The Long Way Home

I was all packed and had collected whatever little money was coming to me from my employer. There were still three or four hours before the train was due to depart. For the first time that day, I sat down and started thinking. With two suitcases and two boxes, how would I ever manage with all this?! Somehow I had a feeling that this trip would differ from any other I had taken in the past. What if I had to walk? How could I carry all that baggage with me? The books were especially heavy and I dreaded having to get rid of them somewhere en route. I thought, after all, in five or six months I would be back needing all this.

I started to think seriously about how to arrange my affairs without losing my few possessions. An idea came to me. One floor below lived a lady by the name of Schnabel. She was an elderly lady, a widow, carrying on her late husband's insurance business. Mrs. Schnabel was a well-known personality. No one who lived in Brno for any time did not know her or at least know of her. She was active in all aspects of life in the Jewish community, and especially so in matters concerning refugees from Austria, Germany and eventually the Sudeten.

I explained my situation to her, emphasizing that I thought it would only be for a short time. When I asked her to kindly let me store two boxes of books in her locker, she readily gave me the key. Thanking her, I returned to unpack and sort books to take along and others to store in Mrs. Schnabel's locker.

It was only then that I realized how heavy those boxes were. I eliminated from my clothing the uniform of the National Guard, of which I was a member. I actually had two uniforms, one of which I had left in Jasina with my Aunt Klara. Somehow I felt it dangerous to leave the uniform with Mrs. Schnabel and so I decided to dispose of it in the garbage. Of the books I left behind, practically all were the most expensive, but also the heaviest. I took with me only what I intended to work on, my current work sheets and some exercise books. I never did.

Even so, my luggage was heavy enough. It now consisted of my two suitcases filled with clothing and some books, and included my collection of postage stamps. I had specialized in collecting canceled and unused Czechoslovakian stamps from 1918, the year in which the Republic was formed, onwards. It was a formidable album into which I invested many hours of work and much money through the years. The unused stamps alone probably had a face value of 600-700 Kcs. They were then worth twice as much, since most of them were no longer available from the post office. The canceled ones had a similar value.

During the next few days, I came to realize how wise it was of me to use my head and arrange my affairs as I did. I even congratulated myself for throwing away the uniform, which otherwise would have caused a great deal of trouble for all of our group.

I even had time to observe the occupation of the city by the German Wehrmacht (Army) and the Czech Army's humiliation. Column after column of German tanks rolled down the streets of Brno. Each German tank had its turrets open and its guns pointing directly at a Czech tank ahead, whose turrets were closed and guns pointed downwards. It was a sorry and heartbreaking sight. Brno had a small minority of about 50,000-60,000 Germans who were Czech citizens of German ethnic origin. It looked like they all came out to greet their heroes and yell loudly, "Heil Hitler!" I myself witnessed this sight of mothers with small babies in their arms, old people, school children--they were all there. In contrast, one could see Brno's Czech population with empty expressions of despair on their faces. Occasionally there were even some clenched fists. I saw one Czech grab the infamous German cross flag from an ethnic German and trample it into the ground, destroying it with his feet. When the German resisted, he was beaten up. The Germans were not yet in full control of the city and one could still get away with an act of defiance.

When it was time to leave, Shlojmo Steinberg and I said our goodbyes to the other boys and to our good landlord. We thanked them all for the good times we had together and wished them our best for the uncertain future. I never saw any of them again.

Taxis were nonexistent that day. The streetcars were still functioning, although at infrequent intervals. Fortunately, we caught one fairly soon and got to the station without any difficulty. Our problems started as soon as we arrived there. The German Army had fully occupied the station. Each passenger entering or leaving went through a strict inspection, not only of his papers but also of any luggage or parcels he carried. Even one's pockets were thoroughly examined. The local ethnic Germans, now attached to every checkpoint at the station, made things really difficult. They were the "experts" on the local population and caused the most problems. We met up with Ludvik and Aaron Weiss and a few other boys I knew, all of them trying to get home to Carpathia.

