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Veronika Schwartz A Survivor's Memoir
Preface Ever
since I returned from Auschwitz, in May 1945, I felt that I should write
down what had happened to my family and myself—all my experiences.
Just the thought of it brought so much pain and tears. Trying to remain
sane, I kept postponing it. Today, it's been over 50 years since Hitler's
planned genocide against our people. I am compelled to write it down
the way I remember. Time is running out. I am 67 years old. My sons,
whom I have tried to bring up as normally as possible, and with whom
I have tried not to talk about the past, are today grown men. And, they
have a right to know their family history. Therefore, I dedicate my
memoirs to my wonderful sons and grandchildren. Veronika
Schwartz
The
name of my father was Schwartz Mór. My mother's name was Ösztreicher
Irén. My brother, Zoltán, was the eldest, born November
19th, 1923. My sister, Klára, was two years older than me. My
sister, Éva, was two years younger than me. My
parents had a general store on Fö utza, which means the main street.
They sold furniture, yard goods, shoes, and ready-made clothes. They
worked very hard. Life wasn't easy. As far back as I could remember,
I felt sorry for my mother. Both of her ankles were ulcerated, but she
never wanted to hear about an operation, fearing that it wouldn't be
successful and that she might end up worse off. She just kept bandaging
them and staying on her feet all day, trying to do her best to please
the customers and, of course, her family. She did the cooking before
she went to the store. Our
house was located on Vár utza 10. From street level, the entrance
was a few steps up. A cousin of mine, Leonard Schönfeld, told me
that the front of the house was previously used as a grocery store.
Most homes had entrances only from the backyard. When we entered our
backyard, the house continued with perhaps five or six apartments that
were owned and rented out by my parents. Our
house was very modest. We had no electricity and no running water. We
had kerosene lamps that did not give enough light. I remember having
trouble doing my homework. I probably needed glasses. Listening to someone's
advice, I placed my schoolbook under my pillow, hoping that whatever
I had to memorize would sink into my head. Perhaps it worked. I did
well at school, except in math. That's where I cheated. A friend of
mine did my work. At that time, I didn't realize that I had only cheated
myself. In
our kitchen, we had a beautiful ceramic stove. It was light blue with
flowers, and we were able to use wood or coal in it. We were very happy
to have that. In cool weather, we filled it up with coal in the evening
so the house didn't get too cold overnight. I tried to get up early
in the morning around 5:00 a.m. to put some wood on the fire so that
by the time my mother wanted to cook the stove would be ready to cook
on. The dining room furniture was beautiful; gray and white speckles
and solid wood. On Shabbat, my father got together with the principal
from the Hebrew school and they studied the Talmud in that room. Growing
up in an Orthodox family, of course, we kept kosher and had separate
dishes for dairy and meat. On Friday afternoons the store was closed
early enough to be sure that we would not be late in lighting the Shabbat
candles. The table was beautifully set. My father went to synagogue
with my brother and when they returned we would all sit down to have
our Shabbat meal. Sometimes my father brought home a guest who was very
poor and who would have supper with us. Other times my grandparents
came over. We had no telephone and there was no need for my grandparents
to call. It was always a joy to see them. Together with my Aunt Margit,
Uncle Ernö, and Uncle Miklós, Friday night was a joyous
evening. After supper, neighbours dropped in just for dessert. We were
happy. We were a family. My
grandparents from my mother's side lived on the same street at Vár
utza 28. My grandfather's name was Ösztreicher Lajos and my grandmother's
name was Schönfeld Eszter. They had four children: Margit, who
was separated from her husband and who lived with my grandparents (I
remember my Aunt Margit spent a whole night with me in the hospital
when I had my appendix out. She used to come into our store to help
out.); Irén, who was my mother; Ernö, who also lived at
home (I don't know if he was ever married. He worked hard delivering
parcels. He would help out my grandparents with whatever he earned and
would also help them out with the housekeeping, all of which was very
much appreciated since my grandparents had sold their grocery store
and needed the extra help.); and Miklós, who was their second
son. I don't remember seeing him too much at home. Mostly he came to
visit. He was a businessman and had a beautiful office with several
secretaries. Whenever he saw me passing by his office he would run after
me and give me some money to buy myself a pretzel. My
grandmother I adored. She was always happy to see me. If there was no
one home when I came home from school, I went straight to my grandparents'
house. It was my second home. My grandmother offered me everything she
had in the house: fruit, cake, lunch, and supper. Whatever I wanted
she would give to me. We would sit in the garden and talk or go for
short walks. I helped her take the clothes off the clothesline. I never
got tired of admiring the beautiful knick-knacks that she and my grandfather
had in their home. Beside my own immediate family, these were the people
I loved the most. My
grandmother had a sister who came to visit once or twice a year. We
called her aunt Régi (Regina). My grandmother also had a brother,
Schönfeld Henrik, whose wife, Aunt Rezsi, I liked very much. They
had eight children: six girls (Elza, Sari, Ilonka, Mimi, Tubi, and Ibi)
and two sons (Leonard and Villi). I felt very close to these people.
Sometimes I walked over to their house. They were always happy to see
me. Henrik was a very religious man. He always came into our store to
talk. He was a businessman selling agricultural products such as wheat
and barley. When I passed him I had to be very careful not to touch
him. It was a sin for a girl to touch a religious man. Sari made corsets.
I would see Ibi in high school. Leonard loved to visit with my grandmother.
My grandfather, Lajos, had a brother, Ösztreicher Abrahám.
He had a store similar to that of my parents, which was just a few doors
away from their store. But we never got together with him or with his
family. I wonder why? From
my father's side, I remember my grandfather, Schwartz Ignác,
but I don't remember my grandmother. My grandfather lived with a daughter.
Her name was Aunt Peppy, and her husband's name was Klein Sämu
(Samuel). Her husband owned a horse and wagon and sold milk door to
door. They had many children but I only remember three of them: Manci,
Margit, and Magda. I loved them all and they were close to us. My father
had another sister. Her name was Aunt Rezsi. She was a beautiful lady.
I remember bringing cherry preserves to the hospital for her. She died
of cancer. I was just a little girl but I loved her and was heartbroken.
Her husband's family name was Auslander. They also had a lot of children
but I only remember Gizi (who married Fred Winkler in Philadelphia)
and Lilly, both of whom survived the war. My father had a brother, Jakab.
He used to come into our store. He had a son, Ernie. I treasure the
memory of all these people, but I do feel sorry that I didn't write
sooner. I would have had more information. Going
back to Vár utza 10, in the backyard we had huge, wild berry
trees on a long piece of land (about quarter of a mile). At the end
of our land there was a community of Christian families. I still remember
some of the names: Veres and Molnár. My parents allowed them
to make a path through our land. This way they were able to reach the
village very quickly. In return they harvested our land. We had potatoes,
carrots, and corn. The vegetables were stored in a cellar for the winter.
We had a well for drinking water on our property that came in very handy.
Otherwise, we would have had to go to the municipal fountain, which
was quite far. Especially in the winter, the toilets seemed very far
but we were used to it. I
don't remember having toys such as a bike or dolls, but I don't remember
missing them either. We were a family. Happiness was seeing my mother
holding hands with my father and smiling. We were never bored. There
were always things to attend to: flowers to water, raking the garden,
playing ball or school (I was the "teacher" and I gathered
up younger children and played school with them), bringing firewood
into the house, feeding our dog, talking to my friends on our street
or our tenants and neighbours. We were well liked. We were at home.
Modest as it was, it was our castle. As young children all we needed
was a pile of sand to be happy and to keep busy. We loved our country
too. I remember when Hungarian soldiers on horseback rode through a
street close by, I would rush to gather a bunch of flowers from our
backyard and I would run all the way to give it to them. I
attended public school but was also given Hebrew lessons. My first-grade
teacher's name was Mrs. Pataki. She was a very nice, kind old lady.
Then there was Ébner Irén and Kratky Maria. I liked these
two women and they liked me. Sometimes I went over to their houses and
I helped them weed their gardens. Then there was a male teacher, Mr.
Bocskai. I didn't like him at all. He was a sadist. I
loved to recite poems and verses. One year there was a Mother's Day
celebration. I accepted the longest poem to recite. People from the
local newspaper came to congratulate me. They were looking for my parents,
but on that occasion they were not there. They had more important things
to attend to. The next day there was an article in the paper. My best
friend, Klein Kató, and I were declared the best. Everything
changed in high school. I felt anti-Semitism. I don't remember the name
of my teacher, but she called the gentile girls by their first names
and the Jewish girls by their family names. I couldn't concentrate.
It disturbed me a lot. I began to feel hatred. This was in 1939 and
I was only twelve years old. My grandmother used to tell me how terrible
it was for the Jewish people. How, during an uprising or a revolution,
they always blamed the Jews. I just felt sorry that they suffered so
much. Hatred
only escalated. Things did not improve. One day my grandmother came
over to our house crying that one of her neighbours had threatened to
kill my uncle Miklós. I knew where my uncle was. I ran all the
way, five or six kilometers, to find him in a nearby village called
Ajak. He went into hiding, but for the High Holiday he went to the synagogue.
