’s take the Sabbath, for instance, the most frequent holiday. Preparations for the Sabbath would begin on Friday. A goose was usually slaughtered for the Saturday meal. My mother did all the required preparations for the Sabbath dinner.

We would buy a milk loaf and some wine, for there was supposed to be a prayer and a blessing using a glass of wine. Milk loaf was baked at home very rarely; I remember my mother did make a large one a couple of times, but not for the Sabbath; it was for the high holidays, when people baked a sweeter milk loaf, with raisins, that was called barkhes.

Before we had our own bathroom, we would go to the ritual bath every Friday. After our place was added a bathroom, we gave up this habit, but not completely, for the ritual bath was recommended – especially for women, and even if they had a bathroom at home. My father and I would still go to the ritual bath twice a month or so. Women had to go at certain times, as well as after their period. They would immerse themselves three times and get out. It was a sort of sacred water.

My father and I would dress up and go to the synagogue on Friday night. My mother stayed at home and lit the Sabbath candle. The woman puts on a veil or a white shawl, makes some movements over the candle in order to inspire the spirit of the Sabbath, says a blessing and adds some biblical phrases.

When my father and I came back from the synagogue, we would have dinner. The prayer was said by men at the synagogue. At home, we had some stanzas, so to speak, and especially some songs that my father and I used to sing.

Women had their own prayer; there used to be a prayer book for women in Hebrew and Yiddish. On Saturday afternoon, my mother would read a few lines from this book. But the only separate prayer a woman had was the one she was supposed to say on Friday evening, when lighting the Sabbath candle. My father and I said the prayers in Hebrew.

On Friday at noon, we usually had goose liver with goose cracklings. On Friday evening – so on Sabbath – the dinner was gelatinous fish and broth with meat in it. At table, we would sing some songs in Hebrew – they were less religious songs, specially designed for the Sabbath, called Zemirot. There are three or four such songs to be sung on Friday night and on Saturday afternoon – they’re all from the prayer book.

After the meal on Friday night, my father would take me for a half an hour or one hour to see the Sabbath ritual of some rabbis. Both my parents were the followers of some Hasidic rabbis. Each of them had his own synagogue, his own parishioners, even his own tunes and religious songs. After that, we would return home and go to bed.

The following day, on Saturday, we would attend the religious service and have breakfast. After that, my father had to go back to the synagogue, because the Neologs had a special ritual: first, there was an early morning service, like in any Orthodox synagogue, attended by a few dozens of religious people. Then, at ten or eleven o’clock – I can’t remember exactly – there was a second service, shorter, but more imposing – they played the organ and things like that.

My father was an employee there and had some duties: to distribute the prayer books, to organize the Torah calls etc. I usually accompanied him. We would come back home at twelve or twelve and a half. We would have lunch, then my father always went to bed for an hour or two. In the afternoon, there was the synagogue again, and this is how things went.

Every holiday had its own ritual. The ritual for Yom Kippur involves the day before Yom Kippur, for the entire holiday is spent in the synagogue and there is no way one could observe some ritual at home. So before Yom Kippur, the custom was to have a kapores; at first sight, this ritual looks rather heathen.

We would buy some white chickens – roosters and small chickens – and rotate them above our head in the morning, saying a prayer. The prayer was supposed to make all our sins fall upon that bird. This was the kapores. Then the bird was taken to the small abattoir, where it was slaughtered.

We would eat a soup made of its meat. Before nightfall, when we had to go to the synagogue, we would eat a lot, so that it would last us for an entire day of fasting; and this was when the kapores was consumed.

The Purim of my childhood and of my adolescence consisted of two parts. First, there was the exchange of cakes with the acquaintances and the neighbors. I carried them around on a small plate. There was an entire strategy to this. Those who were known to make better cakes were sent more cakes, so that the number of cakes received in return was equally large; those whose cakes were not that good were sent fewer cakes. I used to carry those cakes, and I was entitled to a tip for that too.

Then we would stay at home and wait for the children dressed up in carnival clothes. From morning till evening, there were all kinds of them coming over; they would recite small poems and sing songs, most of which were rather silly. However, there were some groups who were better at it and who even staged sketches, getting the deserved tip in exchange.

These children and youngsters were Jewish, but I wasn’t among them. I only went over to some acquaintances, told a poem of six to eight lines, got my tip and that was it.

The children of the Orthodox families went to the cheder. The rest depended on the family’s degree of religiousness and on their aspirations. If the parents were very religious, observed all the traditions and wanted their son to become a learned man or a rabbi, the boy was subsequently sent to the yeshivah.

As a child, I went to the cheder myself. This is a Jewish school where the Old Testament is taught, together with the Hebrew letters and a number of prayers. But I didn’t pursue my religious education any further.

However, even as I was getting older and became more and more involved in school activities, there was still a sort of rabbi who came by our house on a weekly basis and with whom I studied – and this went on until the deportation. In 1939 I had my bar mitzvah. Any Jewish boy who was religious and went to the synagogue knew what he had to do for the bar mitzvah.

I started to go to school when I was six. I studied in Romanian during the elementary school and the first three grades of high school. I didn’t speak Romanian very well. The elementary school was supported by the Neolog Community.

Then the Hungarian Empire came and we had a Hungarian school – it was during the period when I was beginning to open my eyes towards the world, from the age of 14 to the age of 17. I started to write in Hungarian. I’m not saying that I totally forgot how to speak Romanian, because I didn’t; but my Romanian was rather poor – I made mistakes of agreement and spoke with an accent.

I went to the ‘Dr. Kecskemeti Lipot’ Jewish Neolog High School in Oradea. It was a Jewish school because the students were all Jewish and the teachers were Jewish too, with two or three exceptions. By tradition, the gym teacher was not a Jew, but that changed in the later years. Under the Romanian administration, until 1940, the music teacher had to be Romanian, and this was sometimes true for the teachers of Romanian literature too.

The Jewish touch of the school was that that a prayer was said at the beginning of the first class and at the end of the last class – these were the prayers uttered when one is called to read the Torah, two blessings. So these two prayers replaced the national anthem or anything of the sort. [Editor’s note:

Mr. Kallos hints at the communist period (the period of the Socialist Republic of Romania), when pupils in elementary and secondary education began their classes singing the national anthem. This was called ‘Trei culori’ (‘Three Colors’) and was composed by the Romanian composer Ciprian Porumbescu.]

Of course, one more thing was that we studied Mosaism at the religion classes. Apart from that, it was a high school like any other, where all the regular subjects were taught: Math, Romanian, Hungarian, French, German, Latin etc. On Saturday there was a small festivity in the auditorium, which lasted for a quarter of an hour. Then classes were resumed. The high school was endorsed by the authorities of the time. Its graduation certificates were officially recognized. It was no different from any other school.

The only difference was that it was an exceptional school. It may not have always been like that. But by the time I got to the intermediate and final grades – from the 3rd to the 7th grade of high school – it had truly become an extraordinary school because of the following reason:

mostly after 1940, when harsh anti-Jewish laws were passed, many Jewish scientists and literati were banned from universities and found refuge in our high school, where they were hired as teachers, to the extent to which the school was able to absorb them. So the teaching body was extraordinary. I wouldn’t want to exaggerate, but I really think that at least three quarters of our teachers had a professor’s training.

Two of my former teachers who survived became professors after the war, at the university here [the Babes-Bolyai University in Cluj] 12. One of them, Jeno Rozsa, was the head of the Philosophy Department, and the other one, Gyula Csehi, was the head of the Department of Hungarian Language and Literature. Others didn’t follow them, for they perished in the forced labor detachments and so on and so forth.

So I was really lucky to go to such a high school, which represented a real force of attraction and affiliation. My classmates and I used to say that we owe at least 80 percent of our general culture to this high school, which means that it was a really good school. Even today, some of the graduates meet every other year in different parts of the world – mostly in Israel, because there are very few of them left in Europe. Sometimes they edit a bulletin in order to evoke old memories… All in all, we were an elite high school.

The high school was like an oasis to us. We were all alike there and didn’t feel the results of anti-Semitism within its confines. These only became apparent outside. In the final two years, 1943 and 1944, we were sort of afraid to leave the place, for thugs from other schools were known to be out there waiting to beat us; one could expect to get shoved around or verbally abused. This phenomenon was a reality. But nothing of the sort went on inside the school, obviously.

• During the War

My parents didn’t have any political affiliation. They didn’t talk politics. In general, the issue of anti-Semitism was addressed by the press. The newspaper I’ve already mentioned, Nepunk, reported many of the things that had happened in Germany. But the truth is that we lived in a sort of unawareness, of indifference, or madness.

The unspoken conviction was that all those things were worthy of consideration, but they went on ‘there’ and they could not happen to us ‘here.’ There was this self-delusion. And it was a fact that we did have an anti-Semitic legislation after all.

These laws first struck the professions: physicians, lawyers, literati, artists etc. Then the tradesmen were affected, but they did just fine for a while, thanks to some arrangements they made. They pretended to sell their store to a Christian, whom they paid. The Christian became the official owner, but the real proprietor didn’t really change. So there was the possibility of such arrangements in order to elude the anti-Semitic laws.

However, there were other things that we knew of that should have triggered our concern; for instance, there were the forced labor detachments for the Jewish men who were sent to Ukraine, where they were abased, maltreated, and even tortured – many of them died. But the ones who had remained in town lived in a state of tranquility.

There were no pogroms and no overt maltreatments. Most of the population could live more or less in peace. And this generated the blind belief that none of the things that had happened in Germany or Poland could happen here.

We did some sort of forced labor, and we started wearing a yellow stripe as early as 1941, so before 1944, when the yellow star 13 was introduced. Like the elderly who went to complete their chores in forced labor detachments, we went to work with the Levente 14. This was a youth group that was half or one fourth militarized.

All the Hungarian youths came to Levente, where they marched, exercised, and sometimes practiced with wood weapons – it was a sort of paramilitary youth organization. But for the Jews, it was forced labor. They called it Levente so that it may be assimilated with the Hungarian youths; but we did forced labor four or five hours a week.

In winter, for instance, they would take us to some barracks, where we had to start the fire, carry the fire wood, clean up the rooms or wipe the floors. They sometimes took us to the army cemetery to look after the graves. In the final period, we only worked at the shooting range that had been established behind the town’s cemetery; we had digging to do. We wore the yellow stripe at that time too.

In 1942, 1943 and 1944, some runaway Polish Jews got to Oradea. When a stranger who doesn’t know anyone in town arrives, the custom with Jews is to ask him at the synagogues who he is and to invite him for a Sabbath meal on Friday evening or on Saturday. We had such Polish Jews over for the Friday dinner several times.

They used to tell us about all those horrible things that were happening to the Polish Jews. And we nodded our heads in astonishment, pretended to believe them, but didn’t fully realize what they were saying – it was beyond our comprehension. We never imagined such things would be possible in Transylvania too.

And this brings me to the case of the Jewish councils 15. They were founded under the German occupation in order to coordinate things. They passed the requests of the German and Horthyst [named after Horthy] 16 occupation troops to the Jewish population: they had to collect money, blankets, clothes and the likes. So they were in charge with everything that had to do with Jews. It was said – and it was actually acknowledged – that some leaders of these Jewish councils had heard about Auschwitz.

In 1943, two Polish Jews escaped from Auschwitz 17 and filed a report – this report was known, our Council knew about it! Or, at least, some of its top members knew. And many claim that the Council is deeply responsible for not having informed the Jewish population. I have a different opinion: they simply refused to believe it, just like we didn’t believe those Polish Jews who were telling us about Auschwitz at our table.

But there were people who knew and who believed. For instance, there was a Zionist leader in Cluj who negotiated with Eichmann 18 himself through some intermediaries. The deal was that two thousand Jews or so would be allowed to leave for Switzerland to escape deportation. [Editor’s note:

This group was called the Kasztner group 19.] There was indeed a large group of Jews from Hungary, including two hundred or so from Cluj, who got to Switzerland. They lived in poor conditions – it was a sort of concentration camp too – but they lived through the war.

So there were some people who knew. But even if they had gone public with what they knew, I don’t think this would have changed things dramatically among the Jewish population. But it’s no use talking about what might have been!

Orders came one after another; Jews had to hand over their radio sets and other things. Eventually, the day came when a decree requested that Jews wear a yellow star on their clothes, as a distinctive mark – on 5th April [1944]. A few weeks later, notices were posted announcing the establishment of the ghettos.

Where they were founded differed from one town to another. The ghetto in Dej, for instance, was set up in a forest, in the open air; the ghetto in Cluj was located in a huge courtyard that was used to dry bricks.

Things were different in Oradea. They picked a quarter that was densely inhabited by Jews and gathered all the Jews from the town there. They surrounded the place with a wooden wall and had the gendarmes guard it. Our family was lucky – if this can be considered luck – because our house and the Community buildings fell within the perimeter of the ghetto, so we weren’t forced to leave our home, like others were.

However, our place, which consisted of two small rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom, had to shelter 30 people or so all of a sudden; they were some of those brought from the other parts of the town.

The living conditions were very difficult. People had brought as many supplies as they could. There was a sort of kitchen of the ghetto, where one could have some bean soup or something like that. As far as my family is concerned, I couldn’t tell we starved during that period, especially given the fact that we were still at home. We ate separately.

[The Jews of Oradea were deported between 23rd May and 27th June 1944 – a total of approx. 22,000 people.] When we got off the stock-cars [in Auschwitz], women were separated from the men. It was then that I saw my mother for the last time. My father and I went together through the damned routine of the arrival: disinfection, bath, shaving, leaving our clothes, putting on those striped pajamas. We stayed together until September.

This is what happened: I got to a camp called Buchenwald 20, which was subsequently dubbed ‘the red camp,’ because the German Communists, and others, like the French, had an anti-fascist committee there, which dominated the internal life of the camp, so to speak.

The place had been founded in 1936 and had initially served to imprison the German Communists. Like in most camps, the internal control over Buchenwald had been seized by the regular criminals who were doing time there too. They would bully and maltreat the others, just like in the American movies, where every prison has its own ruling gang of inmates.

The SS weren’t comfortable with this situation, because it caused disorder in the camp, and they gradually reached an agreement with the communist groups. The SS would let them control the camp on the inside, provided they accepted to maintain order and to grant them any other request.

For instance, if the SS said they needed 3,000 people for work, they expected to have those people waiting in line the next day. So an internal arrangement was made. I didn’t know there was an anti-fascist committee inside the camp. All I knew was that there were German Communists. I only found out about those other things later.

Everyone wore a number in the camp. Mine was 58,319; my father’s was 58,320. There were also numbers higher than 60,000. If an inmate had the number 12 or 8 or 9, it meant he had been there since 1936, which automatically placed him among the aristocracy of the convicts, so to speak.

These people were the ones who had positions, for inmates had their own positions: head of block, kapo [concentration camp inmate appointed by the SS to be in charge of a work gang] etc. This anti-fascist committee assured order in the camp indeed.

What exactly did this committee do? First of all, they recruited Communists, Socialists, Social Democrats and put them in more or less important positions. When I got to Buchenwald, the young Frenchmen started to question me: who I was, where I came from, what and how I had been before.

This was a stage of the recruiting process. If they found either people who shared their ideas or outstanding personalities – renowned scientists or writers etc. – they somehow isolated them and put them in safer places.

Here is how things went: Around the camp were placed the SS barracks and a unit of the Gestapo. The Gestapo regularly followed the political inmates from the camp and sometimes they came looking for someone. This didn’t mean anything good, because they would always seize that inmate and either torture him or kill him.

Then this committee would remove the number from the chest of the one who was wanted and switch it with the number of a newly deceased, thus changing their identities. They would inform the camp’s registration office – ‘Schreibstube,’ they called it – where all the administrative work was done.