I had allowed us two hours before the train departed when we arranged to meet at the station at 6:00 p.m. I could see that by following the regular procedure, we would surely miss our train. We still had to arrange for tickets and there were long lines everywhere. It seemed as if the whole country wanted to get out. I boldly stepped forward, the only one in the gang who spoke a perfect German, to approach the sentry at the checkpoint. I told him that we were students wishing to go home and asked him to advance us ahead of the crowd, as we would otherwise miss our train. Knowing that the Germans had friendly relations with the Slovaks, I said that we were all from Slovakia. He agreed to help and told me to bring the group forward. My efforts almost came to naught when one of the local Germans objected, claiming we were Jewish. I guess some of our boys looked Jewish. I retorted, speaking directly to the German soldier, "Yes, we are Jewish. But we are Slovaks and wish to go home. After all, it was on your authority that I moved the boys ahead and now our place in line is no longer available." He understood what I meant, that he was the boss, after all, and ought not to let himself be influenced by someone else. He personally checked our papers, but with our luggage it was a different story. This task was entrusted to the local Germans. They tried to be "holier than thou" and thoroughly searched every piece, no matter how large or small. They opened books and shook them to see if there was anything hidden between the pages. Every piece of clothing was examined in detail. They inspected the shoes we packed in our suitcases and the shoes we were wearing to see if they had hollow heels concealing jewelry or other valuables.

By the time we got through, it was so late that we had to board the train without having bought tickets. The problem was how to get to the train without any tickets to present at the gate. Knowing how Czechs felt, I told the vratny (gatekeeper) that we were Czechs fleeing from the Germans. "Please," I said to him, "please help us to get to the train. We wish to travel to Chust. Maybe there is freedom there." He let us through, and even gave us a four-wheeled wagon for our baggage, telling us to hurry to platform number so and so. We made it with no time to spare.

Once on the train, which was loaded to capacity, we felt greatly relieved. Somehow, we managed to find a place for our suitcases and parcels, and even managed a seat here and there. The train was an express, stopping only once or twice before reaching the Slovak border. Rumors had it that Slovakia had declared independence and we were not sure how this might affect our trip. Under normal circumstances, the train stopped in Chust, our destination, and then traveled on to Jasina. But these were not normal times. A few of us brought along some food, but the other boys just hadn't thought of it. We soon divided our meager supplies.

An idea hit me. I convened our "War Council", which the boys started to call us. It consisted of Aaron Weiss, who spoke a broken Czech and a perfect Yiddish, Meir Lebovits, who spoke a perfect Hungarian and Yiddish but a lousy Czech, and me. I was the only one who could speak Czech well. I proposed that we play on the conductor's patriotic feelings. We should tell him that we had no money and that he should let us ride free, since we were running away from the Germans trying to go home, and had no money for tickets. It seemed that it was worth a try. After all, what did we have to lose? As it turned out, in fact, some of the boys really didn't have any money to speak of. Our plan worked. The conductor, an elderly man, told me he could not care less. As far as he was concerned it was now a German railroad and he was a patriot. He said to me, "I am going as far as the Slovak border. From then on, you are on your own. I wish you all good luck and if you get home, remember that a Czech patriot helped you." We arrived at the Slovak town where the conductors changed. The soldiers on the platform still wore the Czech uniform, but now served an independent Slovak state, whose President was Cardinal Hlinka and its Prime Minister Monsignor Tiso. Although clergymen, they were both well known fascists and anti-Semites. Pope Pius XI in Rome was no friend to the Jews either, to put it mildly. Even at that young age I clearly understood where Slovakia's loyalty lay.

But that morning, everything was quiet and we rejoiced that our homecoming was succeeding without a hitch. However, it did not take long for the Slovaks to tighten their hold on the country. Already at the next station, changes were visible. The military presence gave way to the Hlinka Guard, a fascistic organization of perverts and anti-Semites. Everywhere they took over the responsibility for the State security, since the Czech-trained army was mistrusted. It took a cistka (a cleansing) to establish a Slovak Army.

The Guard boarded our train in Zilina, ordered us all off, and took us to a nearby army barracks. Managing to carry our own luggage was not easy, especially when prodded by an occasional kick from the Hlinka Guards. Our interrogation was fruitless, as far as we were concerned. They wanted to know everything about our lives--even our political affiliations and opinions. We did not have anything to tell them, saying we were students or apprentices or just plain workers. Our group really had nothing to hide. Our luggage was searched again, and in the process my stamp album disappeared. They did not make any secret of it, claiming it was valuable property whose exportation was forbidden. When I asked for a receipt, I was told that the Commander, the only one authorized to issue official receipts, was not present. It turned out that the Commander would not be available for several days, maybe even weeks. I assumed he would never be available. Of course, I could wait if I so chose, but since I was now a foreigner, they would have to lock me up for security reasons. I politely declined the offer to wait. For the second time, I realized how lucky it was that I had thrown away my uniform. After several hours we were released.