The gendarme (the elite police) were searching for him and they entered
the synagogue. My uncle escaped through a window, and Mrs. Rooz who
was a distant relative hid him in her home. When things quieted down
he managed to get on a ship and he hid in the coal. He arrived in Canada
in 1939 as a stowaway barely alive. I never found out why the gendarme
wanted to arrest him or why the man (his name was Orgován) who
was supposed to be his friend wanted to kill him. All I know is that
my uncle was selling land at the time. Perhaps some land deal didn't
please them. Our entire family was relieved when we received a letter
from my uncle from Canada. It
seemed that for the Jewish population life was getting quite scary.
My father had to do forced labour. Luckily he was disqualified due to
a hernia. My parents decided that we should all learn a trade instead
of continuing our education. They paid for a well-known watchmaker to
teach my brother how to repair watches. My oldest sister studied hair
dressing, also privately, which was costly. My brother and sister finished
their studies. My parents bought a two-wheeler for my sister. She had
private customers and biked to their homes. She was very popular. People
liked her very much. They found a dressmaker to teach me how to sew.
I tried but besides learning different stitches I never got to do a
complete dress. Meanwhile
my parents knew that life for us was deteriorating. Anti-Semitism was
so dreadful. Knowing that whatever happens we would need food, they
bought several cows, a horse, goats, geese, ducks, and chickens. At
that point I didn't do so much sewing. I helped a lot with the animals.
I loved to ride the horse. I milked the cows and fed the rest of the
animals. My grandfather, Lajos, came over every day to help out and
we had some hired help. The
political situation was worsening, especially for us, the Jewish people.
My mother paid more frequent visits to the Rabbi to pray for our safety
and well-being and to have peace. The Rabbi blessed us, told us to prey,
and to have faith in G-d. I always accompanied her on these visits.
To
keep the business open was no easy task. It was very difficult to get
yard goods such as silk, linen, cotton, and flannel. My mother never
gave up. She traveled to Budapest to her suppliers and had confidence
that she wouldn't come home empty handed. The name of the wholesale
business firm was Mandel Gustav and Sandor. She couldn't talk enough
about these people, how nice they had been to her. Because of her sore
ankles, they especially wanted to help her out. They sold her yard goods.
She was invited to their home. One day she told us, "I saw a beautiful
ceramic bathroom, that's what we will have one day. We will install
indoor plumbing in our home." We never gave up hope. In fact, we
did have electricity installed and a new ceramic kitchen floor. In
spite of the high hopes and the prayers, the hatred seemed to worsen.
To light candles on Friday nights was scary. Our windows got broken.
Rocks were thrown into my grandparents' home. My father boarded up some
of their windows. The Arrow-Cross gangsters were carrying out their
vicious insults. One young man came into our store like a wild animal,
cursing, picking up boxes of shoes and throwing them out to the street.
My mother pleaded with him to take what he wanted but the hatred was
just too deep. We trembled with fear. My
brother was called into the army. My parents couldn't see him go. My
mother made a pot of very strong coffee and he drank a lot of that.
Then they called the family doctor and said that he is not feeling well.
The doctor listened to his heart and gave a letter that he is unable
to go into service due to a heart condition. My
grandfather Lajos became ill. He had a tumor under his arm and he passed
away. I remember that the funeral was held in my grandparents' backyard.
The Rabbi had to hurry with the service because rocks were thrown at
us. I loved him and I missed him but, in a way, I was relieved that
his suffering had ended and that he would not be subjected to all that
hatred that surrounded us. By
the time I was fifteen or sixteen, I was allowed to go out with boys
with my mother's approval. My brother had many friends; that's how I
met someone that I went for walks with. Mostly, we talked about politics.
My girlfriend's brother took me out to a movie. He came from a nearby
village. I was not allowed to let him pay for me. My mother gave me
the money. There was another young man who came to see me at our house.
He was from a well-known family and I knew my parents would have been
happy if I kept friendship with him. I don't think we had much in common,
or perhaps there was no time to get to know each other better. I enjoyed
very much getting well-dressed, going on the main street for long walks
with my sister, Klára. We knew a lot of people and it was lively
and cheerful. My
mother always called a dressmaker to our house before Passover. We had
a sewing machine at home. We chose the material and the style, and the
three of us always got beautiful new dresses. We also liked to walk
down to the end of our street. There was a ruined fort or castle surrounded
by a forest. The three of us loved to walk and run around there. Even
my parents came along sometimes. Of course, we had to pass my grandmother's
house to get there so we always dropped in to see them. My
brother decided to go to Budapest to continue work as a watchmaker.
But as it happened we had a neighbour next door to our store who owned
a jewelry store. He was a watchmaker and was married and had several
children. Unfortunately, he had a terrible accident and got blood poisoning
and died. When my brother found out what happened, he told my parents,
"I cannot leave. I must stay and manage the store. This family
needs money to live." Needless to say how much happiness my parents
and all of us derived from my brother's decision. My
sister, Klára, met a young man who was stationed in Kisvárda.
He came to see her regularly. My parents seemed to like him and Klára
was on top of the world. I am thankful for these few happy occasions
that my parents had. The pride of seeing how unselfish my brother was;
the hopes of seeing Klára perhaps getting married to this wonderful,
young man who met their expectations. We were definitely looking forward
to brighter days. We kept very busy working hard, praying and hoping
that the Germans would lose the war. "G-d willing, everything will
be all right." Our high hopes and prayers, however, did not improve
our suffering. Cruel
laws and rules were forced upon us day after day. It was extremely painful
to realize that we had been overly optimistic for too long. It was shocking
when I visited one of our tenants, the Posner family, of Russian origin.
They had a maid, a Gypsy girl. I liked talking to her. She was always
cheerful and happy. I asked, "Where is she?" I was told that
she was forcibly taken away and drowned with many others. "How
is it possible to kill innocent people. They must have sent them to
work somewhere," I told Mrs. Posner. She said softly to me, "I
wish you would be right." There
was no reason to be optimistic anymore. We were forbidden to listen
to the radio. When I walked down the street to try to listen to the
news, I was pelted with rocks. My mother loved to go to the ritual bath
(mikvah). It was one of life's pleasures for her but it was forbidden.
I
heard a lot of whispering. I overheard them talking about an escape
route but they would not have been able to do it. It was too late. Jews
were not allowed to travel. My mother would never agree to any escape
route unless the whole family could escape together. That was impossible.
We were carrying home a lot of merchandise (furniture, yard goods) from
our store. Our sheds were dug up and we buried the yard goods and clothes
in wooden boxes. Whenever
my father went to the synagogue he came home with dreadful news. He
heard that a prominent doctor and his entire family committed suicide.
On March 19th, 1944, it became compulsory to wear the yellow star of
David. On this same day, the German army marched into Hungary. Beyond
the German's expectations, the Hungarians fully cooperated and welcomed
them. We felt trapped. I
remember Mr. Fekete, who came to our house to read the electricity meter.
When he walked in, he looked at all of us. He started to walk toward
my parents. He would have liked to talk to them but he was overcome
with emotions and started to cry. He just kept on crying and walked
out. He knew that something terrible would happen. Sure enough, a few
days later, one young man came to our house and my grandparents' home.
This young man lived on our street. My grandmother and his grandmother
were friendly with each other. His name was Bajor and he was authorized
to take inventory of our belongings. It did not take long to find out
that we will have to leave our homes and live together in a ghetto in
Kisvárda. All of us tried hard to comfort each other. My parents
felt that my brother should enlist for labor camp. Perhaps he would
have a better chance to stay alive. He listened to them and left to
enlist. It was heartbreaking to see him go. My
parents entrusted our livestock to the people who used our property
to cross into town. Even though they promised to take good care of all
the animals, it was hard to leave them behind--the baby goats whom I
adored; the beautiful horse I loved to ride; the cows, geese, ducks,
and chickens. My mother worked frantically preparing a soup base, a
mixture of flour and oil or chicken fat. She said as long as we could
get some water at least we could make a soup. I saw her breaking down
and crying. I begged her not to cry. Her answer was, "I am not
crying for myself, I am crying for all of you. I love you all very much."
I tried to tell her that it's only temporary that we have to leave.
She hugged and kissed me. She was always very brave but my parents were
experienced. I was naive. They knew how irrational people could become
by hatred, jealousy, vengeance, and power, and they became very fearful.
My
parents worked very hard never taking a vacation. They never smoked
or drank and they saved every penny. The custom was to give a girl a
dowry when she gets married. They bought precious jewels, diamonds,
and gold for the three of us so that when we'd marry we would have the
means to start a new life on our own. My father called us together and
we all went down to the cellar. That's where he removed some of the
bricks from the wall, hid the jewels in a bottle and repaired the wall.