Jorge Semprun was also working there. ‘Watch out, that guy is no longer X, but Y,’ and so they would hide the endangered man. [Jorge Semprun: born in Madrid in 1923, deported as Spanish communist and French resistant to Buchenwald in 1943 and liberated in 1945. He distinguished himself as a writer, with novels like ‘Le grand voyage’ (1963) and ‘La guerre est finie’ (1966) – he wrote about his experience in Buchenwald.]

Towards the end, not long before the liberation, the Germans started to organize evacuation shipments, especially for the Jews, and they simply massacred them along the way. There weren’t too many survivors among those who left with these shipments, that’s for sure. So when the order was given to gather, say, 1,000 people, the committee scattered them in different shacks. They were sabotaging these measures, in other words.

But what personally got to me about these Communists was their rather idealistic belief that youth had to be spared for the future, that young men were what the future needed. And they took care of them indeed. There was a children’s shack at Buchenwald and they provided them with a special diet.

There were people who taught them, told them stories, tutored them and looked after them. Whenever an easier workplace would come up – as also in my case – they would choose young people for it, to save them.

I didn’t stay at Buchenwald too long, only a few weeks. Buchenwald was a large concentration camp and had several smaller camps, for labor. They would send you to one of them, then you’d come back, then go to another and back again. So our stay at Buchenwald was rather intermittent.

My father and I returned to Buchenwald from a very tough labor camp, at Magdeburg. After three months, my father totally collapsed, both physically and mentally. He was nothing but a wreck. The Communists recruited me when a new commando was formed, in a place where conditions were supposed to be easier.

We were about two hundred young people there and some elderly. I took my father with me, so that we could be together. On countless occasions they came to check us, and my father got dismissed from there twice. Eventually, he was sent back to Auschwitz, where he was exterminated. This happened around September 1944.

There are some ethical and moral issues here. On what grounds did those who had positions in the camp decide who would live and who wouldn’t? Who gave them the right to keep me alive, in a safe place, and to send my father to his death? Well, these people took upon themselves these duties – these ethical burdens, so to speak – in the name of the ideals they had about the future; they believed youth was needed in order to build a new world.

In any case, what I went through there explains what I became and how my life evolved in the following decades. These Communists I met there inspired me with a genuine admiration. Everyone is aware – and I am aware of it too– that, after the liberation, many of them became activists and leaders of the newly-installed communist regime, while others, who were in the same camp, were the victims of their fellow Communists who had turned into leaders.

These things are known. But all I can tell you is that, back in the camp, they all behaved in an admirable way. And it’s not just me who claims that. This is what all those who were there and who wrote about the camp Social Democrats, Christian Democrats say.

There is a certain Kogon, who is a Christian Democrat. He wrote the first and the best work about Buchenwald and he admitted that what the Communists did there is worthy of all the respect. I hadn’t read Marxist literature, I knew nothing about Marxism, and I knew nothing about Communism. I just met these people and I felt an attraction towards what they believed in.

Here’s a private incident. I became very ill in the camp: bilateral cavernous tuberculosis – impossible to treat in the camp’s facilities. I normally weighed 70 kilograms, but I had ended up weighing 36 kilograms because of the conditions there – so I was a wreck myself.

After the liberation, on 11th April 1944, they took me to a sort of sanatorium; the place was called Blankenheim, near Weimar, not far from Buchenwald. Well, the conditions were those of a sanatorium, but there was no treatment or medication. The food was good and the place was properly maintained, quiet and clean though. They had a complex of buildings for the leaders of the Hitlerjugend 21, and the conditions were good. I spent several weeks there.

At a certain point, the area where Buchenwald and Weimar were, which had been under American occupation, had to be turned over to the Soviets, as it was to become a part of the future German Democratic Republic. So the people at the sanatorium were asked where they wanted to go. ‘Go to France or to Sweden,’ we were told, ‘the Red Cross will take care of you.’

Then a doctor I had met in the camp, a Transylvanian Communist who’s still alive and is a good friend of mine, came from Buchenwald to Blankenheim and told me: ‘You have to come home; like the Communists say, we’ve got a new world to build.’ And so I came home. It was only several years later that I began to read Marxist theoretical works and form an idea about what Communism was.

In any case, after everything I had gone through, after everything that had happened to me and especially after the weeks following my return to Oradea – where I couldn’t find any trace of the people I had once known, or of my house, or of my belongings – I was through with religion.

Nevertheless, a few months after the liberation, I still went to the synagogue from time to time, on Saturday and for the fall holidays of 1945. I didn’t do it out of religiousness, but because I missed an atmosphere that I knew so well and that I had grown up with; yet, that atmosphere was never to be found again. Meanwhile, I finally became a member of the Communist Party. By that, my instinctive appreciation for some Communists became official. I also adopted their materialist philosophy to a large extent, so I parted with religion for a long time.

Here is what I personally think. We all went through our own terrible events, but these events look rather similar from the outside. Ask anybody who went from the ghetto to Auschwitz and they will tell you the same thing: there were ninety of us in one single carriage, there was no food, there were two cans – one for water and one for physiological needs – there was no room to move, lie or sit, many died after three or four days spent in the carriage, men were lined up on the Auschwitz platform etc.

I mean, these things may appear unique to each individual, but they are all the same for someone who was never there. There is no way for the people who didn’t experience what we experienced to fully realize what we went through, just like we ourselves didn’t fully realize what those Poles who came to Oradea had gone through.

Here’s a small incident from my own life experience. After I came back, the synagogue’s guard, a very decent Hungarian man who was nice to me all the time, asked me how it had been. I started to tell him; after an hour or so, this question came from him or maybe from his wife: ‘So you didn’t even get apples there?’ It was then that I realized that he hadn’t understood one single word.

Sure, there are plenty of movies and books nowadays and people can get an idea about what went on. But in order to make one’s own experience have some relevance for someone else, one needs to have a writer’s force, a special talent. There’s another thing. Many books were written and many films were made on this topic since then, and people who are my age get confused sometimes and mix their personal experience with what they only found out afterwards.

I have these two examples: Most interviews start like this: ‘We got off on the Auschwitz platform and saw the furnace of the crematorium.’ They saw what? Who could have known that was the furnace of the crematorium. This is what they found out later. When I came back from deportation, I was still not sure whether my father and mother had died or not. There was no way I could have known that for sure. We only began to find out these things later.

There are others who say: ‘They lined us up and, at a certain point, I found myself before Dr. Mengele, who sent us either to the right, either…’ How could they have possibly known that was Mengele? Did anyone know that was Mengele? It’s very hard to stay true to one’s memory, to give a thorough account of what one saw and add nothing to it.

These are some of the reasons why I have avoided giving interviews and accounts about the camp. Camps differed indeed. In some of them, the treatment was really harsh; in others, the treatment was better. But they were all alike in their essence: the labor, the chores were all the same everywhere. So it’s hard to make any personalization or individualization.

• After the War

I hadn’t finished school. The deportation of 1944 caught me in the 7th grade in high school… When I returned, I came across a special situation, right after the war. Special laws were passed for those who hadn’t been able to continue their studies – either from racial, political or other similar reasons, either because they had been drafted – and had lost several years [Editor’s note: Mr. Kallos refers to the Voitec-law.] 22.

There were some special sessions of examination, students were allowed to complete two grades in one year and so on and so forth. I had finished the 7th grade before the deportation, so when I came back, I passed an exam for the 8th grade; then there was a special session for the high school graduation exam. I graduated successfully. Since we’re at it, I would like to say that it was all thanks to the seven years I had spent at the Jewish High School in Oradea. I didn’t study for one minute before that test, and I did pretty well.

Then, in 1948, I registered at the Bolyai University in Cluj Napoca. I studied Psychology for one year, after which I transferred myself to the Faculty of Philosophy. I graduated in 1952. Concurrently, I was a student and a teacher: in the 2nd year, I became a tutor at the Philosophy Department.

In the year of my graduation, I was already an assistant. Then I went up the entire academic ladder. For a while, I was both the head of the Philosophy Department and the dean of the Faculty of Letters at the Bolyai University. In 1959, the two universities were united [and the result was the Babes-Bolyai University].

‘In 1959, he, Nicolae Ceausescu 23 was sent – as the party’s bully – to assure the unification of the Romanian and the Hungarian universities. It was no easy job. He presided over the commission which came and achieved the unification.

There was a whole week of endless meetings: in the morning or in the afternoon; with the faculties or with the groups of students; with students or without students; plenary or open only to the teaching body etc. Ceausescu was accompanied by the Minister of Education, logician and Academy member Joja. But the minister didn’t say one word. It was Ceausescu who did the work, gave the orders and pulled the strings.

Since I had been the head of the Philosophy Department at the Bolyai University, I became, after the unification, the head of the Philosophy Department of the new Babes-Bolyai University. They also appointed me assistant dean at the Faculty of History and Philosophy, an office which I kept till the late 1970s. In those days, the dean was Prof. Lascu. Then I worked with Stefan Pascu and, later, with Camil Muresanu.’ [ibid.85]. I was a head of department until 1980.

I married my wife unofficially in 1948. We were officially wedded in 1949. This means we had been living together for one year when we got married. We both had bicycles and rode them to work. My wife worked at the knitwear factory on Motilor Street. She came from the factory to the city-hall by bike. At 11 o’clock, we appeared before the Civil Status officer, we had our ceremony, and then we went back to work. People were busy building Socialism; there was no time for anything else…

My wife’s maiden name was Katalin Havas. She was born in Dej, in 1922. Her main occupation was that of a tailor. Then she became a clothing technician. She used to work at a clothing factory here in Cluj; I don’t know what it’s called now, but it was called Somesul back then. She worked there for a long time. She also worked for various knitwear cooperatives.

For the last 20 years, she worked at the Drumul Nou Cooperative. It still exists today. They make all sorts of clothes, women’s clothes and others. My wife’s education consisted of four elementary grades and a vocational school.

My elder son’s name is Peter. He was born in 1950, in Cluj. He graduated from the Conservatory. He became a flutist and a flute teacher. He worked for a while at music high schools in Cluj and Satu Mare. At a certain point, several schools were dissolved across the country, including some music high schools. He ended up in Bucharest because his wife had to go there.

So he moved to the capital, where he worked as an editor for a national newspaper in Hungarian, ‘Elore’ [‘Forward’ in Hungarian]. He did that until 1990 or 1991, and then he moved to the Romanian Television. He still works there today.

My other son, Gyorgy, was born in 1955. He graduated from the Polytechnic in Cluj and he was appointed to work in the Bihor County. So he got to Oradea, where I had been born and I had lived. He worked for several enterprises in the field of agriculture, as he was specialized in techniques of manufacturing agricultural machinery. Then he re-specialized in computer science. He activated in the field of computers. He is currently what they call a businessman.

I never insisted that my sons marry Jewish women. There’s no question about it. First of all, even if I had wanted that, it would have been pretty difficult. There weren’t too many Jewish young women of their age they could choose from. But they didn’t have to anyway.

We had a Christmas tree when the boys were young. But that was all.

I didn’t look at the Hungarian revolution of 1956 24 with the eyes of a Hungarian. It is true that I activated in the field of the Hungarian culture, as I was the editor-in-chief of the Hungarian-speaking magazine of the Writers’ Union in Cluj; the magazine was called ‘Utunk’ [‘Our Way’]. Apart from my academic career, I always worked in the media too. The staff of this magazine ‘enjoyed a special attention’ from the party leaders; they all had their eyes on us, lest the Hungarian locals should cause them any troubles. Party hotshots came to visit us on an almost daily basis; I met people like Leonte Rautu or Miron Constantinescu several times, because I had that position at the magazine. Meetings were held with the Hungarian writers – those were agitated times.

Back then, my mind didn’t let me see what was happening in Hungary as a revolution. On the one hand, I was glad there was an uprising against the regime of Rakosi 25, which was at least as oppressive as Ceausescu’s regime would become later; on the other hand, I couldn’t and wouldn’t realize that the system per se was endangered.

After all, none of the slogans of that revolution urged to rid ourselves of Socialism. People were calling for Socialism with a human face. There was no question about it. People were fighting against terror, but didn’t question the system itself. All they wanted was the system to become better, more democratic, more humanized.

During the communist regime, anti-Semitism was not an issue. But it depends on how one looked at it. Officially, it was not an issue; things were fine from the official point of view. Officially, the ethnic problem had ceased to exist; it had been fully ‘solved.’ Nationalism became State policy especially after Ceausescu came to power.

As far as Jews were concerned, there was a time after the war when they felt drawn to the communist movement. They believed in the solutions promised by the communist ideology: all people would be brothers and all the other things. After the fascist period, this ideal caught the attention of a number of Jews and made them become affiliated with the communist movement.

In its turn, the newly-installed communist power needed – both for its repression mechanism and for its political apparatus – people who had been neither Legionaries 26, nor members of the Arrow Cross Party 27. By definition, Jews had had no involvement in any of those two, so they were considered sort of trustworthy for a while.

As the regime strengthened its foundations, Jews began to be eliminated. One mustn’t forget that the Romanian Communist Party initially had a fairly large number of Hungarians and Jews. But the idea was that the Party needed to be represented mainly by Romanians. So a large-scale policy was initiated in order to attract the Romanian proletariat and peasantry to join the Party.

Gradually, as new members were recruited, the Jews were replaced from certain positions which they held in the early post-war years. Moreover, the communist regime had this policy of proportionality: the number of titles or offices held by the members of an ethnic group – Hungarians, Jews or others – had to be in observance with the proportion of that group in the total population.

This is why here in Transylvania, for instance, whenever a meeting was held at the beginning of the communist period, in the 1950s and the 1960s – and there were lots of meetings – they always made sure there was at least one Hungarian, one woman, one young person etc. among the presiding body. So things were made to look as if this proportionality was observed. Then a period came when the emphasis was laid on nationalism.

‘After Ceausescu came to power, this nationalist line was imposed and reinforced for several reasons. On the one hand, from a political point of view, this was an attempt to part with Moscow, which still promoted internationalism, at least in its official discourse. This national-communist line of action did serve to separate us from Moscow to a certain extent.’ [ibid.89]

As years went by, more and more ethnic groups, including the Jews, were left aside. Here’s an example from my personal experience. I’m not saying that it bothered me – because I was never a social climber – but it is symptomatic. For many years I was an assistant dean at the Babes-Bolyai University in Cluj and I worked with various professors.

I was never more than an assistant dean. I couldn’t become a dean, although I was highly esteemed from a professional and scientific point of view. And this is how things usually went on a national scale. If one was a Jew, the best thing one could hope to become was a deputy; never a boss. There must have been some who didn’t like it. But I had no problem with this. I usually didn’t fancy being a boss.

During the revolution of 1989 28, I looked through the window at the masses who were marching and burning the photos of Ceausescu. I got out in the streets, I went to see them, and I listened to Mrs. Cornea right here on Victoriei Square, on the first day of the revolution. [Editor’s note: Mr. Kallos is talking about the poet Doina Cornea. She was condemned to house arrest in the communist period. After the revolution of December 1989, she distinguished herself through extensive civic activities. She still lives today.]

Of course, I was glad. I mean, I was glad about that specific situation, glad because we had got rid of Ceausescu and his regime; I didn’t realize the entire system had collapsed. I gradually figured out what the big picture was; I became aware that, on the world scene, the Berlin Wall had disappeared, the Soviet Union had fallen apart, and so on and so forth. Getting rid of Ceausescu’s regime was a progress. Then we got used to the democratic life, so to speak.

This alleged anti-Semitism is no fairy-tale – it is real, even now. Of course, there aren’t any anti-Semitic laws. On the contrary, there are laws that condemn xenophobia and anti-Semitism. So one might claim that there is no State anti-Semitism.

But I look at the legionary magazines and books that are published and I look at the legionary organizations that activate – all despite a legislation that actually forbids them. And they are all tolerated by the State. This is also a kind of State anti-Semitism.

Indirect though it may be, it is still an official anti-Semitic statement. Not to mention the rhetorical anti-Semitism. There are many books, newspaper articles, interviews and television shows which express anti-Semitic positions. I don’t think I need to give names – you know who I’m talking about.