We returned to the station, hoping to continue our travels on the next train. We were getting hungry. So far, we had been lucky in only one department: we traveled for free. This saved us from going hungry. We sent out two of our group to contact someone in the Jewish community. To our surprise, they soon returned with two young locals who took us into town where we found shelter and food at the local yeshiva. It turned out we had to stay overnight, as there was no later train. The next one we could catch ran the same schedule as the one we were taken off, and was arriving at 1:00 p.m. In the meantime we were treated generously. The next day we were taken to the station in two cars. Expecting harsh times ahead, the Jewish population of Zilina and all of Slovakia was apprehensive. But for the moment, everything was functioning normally.

I believe I was somewhat better off financially than the rest. I knew Shlojme Steinberg had nothing, but I thought the others had some funds. As it turned out, most of them had only enough money to buy their train tickets. Since we had traveled for free until this point and had obtained the help of the Jewish community in Zilina so far we had managed well. However, we could now foresee that it would take us longer to get home than we originally anticipated. Conserving funds became our utmost concern.

I started to grow extremely mistrustful of the Hlinkas and asked the group to hide any money we had, keeping out only a small amount. They laughed at me and even accused me of creating a panic. Nonetheless, I hid 300 Kcs. and left out only 50 Kcs. The belt from my coat was lined, so I carefully slit open the lining and slid three one hundred crown notes into the space inside. The cut in the lining was hardly visible.

My precaution was rewarded at the next station. Again we were taken off the train by the Hlinkas, but this time we were interrogated right at the station. When we told them we already went through this procedure in Zilina, they told us they had received new orders. As foreigners, we could not take Czechoslovakian currency out of the country and had to surrender it all. Since I also spoke a good Slovak, I was the spokesman. I told the sergeant that we were still far from the border and needed money for food. Luckily he agreed, but insisted that we surrender anything over 50 Kcs. Again they went through our luggage, looking for the hidden treasures no one had. After they searched our clothes, looking for money and jewelry, they took everything away from us in excess of 50 Kcs. We were left with very little, just barely enough for tickets for our further transportation. A local train traveling east was available the same day. It was not exactly the route we would have normally taken, but it would get us to the Hungarian border just the same, albeit at another point.

The situation had developed rapidly over the last three days. The map of the lands of the former Republic of Czechoslovakia was transformed. Bohemia, Moravia and Silesia fell to Germany and were henceforth called "The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia". Encouraged by Germany, Slovakia declared its independence, although independence was in name only and Slovakia became a de facto vassal state of Germany. A provisional government, with half-hearted German support, declared the region of Carpathia called "Podkarpatska Rus" a separate "Zakarpatska Ukraina". Hungary, in possession of this territory until 1918, claimed this territory as its own, calling it "Karpatalja". There were unconfirmed rumors of serious fighting between the regular Hungarian Army and the newly formed Ukrainian Militia. We had no idea whether we would be arriving in Hungary or in Zakarpatska Ukraina. For the time being, our aim was to get home to our families, regardless of who was ruling the country.

Already in our fifth day en route, we still had a long way home and things were getting more confused by the day. Our next stop, Banska Bystrica, held a carbon copy for us of our previous harassment. Again off the train, again interrogation. There was no more money to be taken away, but some of us had watches - nothing of great value to be sure, but good enough for the Slovaks. Again waiting for the next train, another day lost. Again helped with food by the Jewish community. I was very uncomfortable with this, since it seemed almost like begging. None of us were used to that.

The next day, we boarded a train to Kossa, formerly the city of Kosice, awarded to the Hungarians in 1938 at the Vienna conference held by Hitler and Mussolini. Interestingly enough, this region was still honoring the International Treaty with Czechoslovakia, letting trains travel through its territories to the rest of the Republic. The doors of the railroad cars were locked. Nobody was allowed to get on or off the train while in Hungarian territory. To our greatest surprise, a delegation from the Jewish community in Kossa was waiting for every train coming from the west. The guards allowed them to come up to the train so we could talk to them through the windows and get food and water from them. They gave us good news. Hungary had gained control of almost all the territories of Karpatalja, although some isolated skirmishes persisted in some places. This was terrific news indeed, as the Ukrainians openly declared that Jews would be excluded from commercial and professional life and ghettos were already being planned.