So we all knew where it was. He hid some jewelry in the attic. Even
our neighbour, the Fishers, from across the road hid some jewelry in
our attic. Around
the middle of April 1944, we were transported to and imprisoned in the
ghetto in Kisvárda. We were taken under the cruelest conditions
by the Hungarian gendarmerie. All of us were crammed into one room—my
grandmother, my parents, Aunt Margit, Uncle Ernö, and my two sisters,
Klára and Éva. Below our room was a cellar. That's where
they brought people to be interrogated, to find out where they hid their
money and valuables. It was always the head of the household. At first
they tortured the very wealthy and later the middle class. It was horrible
to hear the screams. We
also worried about our father. The food was very scarce so my Dad used
to sneak out at 5:00 a.m. before sunrise. I don't know who it was but
a gentile family gave him eggs, milk, and bread. He took a tremendous
risk to improve the quality of life for his family. The people who gave
him the food were also very special, unselfish, kind, and willing to
help others in need. It was a courageous act. They could have gotten
into trouble helping Jews. Good people like them gave us the incentive
to try hard and go on with our lives. It was a joint effort to do the
best we could. We supported each other, sharing the household duties.
We were free to walk anywhere within the ghetto. I walked a lot with
my sisters and everyone else in the family, talking to our friends and
neighbours, trying to find out political news. One
morning a young man knocked at our door. My mother answered, he introduced
himself, and asked if he could talk to me. My mother spoke to him for
a few minutes, and then she called me. She introduced him to me. We
went for a walk and we talked. His name was Ainsley. He told me that
he would like to get to know me and asked if I would be interested in
him. Well, I was most surprised. He was very good-looking, slim, tall,
and very polite. I couldn’t figure out why he would be interested
in me. I asked him, "Why me?" I pointed out all my shortcomings
and offered to introduce him to some beautiful girls from Kisvárda.
He just smiled and told me that he has seen all the girls in the ghetto
but has no desire to go with anyone else except me. He did seem very
honest, so I agreed to be his girlfriend. I enjoyed his company very
much. He introduced me to his mother. She was a very nice lady. I
was happy. However, a few days later, a young boy (the son of our tenant)
handed a message to my mother. It came from a Hungarian gendarme, stating
in this note that he wants me to go alone to the end of the ghetto by
the fence and meet him on the empty field. If I refuse, all the older
men will be tortured. I looked at my family. I will never forget the
look on my mother’s face; how it reflected fear, terror, and helplessness.
I knew that there was just one thing to do--to go. I told my family
not to worry. I will speak to this young man, everything will be fine,
and I will be back soon. I went alone and I did meet him. We talked
about fifteen minutes when my boyfriend appeared with a letter from
a doctor saying that I had my appendix out, that I am not allowed walking,
and I must be lying down and staying indoors. He gave him a stern look
and told both of us that we could leave. As soon as I got back, I lay
down just in case the gendarme decided to check on me. The next morning
Ainsley came to see me. All of us were shocked. His arm was in a sling
and he had black eyes. He got badly beaten up. It was horrible to see
him like that. I felt responsible for all his suffering. He told me
not to worry, it will heal. And he brought me a book to read, Gone with
the Wind. He was the first boyfriend I really liked a lot. Once
again, the news was frightening. And once more our hopes that soon the
war will be over and that we will get back to our homes and business
and resume our lives were shattered. People were saying that the Germans
will transport everyone to work camps. The ghetto became like a funeral
parlor. People were openly weeping. Everyone was scared. It didn’t
make sense that Germany would want grandmothers, pregnant women, babies,
sick people, and children to work for them. In everyone’s mind
there was a question mark. "What will happen to us?" For myself,
I was brought up to respect everyone whatever their religion. So it
was difficult to comprehend the complexity of human hatred. I did believe
that they will be taking us to work. My grandmother worriedly asked
me, "What type of work can I do for them? I am too old to work."
"Well," I said, "you could help out in the kitchen, like
peeling potatoes, or in a hospital preparing bandages. We could all
work." On
May 29th, 1944, my boyfriend didn’t come to visit me. I became
panicky and told my mother I must go to see him. She agreed. So I went
but they were all gone, taken away with the first transport. I felt
horrible. I couldn’t even say goodbye, but I was hopeful that I
will see him after the war. My
family and I were taken on the 31st of May 1944. Eighty people were
herded into each wagon. We weren’t allowed to take anything, only
the clothes we wore. There was a pail of water, the doors shut, and
the journey towards the unknown destiny began. My father, my mother,
my grandmother, and my sisters, Klára and Éva, Aunt Margit,
Uncle Ernö—everyone was very quiet, sad, and speechless. I
tried so hard to cheer them up. I found a little space where I was able
to look out and watch the scenery. I asked everyone to come and watch.
No matter how hard I tried, no one was interested. My grandmother kept
repeating, "I am too old to work." Would I have known what
will happen to them, I would have spent every moment kissing and hugging
them and trying my best not to be separated. Finally,
the train arrived in Birkenau, Poland. The doors opened. Somehow I was
pushed out such that I found myself standing alone and a long line was
forming behind me. I looked around everywhere I could see but there
was no one from my beloved family. Fear and panic hit me. I sobbed and
threw myself to the ground, thinking to myself that I will not get up
unless they reunite me with my family. I didn’t care if they shoot
me. Behind me in the line were the two Freed girls from our street,
Vár utza. They were crying but they practically lifted me up
and begged me to stay on my feet or else I will be shot. They told me
that their mother was pregnant and they cannot see her anywhere. The
long line was formed and we had to start marching. It was about three
kilometers to Auschwitz. On the way, we saw the barbed wire with high
voltage security fence. We saw a lot of people inside. It was a scary
site. Some people walked with long sticks and were beating up others.
The clothes people wore were rags. We couldn’t imagine what this
place could be. Some people were saying it must be a mental asylum.
But how could they treat mental patients so badly? Soon
our march ended and we found ourselves at the same place--the Auschwitz
Concentration Camp. This was the worst day in my entire life. The heartache
of not knowing what would happen to my family? Where are they? I always
searched with my eyes as far as I could see, in every direction, even
imagining that I could see my father. The
people were drained mentally and physically. It started to rain and
was cool. All day, we didn’t get food but we had to stay in line
and wait. Finally, an SS officer came and told us that he will try to
get us some tea. It was no comfort to me. I was a lost soul. Later
on, we had to be disinfected. At this place, they shaved our heads.
We had to strip naked. They put us through humiliating tortures. Our
clothes were taken away and we had to get dressed from a pile of rags.
As I walked around at this disinfecting area, like a miracle, I noticed
my first cousin from my father’s side, Klein Magda. She noticed
me at the same time. She told me that she has no one from her family
and that we should try to stay together. I was hoping that we would
be able to do that. We
were later led over to the C Lager. We remained outside. A Kapo
(that is, a prisoner foreman assigned to oversee a particular labour
squad of prisoners) came to talk to us. She told us her name, Toska.
I believe she was a Polish girl. She seemed very honest. She asked if
we had any questions. Many people asked the same question, "When
will we be reunited with our family members?" With tears in her
eyes, she pointed to the crematorium. She had a difficult time to talk.
After regaining her composure she continued, "Like yourselves,
I was brought here with my family, but now I am alone." She warned
us to be alert; it will not be easy to stay alive. After that, we were
herded into the barrack. There was another Kapo; her name was Éva.
She was mean. A good-looking Jewish girl, but she behaved shamefully,
using a stick to control the people. We
were squeezed into a very tight sitting position for the night. In my
misery, I decided to heed the Rabbi’s advice: to hope and pray.
Every night, I recited prayers in Hebrew. I knew them well and included
every member of my family and, of course, Ainsley. Somehow, my religious
background gave me strength. But I also had a guilty feeling, "Why
me? Why am I alive and my family gone?" I tormented myself. Before
sunrise, we were awakened by a loud whistling sound. We had to rush
out and line up for inspection. A couple of times a week, we had to
march into the barrack naked in front of the doctors, Mengele and some
others, for the selection. If someone was taken out of the line, that
meant death. So we tried to look our best. We
received a slice of bread and about a teaspoon of marmalade in the morning.
In the afternoon we took turns to pick up a container of food, which
had no taste, very little. There were no dishes, no cutlery. So we lined
up and we drank one after the other from the same cup. Many people,
including me, were getting gum disease. In the afternoon, again we had
to stand in line for a couple of hours to be counted. Sometimes I saw
burnt corpses, like charcoal, against the fence. It was a horrible sight.
One
morning after the lineups I lay down on the ground. An SS soldier stepped
on my stomach. A day’s survival was an achievement. About
three or four weeks later, one morning we were lining up to have our
identification number tattooed into our forearms, when my cousin Magda
was taken away from the line. Once again I felt lost. I wanted to remain
with her so badly. She was very nice to me. I crouched down and got
to a window. I climbed through it and found Magda. I lined up after
her. We had no idea what will happen to us but once again we were together
and that meant a lot to both of us. There were sixteen people. We got
into little boxcars pulled by a tractor. After traveling three to three
and a half hours, we arrived on a farm. We
were given shelter in a shed. We slept on straw on the ground. Later
on, they put up some bunks for us. When it was getting dark, the door
was shut and we got locked in. At 6:00 a.m. the doors opened again.