As for the anti-Semitism of the people at large, I couldn’t asses it, but it is real too. There were some sociological studies that attempted to determine the extent of this anti-Semitism: people were asked if they would like to have a Jew as a neighbor, if they would like their son to marry a Jewish girl and so on and so forth…

[Editor’s note: The questions mentioned by Mr. Kallos often appear in the opinion barometers ordered annually by the Fundatia pentru o Societate Deschisa – The Foundation for an Open Society – and aim at revealing xenophobic attitudes, especially those towards the cohabitating ethnic groups: Hungarians, Jews, Germans and Gypsies.]

It must be real! I mean, an ideology, a conception that has been nourished for centuries couldn’t just disappear. It hasn’t disappeared. There are also more recent forms, like that Holocaust denial routine. At first sight, there is nothing anti-Semitic about it, it’s more of a scientific debate. Still, some of its roots and filiations are anti-Semitic.

[Editor’s note: The arguing for the inexistence of the Holocaust by various groups of researchers or professors or the mere doubt expressed by the common people regarding the existence of the Holocaust has been dubbed ‘anti-Semitism without Jews.’]

Unfortunately, it is obvious that anti-Semitism survives in the absence of Jews in this country. The whole Jewish matter reduces itself to 5,000 Jews plus, according to the latest census. The statistics of the Jewish communities speak of 7,000 Jews still living. Whether there are 5,000 or 7,000, it’s the same thing.

So what’s all the fuss about 7,000 people, 80 percent of whom are over 70 years old?! How can these people pose any threat to the Romanian public life, culture and economy? So we’re obviously dealing with a plot here.

Here’s my situation now. In 1997, they proposed me for the presidency of the Jewish Communities in Cluj and they elected me. Are you familiar with the Beckett syndrome? Do you know Beckett? There was a play, and there was a film too. So Beckett was a close friend of Prince Henry of England.

Both of them were steady drinkers and womanizers and they never missed a party. At a certain point, Henry made Beckett the head of the Anglican Church, as he wanted to have a trustworthy man up there. But Beckett took his position seriously and really began to act like the head of the church.

So when Henry asked him to separate him from his wife, he refused. And he was killed because of it eventually. It’s a very interesting thing. This is what the Beckett syndrome means: when you are appointed in a certain position and you try to take that position seriously. And this is pretty much what happened to me too.

In what way? They were in for a surprise when they elected me president of the Community. Since we’re at it, I should tell you that I never denied my Jewishness; I couldn’t have, even if I had wanted to. I didn’t turn religious or something, but I did tell them, at the very first community meeting, about my conviction that religion was the factor which played the most important part in preserving the Jewish identity throughout the entire history of the Jewish people. I am the first to admit this. And I told them that, as president, I would do everything within my power to support the religious life. And this is what I really tried to do.

But the community is getting really old. Unfortunately, people began to disappear one after another. And most of the ones who knew how to perform a religious service are among the departed. I had learned how to do this in my childhood and my adolescence, so volunteered myself to officiate on Saturday and on holidays.

It’s like a sort of folklore to me. I don’t do it out of faith or out of conviction. But I’m one of the few who know how to do it, so here I am. I’m not even religious – you won’t see me praying in the synagogue. I won’t act, I won’t pretend. So I stayed what I was before, a free thinker, but I perform these services…

My children reproached me, and still do sometimes, that have no idea about Jewishness! But this is a thing that can’t be taught. The only way to learn it is to come to the synagogue, to watch and to listen. You come once, you come ten times, you come a hundred times, and you finally get it.

But those who do come are usually people who are my age or even older. The youth are rarely seen here. There is a youth choir. We invite them on holidays. They come and they go. But they seldom come to pray, or to the regular service.

Jewish boys have to be circumcised. My sons were not circumcised. They know nothing about the matters of cult. But they showed a particular interest in the Holocaust and the deportation problem; they avidly read everything they came across from this immense literature on the Holocaust.

I abdicated, so to speak, two years ago, in 2001. So I was president for four years and a half. There were some new elections and they wanted me again, but I told them: no, that’s enough; I paid my dues, now it’s someone else’s turn.

I continue to help the community. I’m a sort of councilor to the leadership and I also help them with the religious life. I owe my skills mostly to my father’s occupation; like I said, I used to help him in different activities at the Neolog synagogue and at funerals. I also went to the elementary school and the high school of the Neolog Community, so I learned all there was to know about the Neolog and the Orthodox customs.

I am still a consultant professor at the Babes-Bolyai University; I coordinate doctoral dissertations. I also got involved in the activity of the Jewish Committee. I was its president; now I am a member in its leadership.

• Glossary:

1 Ady, Endre (1877-1919): One of the most important Hungarian poets, who played a key role in renewing 20th century Hungarian poetry. He was a leading poet of the Nyugat [West], the most important Hungarian literary and critical journal in the first half of the 20th century.

In his poems and articles he urged the transformation of feudal Hungary into a modern bourgeois democracy, a revolution of the peasants and an end to unlawfulness and deprivation. Having realized that the bourgeoisie was weak and unprepared for such changes, he later turned toward the proletariat. An intense struggle arose around his poetry between the conservative feudal camp and the followers of social and literary reforms.

2 Orthodox communities: The traditionalist Jewish communities founded their own Orthodox organizations after the Universal Meeting in 1868-1869.They organized their life according to Judaist principles and opposed to assimilative aspirations.

The community leaders were the rabbis. The statute of their communities was sanctioned by the king in 1871. In the western part of Hungary the communities of the German and Slovakian immigrants' descendants were formed according to the Western Orthodox principles.

At the same time in the East, among the Jews of Galician origins the 'eastern' type of Orthodoxy was formed; there the Hassidism prevailed. In time the Western Orthodoxy also spread over to the eastern part of Hungary. In 1896, there were 294 Orthodox mother-communities and 1,001 subsidiary communities registered all over Hungary, mainly in Transylvania and in the north-eastern part of the country,.

In 1930, the 136 mother-communities and 300 subsidiary communities made up 30.4 percent of all Hungarian Jews. This number increased to 535 Orthodox communities in 1944, including 242,059 believers (46 percent).

3 Neolog Jewry: Following a Congress in 1868/69 in Budapest, where the Jewish community was supposed to discuss several issues on which the opinion of the traditionalists and the modernizers differed and which aimed at uniting Hungarian Jews, Hungarian Jewry was officially split into two (later three) communities, which all built up their own national community network.

The Neologs were the modernizers, who opposed the Orthodox on various questions. The third group, the sop-called Status Quo Ante advocated that the Jewish community was maintained the same as before the 1868/69 Congress.

4 Sephardi Jewry: (Hebrew for 'Spanish') Jews of Spanish and Portuguese origin. Their ancestors settled down in North Africa, the Ottoman Empire, South America, Italy and the Netherlands after they had been driven out from the Iberian peninsula at the end of the 15th century.

About 250,000 Jews left Spain and Portugal on this occasion. A distant group among Sephardi refugees were the Crypto-Jews (Marranos), who converted to Christianity under the pressure of the Inquisition but at the first occasion reassumed their Jewish identity.

Sephardi preserved their community identity; they speak Ladino language in their communities up until today. The Jewish nation is formed by two main groups: the Ashkenazi and the Sephardi group which differ in habits, liturgy their relation toward Kabala, pronunciation as well in their philosophy.

5 Transylvania: Geographical and historical region belonging to Hungary until 1918-19, then ceded to Romania. Its area covers 103,000 sq.km between the Carpathian Mountains and the present-day Hungarian and Serbian borders. It became a Roman province in the 2nd century (AD) terminating the Dacian Kingdom.

After the Roman withdrawal it was overrun, between the 3rd and 10th centuries, by the Goths, the Huns, the Gepidae, the Avars and the Slavs. Hungarian tribes first entered the region in the 5th century, but they did not fully control it until 1003, when King Stephen I placed it under jurisdiction of the Hungarian Crown.

Later, in the 12th and 13th centuries, Germans, called Saxons (then and now), also arrived while Romanians, called Vlachs or Walachians, were there by that time too, although the exact date of their appearance is disputed. As a result of the Turkish conquest, Hungary was divided into 3 sections:

West Hungary, under Habsburg rule, central Hungary, under Turkish rule, and semi-independent Transylvania (as a Principality), where Austrian and Turkish influences competed for supremacy for nearly two centuries. With the defeat of the Turkish Transylvania gradually came under Habsburg rule, and due to the Compromise of 1867 it became an integral part of Hungary again.

In line with other huge territorial losses fixed in the Treaty of Trianon (1920), Transylvania was formally ceded to Romania by Hungary. For a short period during WWII it was returned to Hungary but was ceded to Romania once again after the war. 

Many of the Saxons of Transylvania fled to Germany before the arrival of the Soviet army, and more followed after the fall of the Communist government in 1989. In 1920, the population of Erdély was 5,200,000, of which 3 million were Romanian, 1,400,000 Hungarian (26%), 510,000 German and 180,000 Jewish.

In 2002, however, the percentage of Hungarians was only 19.6% and the German and Jewish population decreased to several thousand. Despite the decrease of the Hungarian, German and Jewish element, Transylvania still preserves some of its multiethnic and multi-confessional tradition.

6 Hasidic Judaism: Haredi Jewish religious movement. Some refer to Hasidic Judaism as Hasidism. The movement originated in Eastern Europe (Belarus and Ukraine) in the 18th century. Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer (1698-1760), also known as the Ba'al Shem Tov, founded Hasidic Judaism.

It originated in a time of persecution of the Jewish people, when European Jews had turned inward to Talmud study; many felt that most expressions of Jewish life had become too "academic", and that they no longer had any emphasis on spirituality or joy.

The Ba'al Shem Tov set out to improve the situation. In its initial stages, Hasidism met with opposition from several contemporary leaders, most notably the Vilna Gaon, leader of the Lithuanian Jews, united as the misnagdim - literally meaning "those who stand opposite".

7 ‘Hungarian era’ (1940-1944): The expression 'Hungarian era' refers to the period between 30th August 1940 and 15th October 1944 in Transylvania. As a result of the Trianon Peace Treaty in 1920, the eastern part of Hungary (Maramures, Partium, Banat, Transylvania) was annexed to Romania.

Two million inhabitants of Hungarian nationality came under Romanian rule. In the summer of 1940, under pressure from Berlin and Rome, the Romanian government agreed to return Northern Transylvania, where the majority of the Hungarians lived, to Hungary.

The anti-Jewish laws introduced in 1938 and 1939 in Hungary were also applied in Northern Transylvania. Following the German occupation of Hungary on 19th March 1944, Jews from Northern Transylvania were deported and killed in concentration camps along with Jews from all over Hungary except for Budapest.

Northern Transylvania belonged to Hungary until the fall of 1944, when the Soviet troops entered and introduced a regime of military administration that sustained local autonomy. The military administration ended on March 1945, when the Romanian administration was reintroduced in all the Western territories lost in 1940 - as a reward for the fact that Romania formed the first communist-led government in the region.

8 Anti-Jewish laws in Hungary: Following similar legislation in Nazi Germany, Hungary enacted three Jewish laws in 1938, 1939 and 1941. The first law restricted the number of Jews in industrial and commercial enterprises, banks and in certain occupations, such as legal, medical and engineering professions, and journalism to 20% of the total number.

This law defined Jews on the basis of their religion, so those who converted before the short-lived Hungarian Soviet Republic in 1919, as well as those who fought in World War I, and their widows and orphans were exempted from the law.

The second Jewish law introduced further restrictions, limiting the number of Jews in the above fields to 6%, prohibiting the employment of Jews completely in certain professions such as high school and university teaching, civil and municipal services, etc. It also forbade Jews to buy or sell land and so forth.

This law already defined Jews on more racial grounds in that it regarded baptized children that had at least one non-converted Jewish parent as Jewish. The third Jewish law prohibited intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews, and defined anyone who had at least one Jewish grandparent as Jewish.

9 Kristallnacht: Nazi anti-Jewish violence on the night of 10th November 1938. The official pretext was the assassination two days earlier in Paris of Ernst vom Rath, third secretary of the German embassy, by a Polish Jew named Herschel Grynszpan.

In an increasing atmosphere of tension engineered by the Germans, widespread attacks took place on Jews, Jewish property and synagogues throughout Germany and Austria. Shops were destroyed; warehouses, homes and synagogues were set on fire or otherwise destroyed.

Many windows were broken and the night of violence thus became known as Kristallnacht (Crystal Night, or the Night of Broken Glass). At least 30,000 Jews were arrested and sent to concentration camps in Sachsenhausen, Buchenwald and Dachau. Though the German government attempted to present it as a spontaneous protest and punishment on the part of the Aryan, i.e., non-Jewish population, it was, in fact, carried out by order of the Nazi leaders.

10 Goga-Cuza government: Anti-Jewish and chauvinist government established in 1937, led by Octavian Goga, poet and Romanian nationalist, and Alexandru C. Cuza, professor of the University of Iasi, and well known for its radical anti-Semitic view.

Goga and Cuza were the leaders of the National Christian Party, an extremist right-wing organization founded in 1935. After the elections of 1937 the Romanian king, Carol II, appointed the National Christian Party to form a minority government.

The Goga-Cuza government had radically limited the rights of the Jewish population during their short rule; they barred Jews from the civil service and army and forbade them to buy property and practice certain professions. In February 1938 King Carol established a royal dictatorship.

He suspended the Constitution of 1923 and introduced a new constitution that concentrated all legislative and executive powers in his hands, gave him total control over the judicial system and the press, and introduced a one-party system.

11 Kecskemeti, Lipot (1865-1936): Rabbi. Finishing the university and the Rabbinical Seminary in Budapest, he became the chief rabbi of the Nagyvarad community. He was one of the best Hungarian pulpit orators. He was engaged in the study of Medieval Jewish poets during his studies, and later in religious history, and published regularly in the Annals of the Israelite Hungarian Literary Society.

12 Babes-Bolyai University of Kolozsvar (Cluj Napoca): The Babes-Bolyai University was set up in 1958 by the fusion of two state universities, the Hungarian Bolyai University and the Romanian Babes University. The predecessor of the Bolyai University, called Ferenc Jozsef University and founded in 1872, moved to Szeged after the Trianon Peace Treaty (1920). In 1919 the University of Cluj was declared a Romanian university by an executive decree of the new Governing Council of Transylvania and it was named after the Romanian King, Ferdinand I.

After Transylvania's annexation to Hungary (1940) the Ferdinand University fled to Sibiu and the university buildings in Cluj got back under the rule of the returning Ferenc Jozsef University. In 1945 Transylvania was enclosed to Romania, the Romanian University returned to Cluj, and the negotiation began for the buildings and laboratories.

Since 1945 the Hungarian university has been called Bolyai, and the Romanian one Babes, after the famous Romanian researcher Victor Babes. In the 1950s the Bolyai University was gradually degraded by reducing the number of its faculties, students and teachers. The last phase of this process was the fusion of the two institutions.

13 Yellow star in Hungary: In a decree introduced on 31st March 1944 the Sztojay government obliged all persons older than 6 years qualified as Jews, according to the relevant laws, to wear, starting from 5th April, "outside the house" a 10x10 cm, canary yellow colored star made of textile, silk or velvet, sewed onto the left side of their clothes.

The government of Dome Sztojay, appointed due to the German invasion, emitted dozens of decrees aiming at the separation, isolation and despoilment of the Jewish population, all this preparing and facilitating deportation. These decrees prohibited persons qualified as Jews from owning and using telephones, radios, cars, and from changing domicile.

They prohibited the employment of non-Jewish persons in households qualified as Jewish, ordered the dismissal of public employees qualified as Jews, and introduced many other restrictions and prohibitions. The obligation to wear a yellow star aimed at the visible distinction of persons qualified as Jews, and made possible from the beginning abuses by the police and gendarmes.