We finally arrived in the border town of Sobranec, in territory that had become Slovakia, only about ten to twelve kilometers from Uzhorod. Uzhorod, now Ungvar, was a city that was also a gift from Hitler and Mussolini. Just when we thought that our problems were over, we came to realize that the ten to twelve kilometers ahead could turn out to be the longest and most trying part of our whole unwanted adventure. Sobranec was the end of the line at the newly established border between Hungary and Slovakia. We were arrested right at the station, taken to a school and left in the yard for hours before anybody even spoke to us. The yard was full of other people - some going to Hungary, some trying to come back to Slovakia. As had happened so many times before, we were again subjected to the same interrogation and searches, although we no longer had anything of value to be taken. This fact did not make for happy Hlinkas. When we asked for food, they laughed at us. "We don't have food for Jews," one of them said. I told them that at all the other stops, which I proceeded to name, we were allowed to ask for food from our co-religionists, but they did not understand. So I explained to them, "From other Jews here in town."

Sobranec was a little settlement, not even shown on many maps. It was no wonder they retorted, "There are only three Jews living here, and they don't have anything to eat themselves." Nevertheless, they released us a few hours later and told us we could go, but warned us of fighting erupting between Hungary and Slovakia, with the Hungarians trying to capture as much territory as they could.

There was, indeed, hardly anyone to turn to and we were all really hungry. We found a Jewish widow who owned a small store--with nothing in it. Although she could not help us with food, she knew a Slovak who was a landowner who might be able to sell us milk and bread, and she was willing to take us there. I immediately realized our dilemma. If we paid for the food, word would spread quickly that we had money whereas, when the Hlinka thieves searched us, they found nothing. This would cause big trouble for us. So I asked the old lady if she could help us by paying for our food. My meaning was not clear enough, for the lady started crying, "I have no money. How can I pay for your food? I wish I could help you." I explained to her that I still had 100 Kcs. left hidden, but that I myself could not pay for the food. She started to understand and was willing to take the money from me and pretend that she was paying for our food.

We ate plenty of bread with milk. We even took some bread with us to eat later. We thanked the old lady and the farmer, ready to take our leave, whereupon she told us she hoped Hungary would soon occupy Sobranec, as it meant replacing evil with a lesser evil. Finally, we marched away on the dirt road leading to Ungvar. Our progress was very slow. I found carrying my two suitcases absolute murder. My legs were bending under the weight and my hands were burning in every joint. I had never known that I had so many joints. We had to rest practically every hundred yards, so that by nightfall we were hardly out of Sobranec. Suddenly we heard shooting ahead of us and saw dust on the highway, a sign that a motor vehicle was traveling down the road toward us. Sure enough, five minutes later a Slovak military vehicle stopped in front of us and ordered us back to town. They left behind one lone soldier to escort us back to Sobranec.

We started a conversation with the soldier, and it turned out he was a peasant, drafted into the army only a few days earlier. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I asked where he was taking us and he said he had received no specific orders in this regard. I got out of him that indeed there was a column of the Hungarian Army only about six to seven kilometers away, advancing on Sobranec.

It was getting dark and we talked the soldier into leaving us and letting us find a barn just off the highway in which to stay for the night. We said we would not leave the place at night under any circumstances since it was still March and the nights were too cold to be out. We looked around and found a sturdy barn, full of hay and well protected from cold, and moved in. The shooting increased during the night but never came close to us. We didn't see any movement on the highway either.

With the first break of daylight, we got ready to move out, then moved cautiously eastward. Suddenly, shooting started again and we felt it was coming our way. When we ducked beside the road, the shooting stopped. As soon as we got up again, it started once more. We then realized that somebody was shooting at us and we had been lucky not to have been hit. It was then the training I got as a student in the National Guard, came in handy. I told the other boys to lie flat behind the trees and wait for me while I explored alternate routes. I moved south, away from the highway, and found a path used by peasants to reach their fields. It ran east-west along a small creek just the direction we had traveled. I went back picked up my suitcases and signaled the group to follow me. The path was about half a kilometer away from the highway, and we made very slow progress.

Without realizing it, we landed in the middle of the front. Fire came from all sides, directed toward the highway. We hid ourselves as best we could, but the firing did not stop for what seemed to be an extremely long time. Then, whenever the firing stopped, we were able to make a few more yards of progress. Toward late afternoon, the firing intensified. By then, we had made it to a small, sparsely wooded forest but could see that our problems were serious.