We received some food and were driven by truck out to the fields to
work. We had to gather wheat or oats, form bunches, tie them up and
put them in an upright position, like forming pyramids. We had two supervisors:
A man who was nice. If someone had difficulty to do the work, he tried
to help and was never angry. The woman disliked all of us. I overheard
her telling the male supervisor that we are Jews and that we don't deserve
any help. All of us tried to do our utmost. This place was definitely
better than Auschwitz. Sunday, for supper, we were given mashed potato
and a slice of ham on a regular plate. It meant a lot to everyone. One
day the owner rode up on horseback to the place where we worked. He
called me and another girl over to talk to him. He told us that instead
of working on the fields we would be working in the kitchen. The other
girl was only 13 years old. Mostly I noticed her polishing shoes. I
ended up helping the two maids, peeling vegetables, fruits, and so on.
It was better than working on the fields. I filled my clothes with the
skins from the apples that I peeled. Sometimes I managed to hide some
carrots or small apples; they were shared with everyone. I
would see the family on Sunday mornings going to church. It reminded
me of how I used to go to synagogue together with my parents, brother,
and sisters, and other members of my family. I was not jealous of them
but I was so hurt. The injustice was too horrendous. Here I was working
like a slave. Why? There was nothing that I did wrong. They were born
into the Christian faith. I happened to be born into the Jewish faith.
They have everything they own. Everything was confiscated from us. They
have their family alive. I don't know what happened to mine. How could
all this crime be allowed to happen in the 20th century with not one
single nation trying to rescue us? Where is God? Did he fall asleep?
I was losing my faith in humanity. I questioned the existence of God.
After all, I did see the crematorium smoke all the time when I was in
Auschwitz. The sadistic cruelties that I witnessed gave me reason to
believe that there was very little chance that I will see everyone from
my beloved family again. After
working in the kitchen for about three months, I overheard the two maids
expressing concern about how close the Russians were and what will happen
to them? To us it meant hope, that our freedom is closer. One
afternoon after work, when I entered the shed, there was dead silence
and everyone was looking at me. I asked, "What's going on?"
It was explained that one of the women was in her sixth month of pregnancy
and she worried about losing her baby, working on the fields. The maids
agreed to let her work in the kitchen if I was willing to take her place
on the fields. There was no question debating the issue. The next morning
I went to work on the fields. The
Russians were getting close. We had seen gunfire explosions very close
to us. Our lives were at high risk. Everyone was scared. We continued
working a couple more weeks but one morning instead of being driven
to work we were transported back to Auschwitz. It was very difficult
to hope anymore. The people in Auschwitz looked like skeletons and they
were jealous that we had spent time working on a farm. They were telling
us that there was an outbreak of typhus. Some of the barracks were burnt
to the ground. The people were dying like flies. I cannot find words
to explain the intensity of the crime. By this time, it looked like
we were remnants of a race. I kept telling myself not to give up--if
anyone survived from my family they might need me. This feeling of responsibility
to my family and to our race kept me struggling to stay alive. The
hunger, filth, and torture continued. One morning, to my amazement,
I received a small package. The Kapo who gave it to me told me that
she had to bring back a reply. I opened it: there was some bread, a
pencil, and a note. The content of the note said, "I was born in
Poland. I am not Jewish. I publicly expressed opposition to the ruling
government; therefore, I was sent to Auschwitz. I am a doctor. I would
like to know if you would marry outside your faith." It didn't
take me long to reply. In my heart, I knew that I would not marry outside
my faith in respect to my parents. Also, I did not give up on Ainsley
yet. So I expressed my thanks to him and stated my reasons. I never
heard from him again but it gave me a tremendous boost to believe that
there are some decent people out there and that I should do my utmost
to survive. A
few weeks later, once again, Magda and myself along with many other
people were transported to another concentration camp. When we arrived,
two male Kapos were in charge to lead us into the camp. To our misfortune
they took advantage of their position of superiority, hugging and lifting
us up. It was embarrassing and I was scared. They told us that we remind
them of their sisters. Soon a line was formed and we walked to the camp.
When
we entered the camp it was a frightening experience. On the middle of
the ground there was a huge dugout. On one side of it we had to line
up. Across from us, on the other side, the SS soldiers were standing
with their rifles pointing toward us. People became panicky, fearing
that we are facing a firing squad. I tried to calm down the people in
front of us with the explanation that if they wanted to kill us it could
have been done in Auschwitz. It turned out to be a military exercise.
We
were led into a building where we had to shower and were given other
clothes, gray and navy striped uniforms. We lined up for food. It was
given on a plate. It was more military style and seemed much better
than Auschwitz. In
the early evening I felt tired and lay down on the lower bunk bed. As
I was resting my cousin ran in and she was excited. She told me that
the two Kapos brought us a bread. They were in a room close by and she
asked me to go with her to get the bread. I had no intention to go and
I begged her not to go but she had just ran off saying that we needed
the bread. As much as I didn't want to go, I ran after her so that she
shouldn't be alone. The two young men were happy to see us. One of them
was holding my hand when suddenly the lights went on. Several people
came in. We were escorted back to our barrack but they took Magda with
them. She had to strip naked and they waited. In a little while an SS
officer arrived and my cousin was beaten twenty-five times with a rubber
baton. I heard her screams and I felt her pain. In my heart I knew that
she meant good for both of us. She just wanted some bread. When they
finished with her, I expected them to get me but that did not happen.
Magda told them that I only ran in to call her back. We could see the
two Kapos outside. There were two posts with a heavy cord in the middle.
Each man was tied up by his feet and arms and left there hanging for
hours from the post. The
next morning we were crowded into a wagon like sardines and were sent
to a hard labour camp. It took many hours to get there. I remember telling
Magda that the people were very nice because I fell asleep on top of
people. What I didn't realize was that I was sleeping on dead bodies.
My cousin was in terrible pain from the beatings. When the train finally
stopped at the assigned destination and the door opened, we were forced
to carry the dead bodies. We
slept on the ground in a barrack, with only a little straw spread around.
The food was horrible and very little. To describe the extent of the
hunger, I once retrieved a bite size piece of bread from the wall of
the latrine and ate it. Males and females used the same latrine. There
was no such thing as human dignity. The
work was hard. We were given a pick and we had to chop away from a mountainous
area to build a trench. We had no warm clothing. We wrapped our feet
in pieces of rags. We were afraid of frostbite. Sometimes we would have
liked to talk to someone, but the SS soldier appeared immediately yelling
to stop talking and keep on working. One
day Magda was sick. She was unable to go to work. I worried all day,
what would happen to her? The same thing happened to me too. There was
no doctor. Lucky for us the next day we were able to go to work. The
people who stayed away from work more than twice we never saw again.
Eventually,
as the Russians were advancing, this camp had to be eliminated. The
marching began. It was still winter and was very cold. We marched all
day. When people were close to collapse and the guards themselves were
over-tired, they usually found a place for us where we could spend the
night, mostly in the stalls with animals. We were starved. I remember
once that, as we marched, I noticed some frozen potato peels in the
snow. I gathered some up quickly and ate them. One
evening, after we were locked in a stall, a few of us decided that we
would try to escape. We climbed up to the attic. It was filled with
hay. We buried ourselves in the hay. In the morning, when the SS guards
came to take us, we remained in the attic. The first night someone threw
up carrots and that's what we ate. But the next morning a bunch of hooligans,
teenage boys, came up to the attic. One by one, they threw all of us
down shouting, "Juden, Juden!" While falling approximately
eight feet, I concentrated on landing on my feet. We were all hurt and
painful. Within a short while, one SS guard came and led us back to
the group and once again the marching continued. One
evening, it was quite late. We were extremely tired and my cousin felt
sick. I begged her to continue walking. She turned to me and said, "Vera,
you go on please. I can't walk no more," and she collapsed. At
that moment, I lay down next to her, telling her to pretend that we
were dead. The first guard yelled to get up, keep walking. We stayed
motionless. He poked, kicked, and pushed us with his rifle into the
ditch. When the second guard came and wanted to shoot us, he told him,
"They are dead, don't waste your bullets." Motionless,
we lay there until there was no more sound. At that point I told Magda
that we have to keep walking, otherwise we will freeze to death. Slowly
we crawled out of the ditch. With Magda leaning on me, slowly, we walked.
Suddenly we noticed a light. Soon we realized that it's a house. At
that point, we had no choice. We had to try to go inside. The door was
not locked. There were people sitting around a table. No one said a
word to us. We crouched under a bed and we fell asleep there. In the
morning, a man was poking at us with a broom, yelling, "Juden heraus"
(Jews get out). We crawled out. As we left the house he threw some bread
crusts after us. I stopped to pick them up and we ate it all. I remember
thinking that he still had some humanity left in him. We
continued walking. We walked by a more populated area and suddenly we
saw a policeman directing traffic. We quickly turned around and went
into a house. One woman came to ask us if we would like some food. Of
course we wanted, we were starving. She came back with two servings
of ham and mashed potato on porcelain plates with cutlery. We didn't
exactly know why they were so considerate but soon another woman came
to tell us that the Russians had entered the area and that, if the Russians
came into the house, they wanted us to tell them that they were good
people, that they protected us and gave us food. Now we understood the
situation we were in. We were happy that finally we would be free. Within
minutes, Russian soldiers entered the house. The father or grandfather
was sitting with all his military decorations on his uniform. One Russian
soldier shot him instantly. We were scared. We didn't know what would
happen to us. One of the women came to me, begging me to save her daughter,
saying that one Russian soldier took her into a room and that he would
kill her. Thinking how nicely they treated us, I ran into the room.