A few categories were exempted from this obligation: WWI invalids and awarded veterans, respectively following the pressure of the Christian Church priests, the widows and orphans of awarded WWI heroes, WWII orphans and widows, converted Jews married to a Christian and foreigners. (Randolph L. Braham: A nepirtas politikaja, A holokauszt Magyarorszagon / The Politics of Genocide, The Holocaust in Hungary, Budapest, Uj Mandatum, 2003, p. 89-90.)

14 Levente movement: Para-military youth organization in Hungary from 1928-1944, established with the aim of facilitating religious and national education as well as physical training. Boys between the age of 12 and 21 were eligible if they did not attend a school providing regular physical training, or did not join the army.

Since the Treaty of Versailles forbade Hungary to enforce the general obligations related to national defense, the Levente movement aimed at its substitution as well, as its members not only participated in sports activities and marches during weekends, but also practiced the use of weapons, under the guidance of demobilized officers on actual service or reserve officers.

(The Law no. II of 1939 on National Defense made compulsory the national defense education and the joining of the movement.) (Source: Ignac Romsics: Magyarorszag tortenete a XX. szazadban/The History of Hungary in the 20th Century, Budapest, Osiris Publishing House, 2002, p. 181-182.)

15 Jewish Council/Judenrat: Jewish councils appointed by German occupying authorities to carry out Nazi orders in the Jewish communities of occupied Europe. After the establishment of the ghettos they were responsible for everything that happened within them.

They controlled all institutions operating in the ghettos, the police, the employment agency, food supplies, housing, health, social work, education, religion, etc. Germans also made them responsible for selecting people for the work camps, and, in the end, choosing those to be sent to camps that were in reality death camps.

It is hard to judge their actions due to the abnormal circumstances. Some believe they betrayed Jews by obeying orders, and others think they were trying to gain time and save as many people as possible.

16 Horthy, Miklos (1868-1957): Regent of Hungary from 1920 to 1944. Relying on the conservative plutocrats and the great landowners and Christian middle classes, he maintained a right-wing regime in interwar Hungary.

In foreign policy he tried to attain the revision of the Trianon Peace Treaty on the basis of which two thirds of Hungary's territory were seceded after WWI - which led to Hungary entering WWII as an ally of Germany and Italy. When the Germans occupied Hungary in March 1944, Horthy was forced to appoint as Prime Minister the former ambassador of Hungary in Berlin, who organized the deportations of Hungarian Jews.

On 15th October 1944 Horthy announced on the radio that he would ask the Allied Powers for truce. The leader of the extreme right-wing fascist Arrow Cross Party, Ferenc Szalasi, supported by the German army, took over power. Horthy was detained in Germany and was later liberated by American troops. He moved to Portugal in 1949 and died there in 1957.

17 Escape from Auschwitz (Vrba/Wetzler): Rudolf Vrba (former name Walter Rosenberg) escaped from Auschwitz along with his friend, fellow prisoner Alfred Wetzler, and on 25th April 1944 gave a report in Zilina, the so-called Report of Vrba and Wetzler about the German extermination camps of Auschwitz and Birkenau, in which they described in detail the camp system and gave witness about the mass murder behind the camp walls, even furnished a plan with important buildings, facilities and gas chambers. Rudolf Vrba also published a book of memoirs, Utekl jsem z Osvetimi [I Escaped from Auschwitz].

18 Eichmann, Adolf (1906-1962): Nazi war criminal, one of the organizers of mass genocide of Jews. Since 1932 member of the Nazi party and SS, since 1934 an employee of the race and resettlement departments of the RSHA (Main Security Office of the Reich), after the "Anschluss" of Austria headed the Headquarters for the Emigration of Jews in Vienna, later organized the emigration of Jews in Czechoslovakia and, since 1939, in Berlin.

Since December 1939 he was the head of the Departments for the Resettlement of Poles and Jews from lands incorporated into the Reich. Since mid-1941, as the Head of the Branch IV B 4 Gestapo RSHA, he coordinated the plan of the extermination of Jews, organized and carried out the deportations of millions of Jews to death camps.

After the war he was imprisoned in an American camp, he managed to escape and hid in Germany, Italy and Argentina. In 1960 he was captured by the Israeli secret service in Buenos Aires. After a process which took several months, he was sentenced to death and executed. Eichmann's trial initiated a great discussion about the causes and the carrying out of the Shoah.

19 Kasztner group: Named after Rezso Kasztner, a Zionist journalist from Cluj Napoca, who considered aliyah to Palestine the only possible solution of the so-called 'Jewish problem'. In April 1944, Kasztner - as one of the leading members of the Hungarian (Jewish) Salvation Committee - contacted the occupying German authorities in order to save as many Jewish lives as possible.

As a result of his 'negotiations', he succeeded to save the lives of about 1700 Jews, most of them from Budapest. This number also included 387 people from Transylvania (mostly from Cluj Napoca), such as Akiba Glasner, the orthodox chief-rabbi of Cluj and Jozsef Fischer, the leader of Erdelyi Zsido Nemzeti Szovetseg, then Erdelyi Zsido Part.

The Kasztner group arrived in Bergen-Belsen at the beginning of July and left for Switzerland in August and December. After the war Kasztner was criticized by the Jewish community because of his methods of selection. In 1952 he was declared a traitor in Israel, in 1955 the court of justice found him not guilty. Two years later he was murdered.

20 Buchenwald: One of the largest concentration camps in Germany, located five miles north of the city of Weimar. It was founded on 16th July, 1937 and liberated on 11th April, 1945. During its existence 238,980 prisoners from 30 countries passed through Buchenwald. Of those, 43,045 were killed.

21 Hitlerjugend: The youth organization of the German Nazi Party (NSDAP). In 1936 all other German youth organizations were abolished and the Hitlerjugend became the only legal state youth organization. At the end of 1938, the SS took charge of the organization.

From 1939 all young Germans between 10 and 18 were obliged to join the Hitlerjugend, which organized after-school activities and political education. Boys over 14 were also given pre-military training, and girls over 14 were trained for motherhood and domestic duties. In 1939 it had 7 million members.

During World War II members of the Hitlerjugend served in auxiliary forces. At the end of 1944, 17-year-olds from the Hitlerjugend were drafted to form the 12th Panzer Division 'Hitlerjugend' and sent to the Western Front.

22 Voitec-law: Named after communist minister of education Stefan Voitec, and adopted in 1946. According to this law all those (regardless of their nationality) who had to interrupt their studies during World War II could take exams and apply for high-school or university following an accelerated procedure.

23 Ceausescu, Nicolae (1918-1989): Communist head of Romania between 1965 and 1989. He followed a policy of nationalism and non-intervention into the internal affairs of other countries. The internal political, economic and social situation was marked by the cult of his personality, as well as by terror, institutionalized by the Securitate, the Romanian political police.

The Ceausescu regime was marked by disastrous economic schemes and became increasingly repressive and corrupt. There were frequent food shortages, lack of electricity and heating, which made everyday life unbearable. In December 1989 a popular uprising, joined by the army, led to the arrest and execution of both Ceausescu and his wife, Elena, who had been deputy Prime Minister since 1980.

24 1956 Revolution: It designates the Revolution, which started on 23rd October 1956 against Soviet rule and the communists in Hungary. It was started by student and worker demonstrations in Budapest started in which Stalin's gigantic statue was destroyed. Moderate communist leader Imre Nagy was appointed as prime minister and he promised reform and democratization.

The Soviet Union withdrew its troops which had been stationing in Hungary since the end of World War II, but they returned after Nagy's announcement that Hungary would pull out of the Warsaw Pact to pursue a policy of neutrality. The Soviet army put an end to the rising on 4th November and mass repression and arrests started.

About 200,000 Hungarians fled from the country. Nagy, and a number of his supporters were executed. Until 1989, the fall of the communist regime, the Revolution of 1956 was officially considered a counter-revolution.

25 Rakosi regime: Matyas Rakosi was a Stalinist Hungarian leader of Jewish origin from 1948-1956. He introduced a complete communist terror, established a Stalinist type cult for himself and was responsible for the show trials of the early 1950s. After the Revolution of 1956, he went to the Soviet Union, where he died in 1971.

26 Legionary: Member of the Legion of the Archangel Michael, also known as the Legionary Movement, founded in 1927 by C. Z. Codreanu. This extremist, nationalist, anti-Semitic and xenophobic movement aimed at excluding those whose views on political and racial matters were different from theirs.

The Legion was organized in so-called nests, and it practiced mystical rituals, which were regarded as the way to a national spiritual regeneration by the members of the movement. These rituals were based on Romanian folklore and historical traditions.

The Legionaries founded the Iron Guard as a terror organization, which carried out terrorist activities and political murders. The political twin of the Legionary Movement was the Totul pentru Tara (Everything for the Fatherland), which represented the movement in parliamentary elections. The followers of the Legionary Movement were recruited from young intellectuals, students, Orthodox clericals and peasants. The movement was banned by King Carol II in 1938.

27 Arrow Cross Party: The most extreme of the Hungarian fascist movements in the mid-1930s. The party consisted of several groups, though the name is now commonly associated with the faction organized by Ferenc Szalasi and Kalman Hubay in 1938. 

Following the Nazi pattern, the party promised not only the establishment of a fascist-type system including social reforms, but also the 'Solution of the Jewish Question'. The party's uniform consisted of a green shirt and a badge with a set of crossed arrows, a Hungarian version of the swastika, on it.

On 15th October 1944, when Governor Horthy announced Hungary's withdrawal from the war, the Arrow Cross seized power with military help from the Germans. The Arrow Cross government ordered general mobilization and enforced a regime of terror which, though directed chiefly against the Jews, also inflicted heavy suffering on the Hungarians.

It was responsible for the deportation and death of tens of thousands of Jews. After the Soviet army liberated the whole of Hungary by early April 1945, Szalasi and his Arrow Cross ministers were brought to trial and executed.

28 Romanian Revolution of 1989: In December 1989, a revolt in Romania deposed the communist dictator Ceausescu. Anti-government violence started in Timisoara and spread to other cities. When army units joined the uprising, Ceausescu fled, but he was captured and executed on 25th December along with his wife.

A provisional government was established, with Ion Iliescu, a former Communist Party official, as president. In the elections of May 1990 Iliescu won the presidency and his party, the Democratic National Salvation Front, obtained an overwhelming majority in the legislature.

Leo Granierer 
Stadt: Wien
Land: Österreich 
Datum des Interviews: Februar, 2002
Name des Interviewers: Artur Schnarch

Leo Granierer ist ein kräftiger mittelgroßer 75-jähriger Mann.

Er empfängt mich mit seiner Frau Alice sehr herzlich. Die beiden wohnen in einer hellen Neubauwohnung in einem sehr schönen innerstädtischen Wohnbezirk.

Leo Granierer hat in einer prägenden Jugendphase unvorstellbar Schlimmes ertragen müssen und ist trotzdem bereit, alles vor mir auszubreiten.

Leo Granierer starb 2018 in Wien.

• Meine Familiengeschichte
• Meine Kindheit
• Während des Krieges
• Nach dem Krieg

• Meine Familiengeschichte

Ich weiß über meine Vorfahren mütterlicherseits sehr wenig, aber väterlicherseits habe ich durch Erzählungen und insbesondere durch meine Cousine Towa einiges erfahren.

Meine Urgroßmutter Golde Granierer stammt aus Sadagóra. Das ist in der Bukowina und liegt ca. fünf Kilometer nördlich von Czernowitz.

Sie hatte drei Kinder, Sarah, meine Großmutter, Jitzchak und Leiser. Golde war sehr reich und sehr fromm. Als sie so um 1900 Witwe wurde, da hat sie ihr Vermögen auf ihre Kinder aufgeteilt und ist nach Jerusalem gegangen.

Mein Großonkel Jitzchak war Buchhalter und hatte drei Kinder. Seine Tochter Sali ist nach Haifa ausgewandert und hat als Dolmetsch gearbeitet. Sie hat zum Beispiel auch beim Eichmannprozess übersetzt.

Salomon ist nach Wien gegangen, und ich habe ihn hier getroffen.Er war auch bei der Trauung meiner Eltern einer der Trauzeugen. Jitzchak hatte noch einen Sohn, ich weiß aber leider gar nichts über ihn.

Der zweite Großonkel Leiser, den ich auch nicht kennen gelernt habe, hatte viele Kinder von denen ich einige getroffen habe.

Da gab es in Caracas Henja, die später zu ihrem Bruder Sinai nach Bnei Brak gezogen ist, Moische, der jung gestorben ist, Bella und noch eine Tochter, an deren Namen ich mich nicht erinnern kann, die hatte aber eine Tochter Klara, die einen Ostfeld geheiratet hat.

Und in Wien war noch der Josef Granierer mit seiner Frau Sali und seinem Sohn Fredi. Jossel hatte ein Bekleidungsgeschäft gegenüber dem Lebensmittelgeschäft meiner Eltern in der Wurmsergasse.

Er ist im Krieg nach Czernowitz zurückgegangen und dort im Lager ermordet worden, und seine Frau hat nachher einen Dauber geheiratet, der den Fredi adoptiert hat. Fredi lebt heute in Caracas.

Meine Großmutter Sarah Granierer hat einen ihrer viel älteren Cousins Jakob Rath aus Kolomea in Galizien geheiratet. Dieser war dann Rabbiner in Rarancze, wo meine Großeltern auch einen großen Gutshof betrieben. Beide starben schon mit 59 Jahren und hinterließen sieben Kinder.

Leiser Rath, der älteste, war verheiratet und hatte drei Söhne. Er fuhr nach Amerika und ließ die Familie zurück. Er heiratete dann nochmals und hatte wieder Kinder, von denen ich nichts weiß.

Als seine erste Frau starb, zwang ihn die Familie, seine Kinder nach Amerika zu holen. Schaje und Jossel gingen also nach Amerika, während der Dritte, welcher angeblich geistig nicht ganz in Ordnung war, in Rumänien blieb und bei der rumänischen Armee diente, bis er im KZ ermordet wurde.

Moische Rath war sehr reich und hatte zwei Häuser in Czernowitz. Er hinterließ einen Sohn Adolf, der wieder einen Sohn hatte.

Henja war nicht verheiratet und ist wahrscheinlich im Krieg zu Grunde gegangen.

Rifka hat einen Picker aus Radautz geheiratet und mit ihm zwei Kinder - Tova und Toni - bekommen. Tova, die seit 1930 in Hadera lebt, hat mir sehr viel über meine Familie erzählt. Sie hat zwei Kinder - Schajahu und Jaffa - und auch noch sechs Enkelkinder. Ihr Mann heißt Aron Kleinmann und kommt aus Briceni in Bessarabien.

Dann gab es noch eine Schwester von meinem Vater, von der ich den Namen nicht weiß. Sie hat einen Fruchtmann geheiratet, und sie hatten neun Kinder. Die Rosa und den Bella habe ich kennen gelernt. Rosa hat einen Schumer geheiratet, und sie haben einen Sohn Arije und leben in Tel-Aviv.

Munju ist in die USA ausgewandert und hatte einen Sohn. Er ist dort drei Stiegen unglücklich hinuntergefallen und gestorben. Mein Vater hätte, wie es so Brauch war, seine Witwe heiraten sollen, hat aber auf dem Weg nach Amerika in Wien meine Mutter getroffen, und es nichts daraus geworden.

Mein Vater wurde am 15. Juli 1900 als Israel Rath in Rarancze geboren. Als die Bukowina nach dem ersten Weltkrieg rumänisch wurde und er zur rumänischen Armee eingezogen werden sollte, wo er doch überhaupt nicht Rumänisch konnte, ist er unter dem Namen seiner Mutter – Granierer – nach Wien gegangen.

Hier hat er meine Mutter Lea Gold kennen gelernt. Meine Mutter wurde am 10. Mai 1901 in Rohatyn in Polen geboren. Obwohl meine Mutter sogar ein Mal auf Besuch nach Rohatyn gefahren ist, weiß ich gar nichts über ihre Familie.