It was decided to leave our baggage hidden in the forest, covered as best we could with dirt and leaves. We would go on, even crawl if necessary, to seek food and shelter for the night. Two of the boys left to scout around and when they returned it turned out, luckily, we did not have to go far. Just on the other side of the forest, was a farm house, obscured by the forest from the highway. Before we moved on, we decided on a tactic we hoped would work. If we found the farmer was a Hungarian, Meir Lebovits, the only one who knew the language, would speak to him. On the other hand, if he was a Slovak I would speak. Several dogs started barking as soon as we approached. Out came an older man, a farmer, asking in Hungarian what we wanted. Meir explained we were Hungarians, fleeing from the Slovaks. Since we expected Hungary would soon occupy this territory, we asked if he would shelter us for a short time.

When the farmer hesitated, Meir threw in a mild threat, "How would it look if we got killed by the Slovaks and the victorious Hungarians learned that someone refused us help in time of emergency?" We had decided to play the same game had the farmer been a Slovak only reversing sides with me speaking for us.

It worked. Not only did the farmer agree to let us sleep in his barn, but he also cooked a pot of potatoes for us, which we ate with cottage cheese. He later supplied us with milk and corn bread for which, of course, he expected to be paid. I still had 200 Kcs. from the original 300 I had hidden in my belt, and I suspected the other boys had some money hidden too. We got together and I spoke my mind to the group, telling them that I had paid the farmer in Sobranec 100 Kcs. and expected everyone to carry their share of the load. Surprisingly, they readily agreed and money started coming out of hiding. The farmer was satisfied with 80 Kcs. for the food and use of the barn.

The next day, we heard heavy shelling coming much nearer. It looked as if the Hungarians were closing in on Sobranec, so we decided to stay another day. We got our suitcases in several trips from where we had hidden them in the forest. Finally we had everything together. Our mood, interestingly enough, was good. Some of us got some hot water and shaved. I did not yet need to shave, but joined the others in washing up. This time the shooting continued through the night However, we could not establish who was where, but it seemed that the railway and the highway were the main targets.

We had now spent seven days on the road and still had no prospect of getting home quickly. I asked Meir to ask the farmer for his advice in the way one would ask an experienced wise man. How could we get to Ungvar? After a long silence, the farmer told us he could take us to Ungvar over a back road by wagon, with all our valises. He knew the route well as he used it to take his produce to market. He asked for 200 Kcs. After some hard negotiation, we managed to bargain him down to 125 Kcs.

We started off with great hope the next morning. Sticking to side roads, known only to local people, we did get just outside the outskirts of Ungvar, when a Hungarian patrol stopped us. It turned out we had few problems, since they brought us to a command post where a captain's only interest was in finding out the location and strength of the Slovak army in Sobranec. Since we could be of little help to him, after about two hours, he let us continue to Ungvar. The farmer would not enter the city center, so we paid him and made it slowly on our own to a synagogue. There we rested and asked where we could stay for the night and how we could get to Chust.

It was early Friday afternoon. We were advised to go to a cheap hotel, where we were allowed to stay in one room. I still had 175 Kcs. left, and Shlojme Steinberg had 25 Kcs. After paying for the hotel in Kcs., we went to the post office to change the rest of our money for Hungarian pengo, at the rate of one pengo for seven Kcs.

Detectives awakened us that night to check our papers. We told them our story and showed our identification, and had no other problems. In the morning, we went to the main shul where all of us got invitations to dinner from different families. I met a boy there from Vienna who was about my own age and was a nephew of my host. He told me some horrifying stories about the Germans and even worse tales about the Austrians. The atrocities started immediately after the German occupation of Austria. While the Germans were cruel, the Austrians were possessed with a sadistic passion to torture the Jews.

We left for Chust on Sunday in a hired taxi and arrived there after only a few hours. Our ten-day journey finally ended. Each of us hurried home, although some had a bit further to go to reach their destinations. But we were all safe now. Some of our group met again many times during the following five years, but the bond formed among all of us during our ten days' journey has remained with us forever.

Meir Lebovits, Ludvik Weiss, Aaron Weiss, Shlojme Steinberg and I survived the Holocaust. Ludvik now lives in Montreal. Aaron is now in Lud, Israel. Shlojme lives in New Jersey. Meir served with the Czechoslovak Western Army, returned to England and, as of 1970, was still alive and well in Leeds.