I was still very naive, not realizing that he was raping her. I started
explaining that these people gave us food. He was reaching for his gun.
My cousin ran into the room, grabbed me, slapped my face, and pulled
me out. She was trembling. She asked me, "Don't you know the reason
he took the girl into the room?" At that moment, I didn't know.
I was trying to save a life but I was in a state of shock. If it were
not for Magda, I would have been killed. We
also realized that we were in danger. The freedom we were hoping for
did not come. There was no law and order. We were on our own. When night
came, we slept with our heads covered with a scarf to look less attractive.
Even so, one night while both of us were asleep, a soldier woke me up.
With his flashlight shining into my eyes, he ordering me to get up and
go with him. I was terrified. I screamed and cried. My cousin tried
to explain to him that we were in concentration camps, we were Jewish.
He said that Jewish was good. Then Magda told him that I am only a child.
At that point he got angry and told Magda, "You are not a child,"
and forced her to go with him. I was tormented waiting, not knowing
what would happen to her. She returned within a short time and told
me that he was unable to rape her because she cried and screamed too
much. He got angry and hit her with his rifle and let her go. The fear
continued every day. We
kept searching for food. We met a young girl and her mother of Polish
origin. They found some potatoes, cooked them, and they insisted on
sharing it with us. They were also survivors. I could never forget them.
Once we hid in a pile of hay to avoid some soldiers. They must have
noticed us and lit the hay so we had to get out. An older Russian officer
noticed us. He spoke to the young soldiers to leave us alone and they
listened to him. This officer seemed to like us. He said I looked like
his daughter. He kept companionship with a woman in the same house where
we stayed. We were lucky he noticed the situation we were in. One
afternoon we met a young girl, also a survivor. She was from a very
religious family. She told me how thankful she was to survive and that
when she got home she hoped to find her family. Well, that didn't happen.
A drunk Russian soldier was raping her through the night. The next morning
the girl was dead, she bled to death. The soldier was still next to
her, drunk. The
older Russian officer became a good friend for us. Sometimes he brought
us some food. I distinctly remember the beige and white winter coat
he gave me, also shoes, but more than anything I believe that he probably
saved our lives. One early afternoon, young people were rounded up.
Magda and I were chosen. We were told to get into the army truck. Both
of us tried to explain that we were not the enemy, we are not Germans,
we were Jewish survivors, but it made no difference. We were forced
into the truck. While waiting on the truck we noticed our friend the
Russian officer talking with the soldiers, and right after they came
to tell us to get off the truck. Later, this officer told us that those
people were sent to Siberia to do hard labor. We just didn't know how
to thank him enough. But, this man did have a heart. He understood our
plight and he just wanted to help us. He didn't expect anything from
us. There
are several events that I will never be able to forget: (1) When in
Auschwitz, a woman was telling me that she was unable to eat the bread
we were getting so she traded it for a little bit of jam. I told her
to try her best to eat the bread, which was our main food. She began
to talk about her husband who was a doctor. They came from Budapest
with the last transport. As we talked, suddenly, she went out of control.
She started slapping everybody around. They took her away. (2) During
transportation from one camp to another, on the train, a young girl--she
was about my age, I was 17 and I don't believe she was more than 18
or 19 years old--she rushed to me, hugging and kissing me and telling
me how happy she was that she found me. She told me that I was her sister
and she begged me to promise her that I will never leave her again.
(3) Right after the Russian occupation, as we searched for food, we
noticed a rifle in a bedroom just lying there on top of the bed in one
of the houses we walked into. Magda and I, we looked at each other:
Here is our chance to take revenge--"an eye for an eye," as
they say. But, we never reached for that rifle. No, we were not killers.
We were victims of planned genocide, and two wrongs don't make a right.
Weeks
passed, the weather was getting milder. Magda found a two-wheeler. We
decided to double-ride and search for food. We managed to find some
food and we were heading back on a deserted dirt road when we heard
Russian soldiers calling us. Magda sped up, riding as fast as she could.
The soldiers began shooting. Whether they just shot into the air or
they missed us that we didn't know. The important fact was that we did
get away unhurt. Several
more weeks passed, it was spring. We were wondering how and when we
will be able to get back to Hungary. I was fearful but still hoping
and praying for some miracle that I would see my family again. In my
mind, I didn't want to believe that the world would allow the genocide
of our people for no reason, only because we were members of the Jewish
faith. It seemed criminal, so unbelievable, but of course given what
I had seen and what I had been through there was plenty of reason to
be fearful. Sometime
in the month of May, our friend the Russian officer came to see us.
He told us that the train tracks to Hungary had been repaired. He gave
us the exact time when a train will be going. He advised us to get on
it and we took his advice. We knew he only meant good for us. We were
eager to get back even though I was never able to call Hungary home
again. It was my birthplace. I loved the country; it was beautiful,
but I kept remembering the cooperation of the Hungarian government with
the Germans, and the eagerness to carry out all the horrible atrocities
against us. We
arrived at the train. It was difficult to get into the boxcar. There
was no platform; we had to pull ourselves up. It was filled with Russian
soldiers, many of them drunk. With our heads covered--partially our
faces too--we looked nowhere except down to the floor. The only thing
we had seen: drunken soldiers urinating on the floor. After several
hours, the train came to a halt in a small town. We got off and transferred
to a passenger train. As we walked in to look for a seat a woman spat
in front of us and made the remark, "These filthy Jews are coming
back." At that moment I felt very happy that we did survive and
that the anti-Semites felt defeat. I
was sitting by the window. A young man was knocking on the window to
get my attention. I opened it. He told me that he saw my brother in
Ujpest. At that point I knew that all my efforts to stay alive were
not in vain. From that moment nothing mattered. My main concern was
to find my brother and to be reunited with him. The young man told me
that he is a friend of my brother. After I realized that he was the
son of the rabbi in a nearby town and that he used to come to our home.
He had no address where I would be able to find my brother. Magda
decided to go to Kisvárda. We parted, hugging and kissing and
wishing each other the best of luck, and promising that we will soon
see each other again. I managed to get to Ujpest. At the train station
there were many people, also representatives of a Jewish organization
that was formed to welcome and help out survivors. A young woman by
the name of Komáromi Martha and her brother and sister-in-law
approached me. They asked some questions including my name, and they
offered me accommodation since I didn't know anyone in Ujpest. I was
happy to accept the offer and I was thankful. Also,
a young man came over and offered me a voucher for a dinner at a restaurant.
My mind was occupied with finding my brother so I declined saying, "I
don't know Ujpest, and I don't know where the restaurant is." He
introduced himself. His name was Miklós Mandel. He was very polite.
He told me that he would also go to the same restaurant, that we could
go together, and that he lived near where I was be staying. He offered
to call on me. I accepted and appreciated his help. Martha
and the young couple took me to their apartment. It was very nice. It
was on Arpad utza. They put a mattress on the floor for me. The apartment
wasn't too big. I was wondering why they were doing all this for me,
so I asked them, "Why are you inconveniencing yourselves? You don't
even know me." Well, this is the answer they gave me: "What
we are doing for you is nothing in comparison to what your brother did
for us. He saved our lives." They told me that my brother escaped
as a Hungarian officer and therefore he was able to save Jews. After
the Russian occupation, he was arrested. They were questioning him about
his activities. Martha told me that the most important thing was to
try to visit him. The
next morning I went to the prison with Martha. They questioned me alone.
After that, they took me into a small room. They brought in my brother.
It was a tearful reunion. I tried very hard to be brave and not to cry.
I would have liked to be cheerful; to reassure him that everything will
be fine. We kissed and we hugged each other, then his eyes filled with
tears. He asked, "What about Klára and Éva? Our parents?"
After that, I knew how he was tormented so to avoid the questioning
to continue I told him what happened--that in Auschwitz, I was separated
and never saw them again but that we should still continue to have hope.
He
told me not to worry, he was quite sure he would be released and then
we would be together. Martha also felt confident that my brother would
be released, and that's what happened. The next day he was free. The
very first thing he did was to rent a store in Ujpest on Istvan utza.
He started out with watch repairs. Neither of us had any money but thanks
to my parents' foresight he had an excellent trade. The store went by
the name "Fekete Zoltan" instead of his real name Schwartz
Zoltan. In Hungarian, Fekete means black. Schwartz also means black.
I guess he felt more comfortable with a name that sounds Hungarian than
Jewish. How unfortunate. It explained the society we lived in. Not
too far from the store, he rented a room. It was in a beautiful home,
very quiet and clean. The woman who rented it was alone. Her husband,
who was a lawyer, never returned after the war. So, she was very happy
to have us there. We both worked in the store. Besides doing watch repairs
we sold low priced watches and straps. The
young man I met at the train station, Miklós Mandel, came into
the store to have a watch repaired. We talked a lot. I told him that
I was hoping and waiting for my boyfriend to come back. He said, "Well,
let me know when you're not waiting anymore." I
was very anxious to get back to Kisvárda, still hopeful that
perhaps there might be some good news for us about the rest of the family.