Wahrscheinlich sind alle im Krieg umgekommen. Es gab eine Verwandte meiner Mutter, die haben in der Nähe vom Prater in der Ybbsstrasse gewohnt und waren sehr arm. Sie hatten eine Tochter, die hieß Anni, und wir haben sie hie und da besucht.

Nachdem meine Eltern faktisch nach dem ersten Weltkrieg aus dem Ausland gekommen sind und keine Berufe und keine Aufenthaltsgenehmigung hatten, waren sie auf die Hilfe, die sie kriegen konnten, angewiesen.

Und die haben sie von einem Verwandten gekriegt, der Rechtsanwalt in Wien war, und der hatte einen Bauernhof irgend wo da draußen, und da hat er sie zum Arbeiten eingesetzt.

Er war froh, dass er Leute gekriegt hat, die für nichts gearbeitet haben, und meine Eltern hatten keine Wahl. Dort haben sie einige Jahre gearbeitet, bis es ihnen zu viel geworden ist. Es war auch eine sehr schwere Arbeit, und meine Mutter war in Polen in ihrer Familie als schwächlich und kränklich bekannt, aber dort hat sie gearbeitet.

Dann haben sie sich selbstständig gemacht, indem sie sich ein kleines Lebensmittelgeschäft gekauft haben. Das war im 14. Bezirk in der Märzstrasse 108, und wir haben im selben Haus gewohnt. Und nachdem sie das ein paar Jahre geführt haben, haben sie sich dann ein zweites kaufen können.

Das war im 14. Bezirk in der Wurmsergasse 26, das ist eine Gasse, die vom Meiselmarkt runterführt, also Leute die vom Markt gekommen sind, sind da vorbeigegangen. Gegenüber vom neuen Geschäft hatte der Cousin meines Vater, Jossel Granierer, ein Textilgeschäft mit Schmates gehabt.

• Meine Kindheit

Auf jeden Fall bin ich dann am 15. Juni 1927 als Leo Granierer geboren worden. Meine Mutter hatte irgendein Problem mit ihrer Brust, sie ist auch geschnitten worden und konnte keine weiteren Kinder bekommen. Ich war also ein verwöhntes Kind.

Es war nicht so, wie es heute ist, dass man nur was sagen braucht, und man kriegt es schon. Die Zeiten waren nicht danach. Ich habe nie irgendwelche Schwierigkeiten mit meinen Eltern, oder sie mit mir, gehabt. Ich war sozusagen ein folgsames Kind.

Mein Vater war auch überhaupt nicht streng, und ich habe nie Schläge bekommen.

Mein Vater war fromm, nicht sehr fromm, aber von zu Hause aus fromm. Er hat jeden Tag Twilen (Gebetsriemen) gelegt. Meine Eltern waren koscher, mussten aber auch am Samstag das Geschäft offen lassen. Feiertage haben wir zu Hause gefeiert, allerdings meistens nur wir drei, da wir ja kaum Verwandte in Wien hatten.

In der Schanzstrasse im 14. Bezirk gab es irgend so einen Erwachsenenclub (ESRA), wo sich die Juden getroffen haben. Da sind meine Eltern auch immer hingegangen. Einige haben damals sogar versucht, Hebräisch zu lernen, und ich bin nicht sicher, ob man da nicht auch zu den Feiertagen gebetet hat.

Alle Feste wurden im Tempel in der Turnergasse gefeiert, und da waren viele Kinder, darunter auch solche, welche ich von der Religion her gekannt habe.

Die Juden in Wien haben die Frauen und Kinder immer über den Sommer auf Urlaub geschickt. Das war nicht so wie heute, dass man weiß ich wo hingefahren ist, sondern ins Burgenland, nach Sauerbrunn und so.

Also in Gegenden, wo viele Juden gelebt haben. Und wo die Männer dann am Wochenende gekommen sind, um die Frauen und die Kinder zu besuchen. Und da hat mein Vater auch meine Mutter und mich besucht.

Ein Mal, da waren wir in Sauerbrunn, und das Wetter war nicht besonders schön, aber wenn man schon ein Mal da ist, will man es ausnützen, und er ist trotz des nicht so schönen Wetters baden gegangen und hat dann Rheuma gehabt und ist auf zwei Stöcken gegangen.

Wir haben dann alle möglichen Ärzte konsultiert, und mein Vater ist auf Kur gefahren. Es hat aber alles nichts geholfen, bis er dann nach Pistian gefahren ist. Von Pistian ist er zurückgekommen und hat noch mehr Schmerzen gehabt.

Der Doktor meinte, das sei ein gutes Zeichen für die Wirkung. Und wirklich ist er dann nur noch mit einem Stock gegangen. Und wir hätten noch ein Mal nach Pistian fahren sollen, aber da ist der Hitler gekommen.

Religionsunterricht hatte ich während der Volksschul- und Hauptschulzeit in einer Einrichtung der Kultusgemeinde in der Stumpergasse im 6. Bezirk. In Religion war ich gemeinsam mit der Traude Hirschhorn. Ihre Eltern waren mit meinen befreundet, und sie hatte noch eine jüngere Schwester Rita.

In der Volksschule war ich in der Johnstrasse - ganz in der Nähe vom Meiselmarkt.

Jüdische Kinder gab es dort außer mir keine, und dann bin ich in die Hauptschule gekommen - auch wieder ganz in der Nähe vom Meiselmarkt - und da habe ich die erste und zweite Klasse fertig gemacht, und in der dritten ist dann der Hitler gekommen, und da durften Juden nicht mehr dort in die Schule gehen.

Ich glaube, ich war eine ganz kurze Zeit in der Stumpergasse, und dann sind wir in den 2. Bezirk übersiedelt, und die Schulen wurden eingestellt.

• Während des Krieges

1938 ist die SA gekommen und hat meinem Vater das Geschäft weggenommen, und sie wollten ihn mit den ersten Transporten nach Dachau schicken. Aber in der Wurmsergasse unten war eine Polizeiwachstube, und mein Vater war bekannt dafür, dass er den ganzen Tag gearbeitet hat, dass er freundlich und nett war und den Nachbarn, wenn sie momentan nicht zahlen konnten, auch Kredit gegeben hat.

Da haben die Wachleute zu den SA-Leuten gesagt: „Lasst’s den gehen. Der ist anständig.“ Und so haben sie ihn also nicht nach Dachau verschickt. Aber beide Geschäfte haben sie ihm weggenommen.

Um den weiteren Verfolgungen zu entgehen, haben wir versucht, illegal nach Ungarn zu gehen, damit wir von dort dann nach Rumänien, nach Czernowitz, zur Familie meines Vaters  weiterfahren können.

Die österreichischen Zollbeamten haben uns erwischt, haben uns durchsucht und haben gesehen, dass wir keine Vermögen im Rucksack haben. Da waren sie sehr anständig und haben gesagt:

„Bleibt hier, bis es dunkel ist, dann gehe ich zum ungarischen Kollegen, rede mit ihm und verstelle das Fenster, und da könnt ihr dann rüber“. Und so war es auch: Wir sind rübergegangen und sind dann zu Fuß die ganze Nacht gegangen.

Und ich weiß nicht, wie er geheißen hat, aber der Ort war schon vielleicht 20 Kilometer von der Grenze entfernt. Dort haben wir dann versucht, bei jemanden anzuklopfen, um zu fragen, wo Juden sind, damit wir uns ausruhen können.

Und man hat uns welche gezeigt, und wir haben mit einem gesprochen. Er hat aber Angst gehabt und hat gesagt: „Ihr könnt hier nicht bleiben. Geht zurück zum Bahnhof und fahrt mit einem Frühzug nach Sopron, da gehen laufend Züge, und von dort werdet ihr nach Budapest fahren.“.

So sind wir zum Bahnhof gegangen und waren in so einem Frühzug, wo die Kinder zur Schule gegangen sind. Meine Mutter und ich sind auch ohne weiteres bei der Kontrolle im Zug durchgekommen, weil wir eben Schulkind mit Mutter waren.

Aber meinen Vater haben sie erwischt und haben ihn ins Gefängnis gesperrt. Folglich sind auch meine Mutter und ich freiwillig ausgestiegen und waren den ganzen Tag dort im Gefängnis, und dann ist ein ungarischer Grenzbeamter mit uns zur Grenze gegangen, und im Wald ist er stehen geblieben und hat gesagt:

„So, jetzt geht ihr zurück nach Österreich, und ich bleibe da stehen und schaue.“. Es ist uns nichts anderes übriggeblieben, meine Eltern waren nicht sportlich, mein Vater ist mit einem Stock gegangen, und da sind wir eben zurück nach Österreich, wieder in unsere Wohnung, die war ja noch nicht aufgegeben.

Und dann hat es mein Vater allein versucht, diesmal über Deutschland nach Czernowitz zu kommen. Das ist ihm gelungen. Bei der Grenze hat ihn ein Verwandter geholt. Dieser hat die rumänischen Grenzer bestochen, und so ist mein Vater zu seiner Familie gekommen, und meine Mutter und ich waren jetzt allein in Wien.

Als die Russen in Czernowitz einmarschiert sind, hat mein Vater uns eine Einreisegenehmigung für Russland geschickt. Wir waren hier in Wien auf der Botschaft und hätten fahren sollen, aber da ist der Krieg Deutschland – Russland ausgebrochen.

Dann sind die Deutschen in Czernowitz einmarschiert, und mein Vater ist nach Mogilev in Transnistrien in ein Arbeitslager verschickt worden.

Meine Mutter und ich sind dann erst in die Glockengasse gezogen und waren dann bis zur Deportation in der Franz Hochedlinger-Gasse.

Ich war dann ganz kurz in der Sperlgasse in der Schule, bis diese zum Sammellager für die Polentransporte umfunktioniert wurde. Dann bin ich in die JUAL, die Jugendalijah Schule, gegangen.

Die war in der  Marc-Aurel-Strasse, und der Vogel war einer der Lehrer, und Ahron Menscher war der Madrich meiner Kwuza, der Gordonia. Wir hatten dort normalen Unterricht mit Hauptbetonung auf Fächer, die man in Israel brauchen kann.

Meine Mutter hat uns durchgebracht, indem sie zu etwas reicheren Juden in Bedienung gegangen ist. Unter anderem war sie bei einem Lazar. Sein Vater war irgend ein Funktionär bei den Invaliden des ersten Weltkriegs, und die wohnten in der Porzellangasse. Nach dem Krieg war dieser Lazar Funktionär bei der Heruth in Wien.

Die JUAL hat sich dann auch aufgehört, und ich war dann bei der Kultusgemeinde als Installateurlehrling angestellt. Da habe ich in allen Einrichtungen der Kultusgemeinde, wie im Altersheim in der Seegasse oder in der Schule in der Malzgasse, die Heizung und Wasserleitung gewartet.

Das ging so bis November 1940. Dann haben sie irgendeinen Juden in dem Haus, in dem wir gewohnt haben, in der Franz Hochedlinger-Gasse, gesucht und haben bei der Gelegenheit gleich alle mitgenommen und ins Sammellager in die Sperlgasse gebracht.

Von dort gingen alle Transporte damals nach Polen, ich glaube nach Litzmannstadt. Ich wurde aber als Angestellter der Kultusgemeinde zurückgestellt und bin auch noch bis Februar zur Arbeit gegangen. Aber meistens lagen wir in einem großen Saal auf unseren Decken. Es war ja wie ein Gefängnis, man durfte auch nicht raus.

Als dann der Brunner das Kommando übernommen hat, gab es keine Ausnahmen mehr, und wir wurden im Februar 1942 mit dem 5. Transport nach Riga deportiert. Meine Mutter, ich, alle vier Hirschhorns und weiter 1000 Menschen waren so zehn Tage mit dem Zug unterwegs, bis wir in Riga angekommen sind.

In Riga sind wir ins Getto zur Wiener Gruppe gekommen. Ich war gerade eben 14 Jahre alt und bin mit meiner Mutter in eine Wohnung, und die Hirschhorns sind in eine andere gekommen.

Wobei es so war, dass wir bei der Ankunft ziemlich weit zum Getto gegangen sind, und wer so weit nicht gehen konnte, der wartete auf einen Wagen, der kommen soll, um diejenigen abzuholen. Die wurden aber alle von der deutschen und lettischen SS im nahen Wald erschlagen.

Ich bin dann jeden Tag zu irgendeinem Kommando arbeiten gegangen. Das war immer unter Bewachung von Soldaten oder von lokaler Bevölkerung. Die haben uns hin und her gebracht. Es gab verschiedene Arbeiten, ob es gut oder schlecht war, hing von der Verpflegung, die man dort bekommen hat und von den Möglichkeiten etwas zu tauschen, ab.

Angefangen habe ich mit Schneeschaufeln in den Strassen von Riga. Und dann haben wir zum Beispiel an der Düna (Fluss durch Riga) ein Haus, das von Bomben oder von Kanonenbeschuss beschädigt war, abreißen müssen. Jeden einzelnen Stein runternehmen und jeden einzelnen Stein reinigen und aufschichten.

Oder ich habe auch an dem selben Fluss Düna im Sägewerk gearbeitet. Da haben wir die Stämme zur Säge gezogen. Die Vorarbeiter waren auch Häftlinge, nur einer war immer ein lettischer Goi.

Im Jahr 1942, da hat es ungefähr - 42 Grad Kälte in Riga gegeben, und das ganze ohne richtige warme Kleidung und ohne Schuhe. Über die Schuhe haben wir uns Decken mit Draht oder mit Schnur zugebunden, und so sind wir gegangen.

Meine Mutter hat zum Beispiel eine Zeit lang bei der Heeresbekleidung gearbeitet. Da hat sie sich etwas eingesteckt, es ins Lager gebracht, und ich habe es am nächsten Tag rausgetragen und habe versucht, es bei der Lettischen Bevölkerung gegen Essen zu tauschen. Wenn man aber erwischt wurde, ist man hingerichtet worden.

Eines Tages sind wir vom Kommando zurückgekommen, und es stand beim Eingang und den ganzen Weg bis zum Hinrichtungsplatz mit dem Galgen Häftlingspolizei. Der Hinrichtungsplatz war in der Nähe der Wiener Gruppe, und man konnte nicht, so wie sonst üblich, nach dem Tor gleich in sein Haus gehen.

Man ist geschlossen zum Hinrichtungsplatz gegangen. Der war ein bisschen tiefer, und da sind wir hinuntergegangen, und da hingen zwei Leute, und unter den Gehängten sind wir wieder hinaufgegangen, und oben stand die SS.

Da hat einer auf meinen Rucksack geklopft, der hat hohl geklungen, weil ich ein Soldatenessgeschirr und drinnen einen Löffel gehabt habe, dadurch hat das gescheppert, und der hat ihn nicht aufgemacht.

Ich glaube, ich habe damals sogar eine Butter oder einen Speck drinnen gehabt, den ich getauscht hatte. Hätte er den Rucksack aufgemacht, hätte man mich dazugehängt. Ich bin halbtot vor Aufregung bei meiner Mutter angekommen.

In der Wiener Gruppe waren Leute, die haben Mandoline gespielt, und so hat man sich manchmal in einer Wohnung getroffen, und die haben Musik gemacht, und die größeren haben sogar dazu getanzt.

Dann wurde das Rigenser Getto aufgelöst, und wir sind in das Konzentrationslager Riga gekommen. Da gab es nun eine Männer- und eine Frauenabteilung, und ich konnte meine Mutter nur mehr durch den Zaun sehen.

Von Wien sind fünf Transporte mit je 1000 Leuten nach Riga gekommen und überlebt haben 103. Meine Mutter und ich sind zwei davon.

Wie die Russen dann 1944 näher gekommen sind, wurden wir mit einem Schiff nach Danzig und dort ins KZ Stutthof gebracht. Ich selbst war dort nur zwei oder drei Tage und bin dann nach Buchenwald geschickt worden, wo ich bis zur Befreiung durch die Amerikaner war. In Buchenwald habe ich als Fliesenleger gearbeitet.