One day we heard from a cousin of mine, William Schönfeld. He wrote
to us saying that one of the sheds was dug up and they found wooden
boxes of merchandise, clothing from the store. It was held in the Prerau
shoe store, just a few doors away from where our store was located.
Most of the merchandise was water damaged but they wanted to know what
to do with it. I
decided to go back to Kisvárda and that's what I did. At first,
I went to our house. The family who previously rented the lowest priced
apartment from my parents now lived in it. When I walked in they were
stunned, as if seeing a ghost. They just stood looking at me without
saying a word. I asked them if they have seen anyone from my family.
They just shook their heads that they have not seen anyone. Finally,
they told me that they were told that no one would be coming back, that
we were all killed. I
could not believe what I had just witnessed. Here I am with a Christian
family and they do not express their sorrow. They are not telling me
how happy they are to see me. They behave as if they would expect me
to apologize for being alive. I asked if they found any pictures from
my family. Once again, they just shook their heads "No." I
went down to the cellar. Right away I noticed that the brick was removed
where my father placed the jewelry. There was nothing, just empty space.
How cruelly everything was grabbed, things my parents worked so hard
for. I went up to the attic to search for some jewelry that my father
hid there. Once again, everything was gone. I found nothing. I didn’t
get to see the rest of the house. I don’t know what happened to
our beautiful solid cherry wood dining room set and the walnut bedroom
set, and all the little treasures such as knick-knacks and collectibles
that my family valued so much and took such great care of. My
hopes were shattered. They have not seen anyone from my family and I
didn’t even have a picture of my mother, my father, my sisters,
Klára and Éva, my beloved grandparents, uncles, aunts,
or cousins. I felt so betrayed, so helpless, heartbroken. I continued
walking through the backyard. There was dead silence. All our tenants
were gone. They were all Jewish except the one who moved into our home.
All the apartments were empty and I missed them all so much. The Posner
family, the old man who used to deliver door to door bread products
(he had a much younger wife and many children), the tailor who worked
so hard and was so kind to everyone, the young couple with two children
(I used to admire how beautifully she darned old socks), the blind old
lady, Mrs. Gartman, who made ends meet by selling door to door shoe
polish, stove polish, and shoe laces. I was very fond of all these people.
I missed them a lot. I
continued down the path to visit with the families to whom my parents
entrusted our livestock; the beautiful horse, cows, sheep, goats, geese,
ducks, and chickens. Once again, I encountered people who were very
much surprised to see me. None of them asked about the rest of my family.
They only complained about how terribly difficult times they had been
through and how, when the Russians came in, everything was taken from
them. In my eyes they were thieves. I had no respect for them. There
was one more family I went to visit, our shoemaker. My mother left beautiful
satin material with his wife. From this material, my mother planned
to make a housecoat. When I entered the house, the woman was wearing
a satin housecoat made from the material my mother entrusted with her
for safekeeping. Once more, I heard the same story: we were told nobody
would be coming back. It was a painful experience, so much so that I
could not bring myself to go over to my grandmother’s property,
nor did I go to see our second house, which we used to rent out. It
was the first house on Kis utza. We had beautiful nut trees on that
property. I
had to get to the Prerau shoe store and decide what to do with the merchandise
that was dug up from our shed. A young man, Prerau Jancsi, was in the
store. He told me that everything was water damaged, so I asked him
if he would be kind enough to give it away to some charitable organization.
He agreed to look after it. I
met my cousin, William (Villi) Schönfeld. He was very nice. He
told me that I could stay where he was staying, at the Freedman’s
house (the Freedmans were in the leather business). The son came back
and Villi was a friend of his. Villi brought me a beautiful gift, a
pair of gold striped pajamas. He was a great help. I
got together with my cousin Magda. She wanted to go to Ujpest with me,
she had someone there. Together, we walked on the main street, Fö
utza. Our store was locked up, the street was deserted. I felt devastated.
More and more the reality set in. I realized that Toska, the Kapo in
Auschwitz, did not exaggerate. She told us the truth, just that at that
time I did not want to believe it. But now I know that every word she
said was true. Perhaps it is better that I did not believe her at the
time or else I most probably would not be alive to tell the truth about
the most senseless, cruelest, systematic killings of six million innocent
Jews in the 20th century. My
personal feelings are that mankind did not do enough to stop the killings.
Hitler received more cooperation than he had ever hoped for. Anti-Semitism
was so deeply rooted that not one nation came to our help. There is
a glimmer of hope today. When Pope John Paul II visited Cuba, he did
ask for freedom for all religions. He also declared that anti-Semitism
is a sin. In my mind, these few words carry a message of hope. Leaders
of nations also should take a much firmer stand against hatred. They
should not give hate mongers and former Nazis safe havens but instead
bring them to justice. It is never too late. I
must get back to Ujpest to be with my brother. He needs me to help out
in the store. Besides what is Kisvárda, my beautiful hometown,
without my beloved grandmother, my dear parents, Klára and Éva,
my sisters whom I loved so much, Aunt Margit and Uncle Ernö, and
so many close relatives? My heart is aching for them. I do not feel
at home anymore. I missed seeing my girlfriend next door, Spitz Vera.
Across the street, the Fisher family, our neighbors, Mrs. Weinberger,
Mrs. Glick, my best friend Klein Kato--all the people were gone. Only
a few young Jewish men with surprised looks gave us big smiles and were
happy to see us back when we walked on the Fö utza. I
was offered a lift to Ujpest by a young Hungarian man. Villi, my cousin,
came along. He was going to Budapest. Magda also came. The driver stopped
for the night. Villi and Magda went to sleep inside a house. I sat talking
to the young man. Then I noticed that he exposed himself. I jumped off
the truck and ran into the house. The owner of the house allowed me
to sleep inside. I
was happy to be back in Ujpest. Magda shared wonderful news with me.
Her boyfriend returned and they planned to get married, also one of
her sisters survived. I was very happy for her. My brother, Miklós,
and myself joined a Zionist organization, the Haovéd. To raise
money we put on shows. I participated three times. The first was a biblical
play; the second was about women's liberation; for the third, I recited
a very long poem. It was about holding on to our religion and not converting.
I enjoyed doing it very much. Miklós became a very good friend
for both of us and he would accompany me to my rehearsals. We played
for a full house and the audience left happy, so that pleased me. My
brother and I both kept very busy. I learned a little Russian so that
I was able to greet the Russian soldiers when they came into the store.
A
very tall, handsome, highly decorated Russian officer was a frequent
visitor in the store. In confidence, he told me that he was Jewish but
that I should never mention it to anyone. I agreed but I felt sorry
for him. I never hid my religion. We were not the killers of Christ,
the Romans killed Jesus. We are not the sons and daughters of Satan
as we have been described--all lies. I am proud to be Jewish. One
morning, our friend, the Russian officer, brought me a sheet of paper
with mathematical questions to figure out. I hated math. I handed it
back to him saying that I didn't know how to solve problems. He said
he would like to marry me in Moscow and that's where I would have to
continue my schooling. I politely declined. Miklós
introduced us to his best friend, Kellner Pista, who also introduced
us to three sisters. The youngest, Lulu, was Pista's girlfriend. The
middle one, Klára, was married. The eldest one (I don't remember
her name) was married but her husband did not return. These people were
very nice and we became good friends. My brother hired a watch repairman.
He was doing pretty well in business but in our hearts we did not feel
at home in Hungary. We talked a lot about leaving the country. As
time passed by, Miklós (we called him Miki for short) became
part of my life. Together, we went to visit his uncle, Mandel Sandor,
who lived in Budapest and who was the same person my mother praised
so much. How well she was treated when she did her purchasing from the
two brothers Sandor and Gustav. Now I understood why. He was a real
gentleman. Miki's uncle had a brother, Szekulesz Doli, who quite often
came into the store. We usually talked politics. He was the one who
kept telling us that the longer we wait the harder it will be to leave
Hungary. Every time he walked into the store we loved to see him and
talk to him. We met Miki's uncle, Joska, also a very nice person. The
uncle who impressed me very much was Szekulesz Béla. He spoke
seven languages and was very open-minded. On Friday night, he called
on me to go with him to the synagogue. I enjoyed his company. Kellner
Pista was able to find out my uncle's address and phone number in Canada.
I wrote to him that the three of us (Zoli, Miki, and myself) would like
to leave Hungary and that if he could help it would be greatly appreciated.
We waited and hoped. We did receive an answer that he would do his utmost
to bring us to Canada. However, the months were quickly passing and
nothing materialized as far as emigration was concerned. Miklós
opened up his parents' store, selling electrical appliances and fixtures.
He had a helper to do the electrical contracts. The store's location
was István utza 10. He was unable to get back his parents' apartment
so he got a small one-bedroom apartment with kitchenette in the same
building, which he shared with his friend, Kellner Pista. This was a
temporary solution. When his aunt Cornail returned from Auschwitz and
her son from labour camp, Miklós let them have his apartment.
He partitioned off a section of his store and built a nice little room
for himself. Eventually,
I got to know all of Miklós's remaining family, the ones who
were in Ujpest and Budapest. I simply fell in love with every one of
them. They were exceptionally nice people. I got to know Miklós
very well. Everyday the three or four of us went out for supper together.
Many times Kellner Pista came along too. I felt very close to Miklós.
If for any reason he didn't come into the store, I went over to see
him. There
was a curfew in Hungary in 1945. If it happened that we were on the
street after 10:00 p.m., we got arrested and had to spend the night
locked in at the police station. It did happen to us. In
spite of the newly acquired friends and some nice people we got to know,
for the three of us, the number-one priority was to leave Hungary. Miklós
and I decided to get engaged before we left. His aunt, Szekulesz Blanka,
prepared a beautiful supper for our engagement party in her home. My
brother was the only person there from my very big family. Even though
I loved and cared for Miklós and that this happy occasion was
what I really wanted to happen, my happiness was torn by the absence
of my loved ones. I kept thinking about them. How happy and proud of
me they would have been to meet this exceptionally wonderful young man,
my groom. Human cruelty is beyond my understanding. Besides
my brother, one of Komaromi Martha's brothers also attended. Miklós
had several aunts and uncles to attend. His parents--I only saw pictures
of them--were beautiful people. Unfortunately, their lives also were
so cruelly taken in Auschwitz. We missed them very much. Miklós
gave me a beautiful platinum necklace with a beautiful diamond pendant
and matching earrings, as well as a gold necklace and pendant with the
Ten Commandments on one side and a picture of Moses on the other side.
All of these jewels were from his mother, so it really was a very special
gift for me. His mother received this beautiful necklace and the earrings
from his father for their tenth wedding anniversary. In
the spring of 1946, the Zionist organization accepted us into a group
of people, all of whom were anxious to leave Hungary. They gave us the
exact date, time, and location where we should meet. The instruction
was to take the minimum. My brother and Miklós had to liquidate
the store's merchandise and get whatever little money they could get
out of it. Everything had to be done in secrecy. We were not allowed
to tell anyone that we were leaving. The day when we had to leave, we
left our room at dawn, met Miklós, and continued to our prearranged
meeting place. From there, by truck, we were taken close to the Hungarian-Austrian
British-occupied border. Our
leader explained to us that our escape is extremely dangerous. We had
to follow him one by one. If we made a wrong step, we could be blown
up by a landmine. He warned us to be completely silent, not to talk,
not to cough, or we could all be shot. We lost our identity. We had
to destroy all our official documents. We became stateless refugees.
We
began our walk at night with high hopes and determination. Everyone
fully cooperated. Our escape was successful. We arrived in British-occupied
Austria. The way Miklós and I both remember is that someone led
us into a DP (displaced persons) camp that was located in Judenberg.
We were given a fingerprinted DP card and assigned to a barrack. With
the card, we were able to get food from a soup kitchen. This camp was
run by the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA).
We were allowed to register for only one country, so we applied to go
to Canada. Since my brother and I both felt very close to uncle Miklós,
it would have meant an awful lot to see him again. It seemed to us that
time stood still. A day seemed like a week. Once again, not one nation
came to our aid by accepting us as immigrants. We were not as lucky
as the Hungarians after the 1956 revolution or the Yugoslavs. These
people were welcomed into Canada. All they had to do was to make a declaration.
Since
we were allowed to register only for one emigration destiny at each
DP camp, we registered in several camps hoping that we would have a
chance to emigrate sooner. One camp was in Mitrahing, another was in
Judenberg, both of which were in Austria. The countries we would have
liked to emigrate to were Canada, the United States, British occupied
Palestine, or France. To
go anywhere on an evening from the camp was too risky. The British soldiers,
accompanied by Austrian girlfriends, were beating up Jews, even shooting
at them. After months of waiting, people were very depressed and some
actually returned to Hungary. For us, that was out of the question.
Rumours
were circulating that emigration is faster from the American zone. A
group of us hired an Austrian guide to lead us into the American zone.
The escape was extremely strenuous, so much so that some people did
not make it. Once again, we started out in the evening. We had to climb
one of the highest mountains. Miklos and I had knapsacks but my brother
had a small suitcase. At one point, he lost his grip and the suitcase
tumbled down the mountain. The same thing happened to many other people.
Their valuables were lost. The guide was not willing to stop to give
a chance to retrieve anything. To
get down the other side of the mountain (to the American zone), we had
to cross through snow-covered parts but at some places the snow was
slushy and icy. The only way to get down was to slide on our behinds.
When we finally got down the mountain there were several creeks we had
to cross. Soaking wet and exhausted, we arrived at the American zone.
This was where the guide left us. We started out, walking on our own.
We were arrested by the American military police. We were led to a barn
where we spent the rest of the night with only some straw spread on
the ground. In the morning we were taken back to the exact location
in the British zone from where we had started out. This was a horrible
experience, especially when we realized that it was a scam. We were
quite sure that the guide gathered up all the valuables on his way back.
My
brother never gave up and several weeks later he managed to buy train
tickets for the three of us and finally we entered the American zone
without any problem. Life became more bearable--less fear, but a lot
of uncertainty. Once again, we registered in different camps and we
were very hopeful. From the American zone there was no problem to go
into Germany. I believe the first town we stayed in was Deggendorf,
and after we went to a DP camp in Windsheim. We stayed with a Zionist
group, Haovéd. We shared everything, food, work. It was like
living on a kibbutz. The people there were of Hungarian origin. The
leader of the group was Imre Kepecs. He was a young rabbi and we knew
him and his wife from Ujpest. Miklós
and I decided to get married. We got a rabbi to officiate the marriage
and for a package of cigarettes we borrowed a wedding dress. The kibbutz
donated flour and eggs so I baked a lot of cookies. Everyone was welcome,
it was lively. Miklós played a violin that someone had lent him
and we danced and we sang. My brother was with us but there was a tremendous
void. Both of us missed our beloved families. The
date of our marriage was March 4, 1947. We were given a room of our
own by the kibbutz. This room I will never forget. It was very cold
and one of the walls was always covered with ice. It was also in Windsheim
where Miklós got hold of some colorful material and made a bikini
out of it, and taught me how to float in a nearby river. For me, it
was a thrilling experience. Due to my orthodox upbringing, at home I
wore skirts covering the knees and the blouse sleeves had to cover the
elbows. We never went to a beach and I never owned a bathing suit, but
I loved nature, the water, and freedom. The
waiting was very difficult on all of us, not knowing how long we will
have to wait. Where will we end up? My brother left Windsheim. He spent
some time in Zeltzheim, but he always came to visit us. We both remember
that on one occasion we also ventured into Zeltzheim. We walked a lot
and we became very hungry. We noticed a restaurant. Miklós had
a gold ring, he thought perhaps the restaurateur would give us a good
meal for it, and that's exactly what happened. We enjoyed the meal and
never felt sorry for trading in the ring. A
short while later we left Windsheim. We went by train to Munich. The
city was in ruin. Buildings were bombed, there was a shortage of food.
We managed to get accommodations for the three of us. Most of the time
we spent searching for clues, possibilities to emigrate. We hoped that
from a big city there would be more opportunities, but there was no
help and it didn't look promising. So we left Munich and went to Frankfurt.
My brother got an accommodation for himself near one of the train stations.
It was centrally located and there was easy access to go to different
organizations. As for ourselves, we got a room in a private home of
a German Jewish lady who just wanted to help us. I still remember the
beautiful butterfly collection she had in the hallway on the way up
to our room. She lived alone. Her husband was a doctor but he never
returned after the war. The house was located in a residential area,
and the rent was reasonable. Frankfurt was a big city also in ruin,
destroyed by bombs. We spent some time together, the three of us, but
my brother stayed mostly on his own. Miklós and I were browsing
in the city and on one occasion we visited a zoo. One
afternoon, Zoli came to tell us that the United States was willing to
accept young German displaced people with a trade and that he was able
to get help to obtain birth certificates from Berlin. Miklós
had very little knowledge of the German language, so to be sure that
we will not be separated he became my step-brother. I was given the
name Miriam Schoenfeld. The name of Miklós's mother was different
than ours. Also to have a better chance to be accepted, each of us became
four years younger. Since they were looking for tradesmen, Miklós
became a tailor, Zoli was a watchmaker, and I was only fifteen years
old according to my birth certificate so I was a student. These
papers were forwarded to the U.S. Consulate and several weeks later
we were called for an interview. First, Zoli was called in. It did not
take long. When he came out he told us that he got accepted and not
to worry. I was called second. The woman who interviewed me was a very
nice person. She shook hands with me and wished me good luck. Now it
was Miklós's turn. Luckily it was lunchtime and the officer was
in a hurry so he was asked a few simple questions that Miklós
had no trouble answering. All of us got accepted. It was a tremendous
relief. We
were taken to Bremerhaven. At this place we went through a medical checkup
and we received some landing documents. Also, we got busy taking pictures
from the train and the ship of ourselves and of all the people around
us. Finally we boarded the ship. It was a transport carrier during the
war. It was called Ernie Pyle. There were many people whom we knew from
the DP camps. Men and women were separated for the nights. Women stayed
on the upper deck, men stayed on the lower deck. Every
morning I met Miklós and Zoli and together we went to have breakfast.