Meine Mutter war einige Monate zusammen mit der Frau Hirschhorn und deren Töchtern in Stutthof, bis das Lager aufgelöst wurde. Sie sind auf dem Marsch von einem Ort zum anderen immer vor den Russen geflüchtet, bis sie dann doch von den Russen befreit wurden.

Ich habe alles verdrängt und weiß sehr wenig vom Lager. Die Traude Hirschhorn zum Beispiel ist Professorin für Geschichte in New York geworden und hat Bücher über das Lager geschrieben. Aber ich habe fast alles vergessen. Ich war wirklich ein blödes Kind, das den Ernst gar nicht kapiert hat.

• Nach dem Krieg

Mein Vater war in der Zwischenzeit von den Russen befreit worden, und nach dem er mit einem Stock ging, haben sie ihn zu einer Arbeit bei der Bahn eingeteilt. 

In Buchenwald haben mir die Amerikaner Entlassungspapiere ausgestellt, und ich konnte schauen, wie ich jetzt weiterkomme. Da waren sehr viele Österreicher, die schon längere Zeit, manche auch schon fünf Jahre dort waren, und die haben Autos organisiert.

Und so sind wir gemeinsam bis nach Urfahr gekommen. Und in Urfahr war doch die Grenze zwischen russischer und amerikanischer Besatzung, und die haben uns nicht reingelassen.

Obwohl die meisten Leute, die das organisiert haben, österreichische Kommunisten waren. Und da ist ein Teil dort geblieben und hat es dann am nächsten Tag wieder versucht und ist so nach Wien gekommen. Ein Teil ist bis nach Salzburg zurückgefahren.

Und ich war unter denen, die nach Salzburg gefahren sind, und dort waren wir einige Zeit in einer Rot Kreuz Station namens Pferdeschwemme. Wir haben von der Salzburger Gemeinde jeder einen Anzug bekommen und sind für zwei Wochen an den Wallersee zur Erholung geschickt worden.

Nach einigen Monaten haben wir es dann noch ein Mal probiert und sind nach Wien gelangt.

In Wien habe ich dann die Rita Hirschhorn im jüdischen Spital in der Seegasse besucht, da habe ich dann auch ihre Mutter und die Traude getroffen. Da haben die zu mir gesagt, dass meine Mutter in einer Stunde auch hierher kommen wird. Und so habe ich meine Mutter zufällig wieder gefunden.

Ich habe von der Gemeinde Wien eine Wohnung in der Herbststrasse zugeteilt bekommen. Die stand leer, weil da vorher ein gesuchter Nazi gewohnt hat, der geflüchtet war.

Da habe ich mit meiner Mutter gewohnt, aber leider war das in der französischen Zone, und so haben wir nicht - wie in der amerikanischen Zone - Lebensmittelpakete bekommen. Meine Mutter hat zu dieser Zeit mit ihren Russischkenntnissen mit den russischen Soldaten die üblichen kleinen Nachkriegsgeschäfte gemacht.

Nach dem meine Eltern damals keine österreichischen Staatsbürger waren und wir österreichische Papiere gebraucht haben, um meinen Vater aus Russland herauszubekommen, haben wir die Papiere des im Lager zu Grunde gegangenen Vater Hirschhorn genommen, und diese meinem Vater geschickt. So ist er nach Wien zurückgekommen, und wir sind in die Müllnergasse im 9. Bezirk übersiedelt.

Meine Eltern haben dann in der Servitengasse einen Mazzeshandel betrieben. Zu dem Lokal sind sie über die Frau des im Krieg ermordeten Cousins Jossel gekommen.

Weil die Sali ist mit ihrem neuen Mann Dauber nach England gegangen, und so konnten meine Eltern das Lokal benutzen. Als Sali mit ihrem Mann aber dann wieder zurückkam, haben meine Eltern das Lokal zurückgegeben und sind in Pension gegangen.

Das Lokal in der Sevitengasse war aber sehr wichtig. Ich habe dort 1950 eine der Schwestern meiner Frau Alice (geborene Silberberg, geboren am 11.9.1929 in Wien) kennen gelernt, und 1951 haben wir dann schon geheiratet und haben mit meinen Eltern und unserem 1952 geborenen Sohn Herbert in der Müllnergasse gewohnt.

Die kommunistischen Mithäftlinge aus Buchenwald haben mir, da ich nicht erwartet habe, irgendjemanden von meiner Familie je wieder zu sehen, und so ganz alleine dastand, angeboten, wenn ich nach Wien komme, einen Posten beim Globusverlag zu bekommen.

Dieser hat Tageszeitungen und Magazine herausgegeben, und ich war dort 12 Jahre als Umbruchredakteur beschäftigt. Als 1957 alles neu organisiert wurde und sich jede Rubrik ihren Umbruch selber gemacht hat, da sind sie an mich herangetreten und haben mir ein Jahr Abfertigung gegeben, da ich ja als KZler nicht kündbar war.

Mit diesem Geld haben wir ein Textilgeschäft in der Alserbachstrasse aufgemacht. Und das erste Jahr ist es auch ganz gut gegangen, aber dann ist es weniger gut gegangen, und mir war in dem Geschäft fad, weil die Kunden nur sehr spärlich gekommen sind.

So bin ich als Vertreter zur Firma Heller Süßwaren gegangen und später zur Firma Rister, die Waffeln und Kekse erzeugt haben. Mit dem Geld, dass wir in der Zwischenzeit gespart hatten, haben wir uns auf der Josefstädterstrasse, gegenüber vom Finanzamt, eine Trafik gekauft, und die haben wir 24 Jahre, bis wir in Pension gegangen sind, betrieben.

Als die Eltern meiner Frau nach Amerika gegangen sind, haben sie uns etwas Geld für eine Wohnung gegeben, und so konnten wir uns mit dem Geld und angesammelten Wohnungspunkten eine Bleibe am Volkertmarkt im 2. Bezirk nehmen.

Wir haben dann mit meinen Eltern Wohnung getauscht, und wie wir ohne Eltern in der Müllnergasse waren, ist dann 1961 unsere Tochter Dorit geboren worden.

Mein Sohn Herbert hat Wirtschaft studiert und ist in den Achtzigerjahren nach Israel ausgewandert. Er ist der Direktor bei Estee Lauder und lebt mit seiner Frau Lili und den Kindern Liat und Joav in Ramat Gan.

Meine Tochter Dorit ist mit Leon Rosenfeld verheiratet und lebt mit ihren Kindern Aron und Jana in Wien. Sie macht Kunsthandwerk, und er arbeitet bei der amerikanischen Botschaft.

Meine Eltern und ich sind von den ganz wenigen, wo die ganze Familie überlebt hat, und die sich nach dem Krieg wieder gefunden haben.

Jul Efraim Levi
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Patricia Nikolova
Date of interview: January 2005

Jul Efraim Levi is a unique man, artist and interlocutor. He impresses not only with his lively language, full of metaphors, associations and jokes, but also with its melody. In his eloquent speech it’s his pauses rather than his words which have theatrical overtones: ironic, deep, dramatic, etc. The composer of the first Bulgarian musical, 'The Girl I Loved,’ fascinated me with his concise use of words and facts. The teasing, but never spiteful humor, is his second nature. That is why it was a real pleasure and privilege to share his company, even just for a few hours.

My family history
Growing up 
Going to school 
My sister
During the War
After the War
Glossary 

My family history

My ancestors were Sephardi Jews [see Sephardi Jewry] 1, persecuted by the Inquisition in Spain more than five centuries ago [see Expulsion of the Jews from Spain] 2. As it is known, during their immigration there were a lot of French Jews, running from the persecutions in the 15th century in France. [Probably these were local persecutions, which took place in France after the issuance of the edict of Ferdinand and Isabella in Spain in 1492. The migration wave that followed included also French and Italian Jews who were welcomed in the Ottoman Empire.] I know nothing more about the persecutions. During that period, whole families [communities] settled in [the territory of contemporary] Albania, Serbia, Greece, Turkey and Bulgaria. I would call it ‘the sea route of salvation from the Royal Inquisition.’ So, my maternal kin settled in Seres, Greece and my paternal kin in Samokov, Bulgaria. [Both countries were part of the Ottoman Empire up until the 19th century.]

My mother’s family name was Ovadia, and my father’s was Levi. Our ancestors were among those French-Spanish settlers, since my maternal kin spoke both French and Spanish [Ladino] for many years. [French, being the lingua-Franca and the language of international commerce was widely adopted by the Ottoman Jewish communities during the 19th century. Being a French speaker, therefore, doesn’t mean French origin in this case.] Both my maternal and paternal ancestors spoke Ladino 3, but different versions. The difference is that the language of Jews which I remember being spoken in Salonica [today Greece] when I was a child was pure Castilian, from the times of Miguel de Cervantes, [There are more than a hundred years between the expulsion of the Sephardim and the time Cervantes wrote Don Quixote.], a literary Spanish from the Middle Ages, with no external influence. The Ladino spoken by the Bulgarian Jews was full of influence from various kinds of languages.

My parents, Efraim and Victoria Levi, have always been the nicest couple on earth, according to me. My father was born in Samokov to the large family of the local rabbi. He was one of seven children. My grandfather was called Avraam Levi and his wife was Reyna. Obviously, my grandfather was able to ensure his children a good start in life, because when my father graduated from high school in Samokov, he left for Bucharest [today Romania] where his elder brother, Uncle Buko, had already settled. There my father continued his education in a polytechnic boarding school, where they studied technology, painting and applied arts: wrought iron, ‘chekanka,’ which is the art production of copper dishes, as well as all general subjects such as math, physics, chemistry, history, geography, literature, languages and a lot of physical education. My father once told me that they also had a farm in the school and once one of the cows gave birth to a calf. After the polytechnic school, in 1912, he graduated in architecture and just as he received his degree, he got the news on the start of the wars: the First Balkan War 4, the Second Balkan War 5 and World War I [see Bulgaria in World War I] 6. He decided to return to Bulgaria immediately.

My father had a proverbial sense of duty and responsibility. When he got back to Bulgaria, he joined the engineer forces and fought at the front for eight years. For some well-done task, of which I don’t know any details, he received a Medal of Valor, two more medals and some stripes. Besides all the awards and victories in the wars, he achieved another victory of a different kind. And it was the greatest one!

During his leave my father went to Seres. There was a Bulgarian garrison there and his eldest brother Buko was serving there. [Aegean Thrace, including Seres, was an integral part of Bulgaria prior to the end of World War I.] Since my uncle was in the supply service, my father had permission to sleep outside the barracks and he was accommodated with the family of Mr. Jeuda Merkado Ovadia. He had four sons and one daughter. The daughter was the youngest and obviously the most wanted. Her name was Victoria. Whenever my father visited his brother he slept at the same house. During his last day before he returned to his company, my father shared with his brother that when World War I finished and if he was still safe and sound, he would go back and ask Mr. Ovadia for the hand of his daughter, because he was sure she was ‘the lady of his heart.’ My uncle told his landlord that, but he answered that his daughter was too young: she was 16 years old, and they would have to ask for her consent. Then, the door opened ‘by accident’ and the young girl said, ‘I’ll wait for him!’

When the wars ended my father was demobilized. He passed through Samokov to receive the blessings of my grandparents and told them that he was going to Seres to ask for the hand of a young girl. And so he left. My mother’s parents also blessed the young couple and they got engaged. At that time there were advertisements in the Greek papers [Aegean Thrace was attached to Greece after World War I.] that young architects and engineers were wanted by an Italian construction company, ‘Modiano,’ which had received a concession to recover the city of Salonica, which had been afflicted by the war. My father applied for the job immediately and was accepted. So the Ovadia family and the young Levi family moved to Salonica. There the aunts and uncles started enlarging the Ovadia family with children, and our family, the Levis, had only three children: my sister Rene, my brother Albert, who died very young, and me.

My mother was always kind and smiling. I would always remember her with a book in her hand, or even more often on her lap and some knitting in her hands. She was very good at knitting and made wonderful sweaters, hats and gloves. She was also an excellent housewife and housekeeper. Probably I inherited my interest in cooking from her. Thanks to my mother, Rene and I learned three languages. At home we spoke Ladino and French and at school and on the street, Greek. In fact, all our relatives knew many languages. My father knew the most: Ladino, Bulgarian, French, Romanian, Italian, Greek, and he could read and write in Ivrit. At the beginning of the last century every intelligent Jew in Salonica knew at least three languages.

Growing up

I was born in Salonica on 19th June 1930. Obviously the Franco-Sephardi [Farcified Sephardi] roots of my maternal kin had their say. So, I was named after my maternal grandfather, who was Jeuda Merkado Ovadia. [Editor’s note: Jul is probably the local version of the French Jule, which originates from the Latin Julius. Jeuda, on the other hand, is a variant of the Hebrew Yehuda. The two names sound similar but their origins are different. It is customary, however, to name Jewish children after their grandparents and often a similar but modern name is chosen, like the French Jul (Jule) instead of the traditional Jeuda.] I’ll always remember Grandmother Donna with her noble beauty and the songs she sang to me from the cradle until I became a pupil. The songs with which she put me to sleep were the wonderful Spanish romances ‘La paloma’, ‘Maria la O,’ and ‘Donde estas korason.’

At the beginning of the last century [The period the interviewee is describing is between the two World Wars.] there was a law in Greece according to which foreign nationals weren’t allowed to own a company or any real estate. So, we occupied one floor of a house, which my father had built and rented from the landlord. I remember that our landlord’s name was Chorbadjako. He was a good man. My father told me that the landlord had said to him, ‘Build the first floor of the house as you wish. You will live there. Then build the second and third floors as I tell you.’ And so my father did as instructed. My family occupied three rooms on the first floor of a big house. My father’s workshop was also on this floor and he sometimes spent the whole night working there. It was between the children’s room and the guests’ hall where the piano was. By the way, that piano was unique. My grandfather had bought it for an enormous sum of money at that time. It was a ‘Schimmel’ and was produced in a German factory, which had made seven pianos and was burnt down with people inside. [The Schimmel piano company was established in 1885 in Leipzig and has been producing ever since.] That happened in the middle of the 1930s. Hitler knew the exact time and place.

My first memories are related to the gramophone with the large horn and a picture of a little dog listening to the ‘voice of its master’ coming from the horn. [The ‘Gramophone dog’ has been the Symbol of EMI Records since 1909.] That was the first explanation they gave to me when I started asking questions. When I started going to school, I realized that what was written on the picture was the gramophone brand ‘His master’s voice.’ Ten or twelve years later, when I was in Bulgaria, I learned that these gramophones were also called ‘a dog’s brand’ [a Bulgarian idiom meaning ‘shoddily made’], but I didn’t understand all the connotations of the phrase yet.

At our home in Salonica there were a lot of records with the same dog on them. They were all opera and symphonic pieces. My sister played the piano. She was seven years older than me and studied music and singing from an early age. I remember that there was music playing at home all the time. Either Caruso [Enrico Caruso (1873-1921): a famous Italian tenor] would be heard from the gramophone or my sister would be singing and playing. Sometimes I would be taken for a walk to the ‘White Tower’ [Major attraction of Salonica’s seaside promenade, built by the Byzantines in the 15th century and the symbol of the city.], in front of which there was a park with an orchestra, which I was told I loved as a child. A number of years later I heard the same orchestra playing the famous overtures by Suppe, ‘The Light Cavalry’ and ‘Peasant and Poet’ [Franz von Suppe (1819-1895): a famous Austrian composer and conductor of operettas.] Nobody could foresee that I would become a conductor and those overtures would be part of my concert repertory. The whole operettas haven’t been performed in Bulgaria yet. When conducting them, my first memories of listening to them always resurfaced.

My relatives told me that I loved pretending to be a musician when I was a child. Obviously, my parents realized that my interest in music was deep and they bought me various musical toys. The first ones were some small violins. Naturally, I started out by ripping them to pieces to see what was inside. So, my father had to buy me a tin violin, which I couldn’t break. And it worked. You could tune up its strings and they played the right tones. I even keep a photo of mine with it: standing on a chair looking as if I’m just starting to play ‘Caprice’ by Paganini [Nicolo Paganini (1782-1840): a famous Italian virtuoso: violinist and composer]. Probably my parents were influenced by the media, which at that time wrote a lot about an infant prodigy, a violinist from the USA. His name was Yehudi; we had the same names, and so what? Due to the popularity of Yehudi Menuhin [Yehudi Menuhin (1916-1999): one of the greatest violinists of the 20th century] my parents probably thought that I would be the next to play the violin around the whole world. But no! My photo is a total refutation of the proverb ‘The morning shows what the day will be.’ Never in my childhood did I play anything serious on the violin, let alone Paganini. Well, later, due to certain circumstances I found myself playing many other instruments through a small slender stick, without touching them physically, of course, only emotionally.

After the tin violin I received a lot of other musical children’s toys. I had a number of mouth organs. Then I had a real small accordion with eight ‘bass’ types. With the accordion I grew to like music so much that in 1947 at the First World Youth Festival in Prague [today Czech Republic], a colleague and I recorded on a gramophone Rhapsody ‘Vardar’ by Pancho Vladigerov [Pancho Vladigerov (1899-1978): a famous Bulgarian composer, musical pedagogue and pianist. Several works of his such as the Bulgarian Rhapsody ‘Vardar’ are considered to be an emblem of Bulgarian music] in transcription with two accordions. I also have a photo with that accordion when I was seven or eight years old. I’m dressed in white sailor’s clothes. At that time I was in the third junior high school grade. At that time in Greece children started school when they were five years old.

Going to school

I was enrolled in the nearest private school of Kiria Deliu. [Kiria means Mrs. in Greek; Kiria Deliu was the owner and the headmistress of the school.] Kiria Deliu remains in my memory as an embodiment of the greatness of ancient Greek goddesses: tall and beautiful like the statues and pictures in our books with fairy tales, which our young teacher read to us so beautifully. I even remember that we started to like certain characters from ancient Greek mythology. I, for example, admired Heracles, because he overcame a number of snakes in his cradle. We, the children, often argued who was stronger: Heracles or Achilles, who was dipped by his mother in a magic river in order to make him invincible. I also remember that we all loved our first teacher, Kiria Deliu. She always treated us as if she was an older friend. The school had a large yard and she would run after us during the break and play games with us.

I also have another funny memory from my early school period. One day in class we were singing some song. Without realizing what I was doing I had started singing a second part to the song, similar in melody but in another tone. It was different but nice. Suddenly the teacher commanded the kids to stop, turned to me and said, ‘Jul, there is no letter as ‘zh’ in Greek, what are you singing?’ [Bulgarian sound, also non-existent in English; it is pronounced similarly to the initial sound of the French ‘Jour’ (day).] What could I say? I didn’t know. I think I blushed. She asked me to go to the blackboard with one of the girls, whom she asked to sing the same song as before. And she asked me to sing what I had been singing before that. And so we did. It was years later when I realized that I had been singing the so popular third part. The teacher was very pleased. She stroked my blond hair and asked me to come with my mother the next day. I don’t know what they talked about, but in the evening my parents told me that I would start taking piano lessons with my sister’s tutor.

My sister

As I said, my sister, Rene Isak Gershon, was seven years older than me. But before I was born she had another brother, whom I don’t remember much, because he died early. His name was Albert Efraim Levi. He was named after our paternal grandfather. My sister was a very gifted woman. She wasn’t only charming and beautiful, but also smart, artistic and musical. She also spoke many languages. But she was unfortunate, because when our whole family moved from Salonica to Sofia in 1939, she hadn’t completed her secondary education yet. She had been studying in a private French school in Salonica, which was very distinguished. She wanted to become an aero-engineer. When we were banished from Greece for being Bulgarian nationals and went to Bulgaria, she already had a boyfriend: Eliyau Shlomina, a Jew, whom she knew from school. Unfortunately, he stayed in Greece. He joined an illegal partisan group who saved themselves from the Germans by escaping to the Balkans. But they failed: we learned that after 9th September 1944 7, the authorities in Greece caught and executed them. They were all Jews from Salonica.

I remember when in the fall of the fateful year of 1939 my family had just got on the train to Bulgaria, my father noticed a ring on my sister’s finger. ‘Eli gave it to me,’ she said. My father said, ‘Do you know what that means?’ ‘If I hadn’t known, I wouldn’t have taken it,’ she said. It was later that she learned that her boyfriend had been shot. At that time a distinguished Sofia bachelor became close to her. His name was Isak Gershon. Being an 18-year-old Jew, he was mobilized to labor camps [see Forced labor camps in Bulgaria] 8. He escaped twice from his camp, to go to Pazardzhik where my family was interned [see Interment of Jews in Bulgaria] 9 and meet his beloved.

My sister and Isak Gershon had three children. But that happened in Israel where they immigrated during the Mass Aliyah 10 in 1948. Her first child was a girl, but she died when she was one year old. After her she had two boys: Moni Solomon Gershon became a great scientist, aero-engineer. He had a high rank in the Israeli army. Her other son was an electrical engineer. Both of her sons have their own children now. The elder one has two sons and the younger one has a son and two daughters. One of them is already married and has a child. My sister died two years ago in Haifa [today Israel]. Her husband, Isak Gershon, died before her.

Our first piano teacher was Spanish and came to teach us twice a week. My sister was already quite good. What impressed me most from her piano repertory was a minuet by Paderewski [Ignace Jan Paderewski (1860-1941): a famous Polish virtuoso: pianist and composer]. I knew it well and I could even play it on my mouth organ, because during my sister’s lessons I would usually hide behind the door and listen to them. From her vocal repertory I remember most clearly her star number: Juliet’s waltz from the opera ‘Romeo and Juliet’ by Guno [Charles Guno (1818-1893): a French composer]. I also tried it on my mouth organ. When my sister was at school, I would sit at the piano and improvise. Those improvisations must have been strange for the others, because during my first meeting with the Spanish piano teacher when I started showing her what I could do, I don’t know what my mother had told her, she cried out, ‘No! No! No! I forbid you to play such things. You’ll only play what I tell you to!’ That was very rude and repulsive. When she went home I started crying. To my terrified parents I said that I didn’t want to see that teacher again. I made up a story that my fingers were aching and I couldn’t play the piano. After that the teacher taught only my sister and I would once again listen from behind the door. I heard them saying that I was very good at playing.

My relatives in Salonica read a lot, mostly fiction: Mayne Reid, Victor Hugo, etc. My sister and mother read the most in our family. My mother read all the time. Even while she was knitting or doing the housework. I remember very well that we read at home a French newspaper, known as ‘the independent newspaper.’ It was published in French in Salonica. I can’t remember what newspapers we read in Sofia, because I personally don’t like newspapers.

As far as I know, though I could be wrong, the Jews in Bulgaria were around 40,000, whereas in Salonica they were around 80,000. I remember that in Greece we, the Jews, gathered mostly at our homes. The typical Jewish occupations were the same as in all the other countries: merchants, craftsmen, workers. The Jewish holidays such as Purim, Pesach and Chanukkah were celebrated the same way in Bulgaria, but more merrily. Let’s not forget that both the Bulgarian and Greek Jews are Sephardi. I remember that my favorite holiday was Purim, probably because of its carnival character, the masks that we, the children, put on; we had as much fun as the adults.

I’m not sure of the exact number of synagogues in Salonica while I was there. I only remember the synagogue to which my father took me on Friday evenings. It was large and nice. Naturally, there was a shochet, a chazzan and a rabbi, but I don’t remember their names. I remember mostly the shochet, because when I was a child he would slaughter a rooster above my head singing in Ivrit something I couldn’t understand. Unfortunately, I can’t say on which holiday we performed this ritual, probably Pesach or Yom Kippur. [The interviewee is referring to the kapores ritual of Yom Kippur.] But I was old enough to realize that it was some kind of a sacrifice.

As for the typical market day in Salonica, I could say with pride that I loved markets, probably because my father was the architect of the Salonica Hali [covered market]. While it was being built my father took me with him when he went on ‘inspections’ after the market closed. I remember how enthusiastically the merchants, who had already settled their goods in front of the unfinished Hali, competed for his attention. Most of them were Jews. Everyone loved him! Their love made me very happy and proud of my father.

During the War

While growing up I played the piano all the time, every free minute I listened to the gramophone and then tried to play it by ear. I clearly remember that fateful morning at the end of the summer of 1939 when a police officer came to our house and told us that we had to leave Greece within 24 hours, because we were Bulgarian nationals. World War II had just started. We called our father urgently. When he came home we were all flabbergasted. We were given 24 hours to leave all the things we loved: our home, my maternal grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins and many other close friends.

In the morning, on the next day, we all went to the station in Salonica and started hugging each other goodbye. The day was warm and sunny, sad and wonderful at the same time. My sister’s classmates from the private French school had come, friends and colleagues of my father’s also. But from that day I remember most clearly one extraordinary woman. Her name was Sarika. She looked after us while my sister and I were growing up. ‘Governess’ sounds too pretentious for her, and ‘nanny’ sounds too disparaging, because she had become a member of our family. Sarika was of great help to my mother when she was too young to manage everything by herself. When we had to get on the train she could hardly let us go and she was the last to leave the platform, staring at us and crying disconsolately. Probably she anticipated what would happen.

And so we left. I didn’t know yet that all these people dear to us would be part of the six million people with tattooed numbers on their hands, who would enter the gas chambers and crematories of Treblinka and Auschwitz [both today Poland]. Innumerable friends of my father’s had urged him to reject his Bulgarian citizenship and apply for a Greek one. But he had always said no. He told them, ‘I’m Bulgarian, and I have my own country for which I fought for eight years on the battlefront.’ It’s scary but true that this love of his towards Bulgaria saved us from the concentration camps. We are alive because of it. We are the only ones left from our large Salonica family.

It was as late as fall 1945, on Yom Kippur, in the yard of the Sofia synagogue [see Great Synagogue] 11, when my father heard someone calling him as he was called in Greece: ‘Tio Efraim’ [‘Uncle Efraim’]. A distant cousin of my mother’s accidentally saw him among the multitude of Jews and recognized him. He was dumbfounded. He hardly recognized her, she had changed a lot. It turned out that she had been traveling with a group of Salonica citizens who had survived Auschwitz. The Soviet troops who entered the camp in 1944 and released them asked them about their home towns and where they would like to go. And they all said ‘Salonica.’ So an echelon of Jews from various Balkan countries headed for Salonica.

When they arrived at the Sofia station it was Yom Kippur and some of them asked to be taken to the synagogue. She told us that she had been in one shed with my cousin Renika and they remained alive because they were working. When they were released in the commotion my cousin asked where the French were. She spoke French and probably she wanted to speak to someone and understand more about the situation. They showed her and she disappeared in the crowd. Nobody saw her again. When my father heard that he wrote letters to various organizations. They all replied, ‘We regret to inform you that we have no information about this person.’ Our main hope was in the International Red Cross. But they also couldn’t help us.

At the border checkpoint in Svilengrad some people in uniforms rummaged through our luggage, which consisted of four suitcases. It also contained a small bag with all our personal documents: birth certificates, the ketubbah of my parents, my father’s degrees and other similar documents. The man in uniform opened it, eyed it suspiciously and passed it to the other officials. The bag disappeared. We never saw it again. And we had to hurry because our train was leaving at any moment.

By the way, an important detail is that thanks to a colleague of my father’s from the university in Bucharest, who was Bulgarian, my father received a copy of his degree. When my father told him what had happened at the border checkpoint in Svilengrad, he said, ‘Don’t worry! Come and see me at the bureau, you’ll write it and I’ll sign it.’ The truth is that thanks to these Bulgarians we survived in the period 1939-1944. In 1942 during the Law for the Protection of the Nation 12 we were interned from Sofia to Pazardzhik and I had to prepare my documents to continue my education in the Jewish school there. But I had no such documents. Fortunately, three good neighbors of ours signed a document saying that they knew our family and I was ‘really born.’ In this way I received a ‘neighborhood certificate,’ which I still use.

I also remember something else. On the border checkpoint in Svilengrad the officer who checked the passports asked my father where we were coming from and where we were going. My father said enthusiastically that we were returning to our motherland. Then the officer said flatly, ‘You, Jews, have no motherland.’ My father’s face lost color. ‘I’m sorry, but I fought eight years for this country!’ he said. The officer said nothing, just stamped the passport and threw it into my father’s hands. That’s the welcome to Bulgaria that I remember.

From that moment on my father knew what to expect. He was very intuitive. He sat calmly in the compartment. The train had already set off. He was watching the Bulgarian scenery and he was gradually becoming his old self: kind, a little thoughtful, with a great sense of humor and always with a biblical or another quotation at hand. He was silent for a while and then said, ‘God is great! All that is done by the Heavens is for our good!’ And he was right. After all, we stayed alive.

We reached the Sofia station. My father’s family was waiting for us. Uncles, aunts, cousins, welcomed us with hugs, kisses, etc. We got on a cab. That was my first time in one and I sat next to the coachman. We passed over a bridge crossing the smallest and narrowest river I had ever seen and there were four lions on the bridge railings. [‘Lion Bridge’, located on the main avenue of Sofia, connecting the city center to the station.] Someone told me that they were famous for having no tongues. We turned left past the river, then right and we stopped in front of the house of my eldest paternal uncle. There was a church opposite their house. I heard my cousin say that it was ‘St Paraskeva’ Church and I concluded that something happened every Friday in it. [The Greek Paraskeyi means Friday.] We were in the center of the capital, on the corner of Tsar Simeon Street and Rakovski Street.

There was a radio in my uncle’s house. I remember that in Salonica we once visited some relatives who had bought that miracle of civilization. I must have been five or six years old when I saw for the first time the miracle box, speaking with a human voice. Now, in Sofia, I was already nine years old and I was familiar with it. I was told by my cousins that there was a radio broadcast for a few hours a day and there was a special children’s program. By the way, when I came to Bulgaria, my cousins were older than me. Albert Levi-Pepo was also five years older than me, but we were like brothers. We felt this way ever since we met each other.

I remember that I was greatly impressed by the first children’s program that I listened to on the radio. Some man in the box was talking like a hen, a rabbit, and other animals. I didn’t understand a word from the story, but its melody, intonation, and the animal sounds imitated, grabbed me. My uncle told me the name of the actor who was telling the children’s stories and I still remember it. That was Nikola Balabanov.

After some years when I was working for the National Theater, I could appreciate even better the greatness of his artistic talent. But then, when I first heard the miracle box, I would have never believed that nine years later, I would ‘enter’ that box.

It was very funny in 1939 when we came to Sofia. I understood nothing of what my cousins were talking, especially in the first days. They spoke the local Spanolit [Ladino]: a language full of Turkish words and variations of Bulgarian words. I found the Bulgarian verbs used in Spanish conjugations the funniest. Something like: ‘No razvalees el ezik’, which means ‘Don’t ruin the language!’ [The words are Bulgarian (razvale and ezik) with Ladino ending (es) and the grammatical structure is Ladino]. A story was being told as a joke at that time about a Bulgarian Jew who had left a note on the door of his house when he went out: ‘El kliuch esta debasho de la chergita’ [The Bulgarian words in the sentence are kliuch (key) and chergita (rug with Ladino suffix) while the syntactic structure is Ladino.] or ‘The key is right under the rug.’ It sounds like a code.

I remember that when we arrived in Bulgaria, we felt that the situation was very tense. An invisible ring was being tightened up around us. Even our first days at my uncle’s were worrying. Suddenly, they started talking about smashed shop windows of Jewish shops, death threat notes written on the houses, and similar scary things. I was very scared by them. I had felt the same way in Salonica just before we had left. The first time I felt dizzy with fear was when a group of newspaper boys, running along the main street near us, shouted at the top of their voices, ‘Polemos!’ In Greek that word means ‘war.’ I didn’t understand the situation then, but the sheer intensity and strength of their shouts and their chaotic intonation made me very scared.

In Sofia, soon after the incidents with the shop windows, we found an apartment for rent on 1 Stara Planina Street. It was only two blocks away from my uncle’s house so we only had to transport the four suitcases we had. My father found it very difficult to find work here. I already mentioned that all our documents had been taken away at Svilengrad. He was also a Jew. The Law for the Protection of the Nation was coming into force. And at that extremely difficult moment a helpful Bulgarian gave us a hand. His name was Nikolay Tsvetkov, a distinguished Sofia architect, colleague and friend of my father’s from the university in Bucharest. He offered a position to my father in his bureau. So we managed to get on our feet again. At the first opportunity my family bought me a Honer accordion with 80 bass buttons. Now I really appreciate everything my parents did for me and my music at that time in spite of poverty. In fact, music was our psychological support in those days.

In fall 1939 I had to continue my education in Sofia. According to Bulgarian laws I had to enroll in the third grade. I didn’t know Bulgarian yet, but I knew French, which was another favorite subject besides music, so they enrolled me in the French College 13. I remember that my first entrance into the new classroom was a very pleasant experience. There was a harmonium in there. Our class teacher, Frere Bernar, played it excellently and we sang to his tunes almost every day. If someone said a word in Bulgarian he was given a black key. The pupil with the black key had to observe the other students and if someone else said something in Bulgarian, he gave him the insulting key immediately. At the end of the school day the last person to hold the key had to pay a fine, by giving a number of nice pink paper slips with ornaments and a notice ‘Bon point.’ We received them when we answered a complex question very well. Giving back such precious trophies was a great punishment because at the end of every week we received our mark books and the people with the most paper slips and highest marks received medals, of which they were very proud. The pupil who had such a medal went home wearing it on their uniform and on Monday morning the class teacher collected the medals back so that he would give them to other children at the end of the week.

Frere Bernar was my first favorite teacher. We liked him not only because he was very clever and well-read. I will never forget how he told us that all people from all parts of the world and of every nationality, race and faith are all God’s children. He also told us that we all had to live in peace, understanding and love. And he said such things when half of Europe was awash with green uniforms and flags with swastikas. His own homeland, France, had already been run over by foreign tanks, the ones we could also see in Bulgaria. But the words of the Franciscan monk showed no anger or spite. I will never forget how he explained to us what slander was. He said, ‘Imagine holding a pillow and going up to the roof of your house. And there, in anger, you decide to tear it apart. Then, naturally, the wind will disperse it. But soon you will feel remorse and you’ll realize that you’ve done something wrong. And you’ll want to gather back everything that’s been dispersed. But will you be able to do it?’

My class in the French College was international and I liked that. There were Bulgarians, Armenians, Russians, and Jews. I was friendly with everybody. But my best friends at that time were Pepo Arie, his brother Filko Arie, and Bati Rozales, who immigrated to Argentina a long time ago. [Judging by the family names these friends were Jews.] We played on three accordions together. Bati was a piano student of Pancho Vladigerov. A wonderful musician! And Pepo, who went to live in Israel, became chief musical director of the national Israeli radio ‘Kol Israel’ [Hebrew for The Voice of Israel]. By the way, at that time we were all members of UYSU: the United Youth Students’ Union. That was a youth union, in which we discussed art, went on excursions, listened to lectures, etc. We were also UYW 14 members. But at that time we weren’t interested in politics, we were idealists.

My other favorite teacher was Mr. Tsviatko Veselinov, who taught us Bulgarian. I still remember his slender figure. He was the only one with civil clothes among the ‘freres’ who all wore cassocks. I also remember how much he loved his students. There were some teachers, whose aim in life was to prepare their students in the best way. And he was one of them. Thanks to him I grew to love the Bulgarian language and culture. One day during a lesson, Mr. Veselinov asked me to go to the front of the class and asked me a question, which I must have answered well, because he kissed me on the head and said to the class, ‘Have a look at him! He’s been here for a couple of months and already knows Bulgarian!’ Those words made me very proud.

I also remember that at that time my mother went down with a disease. Her blood vessels couldn’t stand the cold and turned blue because her blood had stopped flowing. So, she couldn’t move her arms and legs. That was the main reason why my parents immigrated to Israel. I promised them to immigrate too, but only after I graduated from the Musical Academy. But inadvertently I lied to them. Another time I upset my parents was when I told my father that I wouldn’t become an architect like him. He asked me why all the time and once said, ‘Get a degree in architecture and be a composer as well. Be a musician, but have another profession as well!’ And I said to him, ‘Alright, if you want me to build houses that fall down!’ He started crying, he was very upset. And he went to Leon Lazarov, a conductor who was also a Jew and a close friend of my father’s. Leon told my father, ‘I don’t know if your son will become a good architect, but he will definitely become a great musician.’ And my father believed him.

The first time I felt anti-Semitism towards me was in my first days in Sofia in fall 1939. The Law for the Protection of the Nation hadn’t been adopted yet, but people were talking about anti-Jewish laws to be passed. So, it was no surprise that one morning the shop windows of Jewish shops were all broken and with anti-Semitic slogans painted on them such as ‘Death to Jews!’ My heart sank. Soon after that, Branniks 15, Legionaries [see Bulgarian Legions] 16 and Otets Paisii 17 members appeared on the streets and chased us to beat us. During the Law for the Protection of the Nation one of them caught me in front of the door of our house, hit me hard a couple of times, swore at me and left.

But to be honest the Otets Paisii members in a way saved our family. That happened in 1942 when we were living in the ghetto. My family was living on Hristo Botev Street and the headquarters of Otets Paisii was in the same building. There was a board on the wall of our house saying that their organization was housed there. The Otets Paisii members treated us better than the Branniks and Legionaries. They only bothered us at night when they were drunk. But the event I’m talking about took place on 24th May 1943 18: the famous demonstration on Klementina Square against the internment of Sofia Jews to the countryside. At that time I went to school with a classmate and friend of mine called Ziko Gratsiani who later became a general in the Israeli army, but I don’t know anything else about him.

We were told that there would be a school celebration, because in Bulgaria that date was the day [May 24] 19 of Slavic script and culture. We entered the school but there was nobody there. Then we decided to go home. Suddenly we heard voices, and gunshots. Instead of running away, we stopped and looked around. We were on the corner of Dragoman Blvd, very near the synagogue. And right there at the corner we were stopped by a man. He seemed scared. He told us, ‘Run, boys if you live nearby because there will be a blockade!’ And so we did. We ran as fast as we could. I learned later that that same day the authorities were going from house to house to take Jews to the labor camps. But they didn’t enter our house. The board of the anti-Semitic organization had saved us. But a couple of days later a uniformed police officer came to tell us that in a couple of days we were leaving for Pazardzhik. We had to be interned there.

From the time we spent in Pazardzhik I remember mostly the hunger. I was 13 years old at that time, but I had to work in the local carpenter’s factory of the Sotirovi brothers. I gave up my whole day’s earning for vegetable soup. It was 30 levs and the soup was 35 levs. I made wooden boxes on a burnisher. I worked as an apprentice. My hands were full of sores all the time and that is a nightmare for a musician. Nevertheless, I learned to play the guitar. A friend of mine, who had also been interned to Pazardzhik, Jecky Levi, taught me. Apart from the factory I also worked in a workshop where I hammered large nail-heads. We were paid according to the work we did. Thanks to that money I could buy some bread. At that time bread was rationed. Everyone was allowed to buy a quarter of a small bread. And they mixed the bread with soil. Yet, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. There was a Bulgarian at the bakery where I bought bread, who noticed that I was all skin and bones and gave me some extra bread. Our neighbors, the Chaprazovs, from 1 Stara Planina Street from Sofia, also visited us in Pazardzhik. They came loaded with big bags of food. If it hadn’t been for the Bulgarian people, we wouldn’t have survived.

There was a curfew during the Law for the Protection of the Nation. Jews were allowed to go out on the street only between 10am and 12pm and we could only walk on specific streets. Those who worked were given passes, saying which streets we could pass and at what time. We weren’t allowed to stray from the times and streets on those passes. It was very frightening every evening especially in the fall and winter when it got dark early. On our way we passed the Club of the Branniks. They would wait for us to beat us. We weren’t allowed to avoid that street. The Branniks consisted of boys older than us. They thought that they were some kind of heroes. But there was one boy who was in charge of the antiaircraft siren and he was often on that street. Thanks to him I escaped from being beaten a number of times.

I remember clearly the beginning of September 1944. The political prisoners had just been released from the prisons in Pazardzhik. After the power was overturned, the new authorities there organized a militia unit right away. Since they had no clothes to wear they used the rubber anti-gas clothes from a German warehouse. They walked around the town wearing helmets with a red ribbon. They were quite funny and pompous. But still they had authority. They often searched the houses of the rich people. Once they found assault rifles, cartridges and various guns in one of those houses. I remember that the prison in Pazardzhik was in the place of the present-day theater. In the center of the town! I won’t forget how hours before 9th September 1944 the political prisoners appeared at the windows and hung down pieces of their clothes on which they had written their claims, mostly ‘FREEDOM.’

After the War

My life after 9th September 1944 was very nice. I graduated from high school and was very happy. My first public concert was also at that time. It was a charity concert for the Jewish orphanage in Sofia, which was in great misery. So, I and some boys of my age with whom I played in the school orchestra, put some tickets on sale and we organized a concert. We played the accordion, saxophone and the orphans danced. It all went great.

I never had problems at my work for being a Jew. On the contrary, I have always been respected. I was declared an Honored Artist. I was given the rank of colonel, head of the Army Ensemble. The story of how I became head of the ensemble is interesting. It all started with a personal tragedy. While I was still a student, I suddenly lost my eyesight. It happened on 2nd March 1948. It turned out to be lack of vitamins and milk. I weighed only 44 kilograms then. But I recovered thanks to an incredible woman, Dr. Roza Goleminova. Later the same year, I was already healthy when I met Petar Stupel [a Bulgarian composer] on the stairs of the Musical Academy. He told me to apply for the competition for a composer for the children’s radio theater. At that time some distinguished artists worked there: Grisha Ostrovski 20 was the director, Veselin Hanchev 21 was the playwright, and Leda Mileva 22 was the head of the literature department. The poet Alexander Gerov 23 was the editor-in-chief of the literature department. An incredible staff! I was appointed among them and was really honored. Those were great times!

I first met my future wife Sabina Diankova when she was performing with the State Musical Theater. That happened in the 1950s when I was still young and went often to the opera or musical theater. One day I noticed a young girl playing wonderfully in a Soviet musical composed by Nikita Bogoslovski [a Soviet composer, author of film music.]. Sabina made everyone happy when they were around her. I said to myself, ‘That is a new phenomenon!’ Later, I continued to go and see her play some minor parts. At the same time I was invited to compose some ballet scenes for ‘Circus Princess’ by Imre Kalman for the Music Theater. [Imre Kalman (1882-1953): famous Hungarian operetta composer. He composed Circus Princess in 1926.] The young circus dancer, Miss Maydel Gypsun, was played by Sabina. She impressed me with her dancing and her resourcefulness, her immaculate diction. At that time I had worked for five years as a composer in the Theater of Satire. [The Aleko Konstantinov Theater of Satire.] Shortly after my work in the Musical Theater we started rehearsing for the first Bulgarian musical: ‘The Girl I Loved’ by Nikolay Parushev. [This is the first Bulgarian musical staged in the Musical Theater in Sofia in 1963. Composed and conducted by Jul Levi.] I did the music and the conducting. That was in fall 1963. Sabina played the role of Palechko. I was once again impressed by her. Shortly after that we started going out.

Before starting work in the Musical Theater, Sabina had been an excellent student in the Philology Faculty of the Sofia University [see St. Kliment Ohridski University] 24. Then she became a soubrette in the Musical Theater. Before she became a soubrette, she took part in a competition for choir members in the theater, where she was evaluated the highest. When she went to the Ministry of Culture to ask for permission to study extra-murally in the philology faculty the Deputy Minister said, ‘You could study extra-murally only if your education had something to do with your job. And you’re an actress. The Musical Theater has nothing to do with literature.’ So, she gave up her studies in order to stay in the Musical Theater. Then she graduated from the Higher Institute of Theater Arts. She was admitted without any exams to study acting in the class of Mois Beniesh [a famous Bulgarian theater and film director of Jewish origin]. But she continued to work with literature: writing poems and short stories, which she showed to no one. Later, she started publishing her work in the big literary publications such as Puls 25 and others.

We got married in 1963. My wife is a Bulgarian. We married before the registrar and we didn’t have a religious wedding. Our daughter Simona was a gift from Heaven to us because both Sabina and I weren’t very young. Simona was born on 12th August 1974. From the moment she learned to speak, she started saying everything that came to her mind. She also had an acute sense of logic. I remember a lot of funny stories about her. For example, the first time I took her to the Musical Theater. That was our theater: her mother worked there as an actress, and I as a conductor and composer. I took her to see the children’s comic opera ‘King Midas has Donkey’s Ears’ by Parashkev Hadjiev [Parashkev Hadjiev (1912–1992): a famous Bulgarian composer, pedagogue, public figure]. Sabina played the part of Pam: a mischievous man with horns. At the end of the first act Sabina put on a mantle and disappeared. Then there was an interval and after the interval a second act. Suddenly Sabina’s head appeared from the curtains of the fore-stage and she shouted, ‘Children, do you recognize me?’ And they all said, ‘Yes!’ ‘I’m Pam,’ she said. But suddenly a voice was heard from our box just above the orchestra, ‘No, this is mum!’ The whole audience burst into laughter, and the orchestra stopped playing. It was very funny!

I visited Israel for the first time ten years after my parents and my sister’s family had emigrated. I saw how the musicians lived there, in misery. I didn’t like the atmosphere in Israel. I also saw that my father, who was a very honest man, could also not stand that atmosphere. I’ve been to Israel many times since then. I also kept in touch with friends, colleagues and relatives. From my friends and colleagues I mostly kept in touch with Nissim Alshveh, a great musician, and Albert Cohen. From the relatives I kept in touch with my cousin Albert Levi-Pepo, the great poet and painter of Israel. He was born in 1923 and died in 2003 in Haifa. I kept in touch with him all these years.

On the significant date of 10th November 1989 26 I was in Kiev [today Ukraine], where I had a concert. I was a conductor in the big Kiev hall ‘Ukraina.’ Those halls were called ‘interconcerts’ in musicians’ slang, because they gathered at one place many actors and conductors from all musical theaters of the former Soviet countries together with the local orchestra. So, on 11th November, the morning after the concert my phone rang and woke me up. Some actors and musicians were looking for me to tell me what had happened. ‘Maestro, are you ready? Come down quickly!’ Me being a conductor my hotel room was one floor above theirs. ‘Wait, I can’t come, I haven’t gotten up yet. I must wash and shave!’ I said. But they said, ‘You will wash and shave later! It’s very important, come down!’ So I went down. They all surrounded me and said, ‘You have no idea what news we have for you!’ ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Todor Zhivkov 27 is no longer in power!’ ‘You are kidding me!’ I answered. So I learned that the previous night one of the dancers had spoken to her mother who had explained to her what had happened.

I had to return to Bulgaria to find out what exactly had happened. To be honest, I was happy. I didn’t regret that. Although, especially towards me, Todor Zhivkov had always been nice. He gave me a number of awards. Frankly speaking, he wasn’t fit to be a great leader. Otherwise, he was kind and intelligent. He was nice to Jews. Before 9th September 1944 he had even been an actor in the ‘blue-shirt theater’ of Boyan Danovski 28 and Mois Beniesh. I know that from them both. Still, in spite of the crisis, which followed after 10th November, I don’t regret those changes.

Glossary