People we knew were telling us that they were serving cakes. Actually
it was white sliced bread but this was new to us. In Europe we didn't
have it. At dinnertime they served us chicken and there were bowls of
black olives. Well, we never saw black olives in our lives. We were
quite sure that they were prunes. I had no appetite. I was seasick.
I couldn't eat the chicken but I filled my pockets with what I thought
were prunes, hoping that perhaps I would be able to eat some of them
later. What a disappointment I had when I bit into one. I spat it out
and emptied my pockets. Miklós did the same thing but he put
some chicken in his pocket for me, hoping that I would feel better later
and eat it. However, I was quite sick and I survived the long voyage
eating apples. All
of the expenses were paid for by the HIAS, which I think stands for
Hebrew Immigrant Aid Services. The sea was rough and the ship, small
and crowded. There was heavy rain. It took approximately one week to
arrive at our destination. From a distance we noticed the statue of
Liberty. It was a very emotional time for us. It meant freedom. We were
thankful for everyone who helped and we were very hopeful. When
we arrived in New York we were taken to the Hotel Marcelles by the HIAS.
I was sharing a room with another woman. We left the hotel and tried
to find a place where we could buy a Hungarian-English dictionary. In
the first store we walked into, I asked the sales person for a "hungry"
dictionary. He burst into a laugh. After regaining his composure he
explained very slowly the mistake, and we got the dictionary. We continued
walking. We just couldn't resist all the good food. We bought a roll
of salami, a loaf of bread, and some cherries from a little grocery
store. I believe the hotel was close to the Hudson River. We sat down
to rest on a bench. It was at the waterfront and had a park-like setting.
It was mild and a beautiful evening. We watched the people passing by
wearing elegant clothes. It was time to get back to the hotel and we
decided to call my uncle Miklós in Canada and let him know that
we arrived in New York. My
uncle was very happy to hear from us and promised to come to see us
as soon as possible. Now it was time to go to sleep. To part from each
other was difficult on both of us. Miklós accompanied me into
my room and we were holding hands until quite late and talking. The
next day my roommate confronted me, saying that she would like to go
to sleep early but with us staying up so late--we don't behave like
brother and sister, we behave like lovers, and she has no privacy. The
next morning we told Zoli about the situation. He said he would make
an appointment with the HIAS and we would tell them everything. We met
with a representative and we explained our situation. Without any hesitation
he told us that they would take care of everything, correcting the name,
age, and nationality. They were willing to help us find work, housing,
and to provide some furnishings. The only requirement was that we leave
New York. We were given the choice of several cities and we were given
time to decide. We
had not yet come to a decision when my uncle Miklós from Canada
arrived at the hotel. His arrival meant indescribable happiness to me.
I loved him so much. Seeing him reminded me how happy my entire family
had been when he dropped into our store or came to visit in our home.
We hugged and kissed, and he remarked, "Vera, you are still short."
He took us to visit two of our second cousins. First, we went to Elza
Schönfeld, who at that time had a young son around seven years
old. I believe she was divorced or separated from her husband. She left
Hungary at a very young age to live with her aunt and uncle in the U.S.
We were very happy to meet each other. Later we visited Ilonka, Elza's
sister, who after the war got reunited with her groom or husband (I
am not sure if they got married in Hungary or were engaged). I also
knew her husband, Fred Weinberger. They lived in Kisvárda and
they were in the jewelry business. Ilonka showed us her newborn twin
boys. I did see Ilonka in Auschwitz. She was with her four sisters there.
It was thrilling to see her once again. I was happy that she survived.
She looked so well and happy. I was very fond of her. After
we finished visiting, my uncle took me to Bloomingdale's. He wanted
to buy me a dress. While I looked around to choose, my uncle was talking
to a man. I have no idea who the man was, the manager or owner? Within
minutes a sales lady approached me saying that I should pick any three
dresses that I like. I did. My uncle wanted to pay but this man whom
I had never seen in my life told us that he would feel honoured if I
would accept it as a gift. I thanked him and I was very much touched
by his generosity. Uncle
Miklós wanted us to go back with him to Canada. He was involved
in the hardware import-export business. He told us that there would
be more opportunities for us and that he would be able to give us help.
We obtained a Canadian visiting permit for three months. On the following
day the four of us took the train to Montreal. It was the month of May
1947. We had spent a whole year in DP camps since escaping across the
Hungarian border. In Montreal, from the train station we took a taxi
and arrived at 2160 Barclay Avenue. It was a lower duplex, a lovely
home in a beautiful area. We
were welcomed by my uncle's wife, Freda (her maiden name was Toulch)
and their young son, Harvey, who was around eighteen months, an adorable
little boy. Freda was very kind. She did her best to make us feel at
home. I spoke to her in Yiddish. We had accommodations downstairs. In
Canada my uncle was known as Nicholas Ostin. His original name was Miklós
Osztreicher. A couple of days later it was suggested that we stay temporarily
at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Toulch (Freda's parents). They had a store
and home in Rivière des Loups. Their house in Montreal was not
occupied. I believe it was located on Waverly Street, close to Park
Avenue. My
brother was offered a job as a watchmaker in Montreal at Mosel Bros.
His starting salary was $50 a week. His ambition was selling. He learned
the English language very quickly. He rented a room for himself and
made a lot of friends. My
uncle suggested that Miklós (by this time I called him Nick)
should see Mr. Edmond Kemény who owned a grocery store on Prince
Arthur Street. He was influential and well liked in the Hungarian community.
He very much liked to help out immigrants. He recommended opening up
an electrical appliance repair shop. He knew a place; it also contained
a room in the back where we could live temporarily. Since we had no
money, Nick didn't want to take the risk. He wanted a job. He had difficulty
learning the English language. His background was as an electronics
technician. Mr. Kemény found a job for Nick at Stone Electrician.
The location was in St. Jean, Quebec. He was picked up by truck at 5:30
a.m. and got home at 6:00 p.m. The work was difficult and dangerous.
The pay was $17.00 a week. In
the meantime Mrs. Toulch's sister arrived with her daughter from New
York and they moved into the house. She did a lot of cooking. We didn't
want to be blamed in case something got ruined so at this point we decided
to rent a room for ourselves. We found one on Laurier Street, close
to Park Avenue. It was convenient and very bright. The woman who rented
it to us was very friendly. The rent was $35.00 a month. Her name was
Mrs. Baker. She was an elderly widow, a matchmaker. When my brother
came to visit she seemed very interested to find a girl for him. Nick
worked very hard. One day he had a close encounter with a life threatening
accident. At that moment he decided to quit the job. Until he could
find another job, the two of us went door to door asking people if they
had any radios that needed repairing. I did the talking, he did the
work. Mrs. Baker knew that Nick had no permanent job. She must have
been wondering how we would be able to pay the rent. She knew about
an electronics manufacturing firm owned by M. Pollack and she called
the company. An interview was arranged and Nick was hired. He worked
on an assembly line. The starting salary was 44 cents an hour. My
brother moved to Drummondville where he was offered a better position
in sales at Kitner Jewelry. We found a one-room basement apartment at
5352 Park Avenue. The key money was $200 and the rent was $12 a month.
The apartment had a metal double bed and mattress. Mr. Kemény
helped us get a telephone line. Nick painted it nicely and we were glad
to be on our own. However, it was a dark, depressing apartment. No matter
how much we cleaned there were cockroaches and mice. Since
Nick had a permanent job we decided to remain in Canada. Due to the
fact that my uncle signed a guarantee for us, there was no help available
from any of the Jewish organizations. Both of us hated the fact of not
being able to use our own names, as well as the four-year difference
from our true ages. Most of all, we were brother and sister according
to our documents. My aunt Freda suggested we choose a short, simple
name starting with the letter S since we came into Canada as Schoenfeld.
She told us that we would have no trouble changing the name as long
as the first letter is the same. She explained that that's what my uncle
did. He was Ösztreicher and he became Ostin. She searched the telephone
directory and came up with the name Stone. It sounded quite simple so
we agreed. My uncle took us to a notary, Nathan Fish, who did our marriage
contract. In this document he stated that Johann Schoenfeld was also
known as Stone. On
April 4th, 1948, Rabbi Bender officiated a marriage ceremony. My uncle
was present. The Rabbi didn't accept any money for his services. We
were glad to have the marriage contract even though my name appeared
as Miriam Schoenfeld. There was nothing that we were able to do to correct
it. By
this time reality had set in. I had difficulty coping with the truth
that planned annihilation of European Jewry had almost been achieved.
Not one of the six million innocent victims wanted to be a martyr. Cruelty
beyond one's imagination took place and the world stood by and allowed
it to happen. I had to accept that I will never see my beloved family
again. I tried very hard to help myself. I left my apartment for long
walks downtown but I found myself thinking back and tears were flowing
from my face. Quickly, I had to turn to a storefront so that no one
should see me cry. My
health was deteriorating. I was getting severe headaches and stomach
pains. At the Jewish General Hospital I was told that I had an ulcer
and they wanted me to undergo surgery. My family physician did not agree.
He referred me to a psychiatrist who reassured me that after all the
tortures and tragedies I had suffered it was normal to feel the way
I felt. I was advised to find work, keeping busy would help. My
uncle sent a sewing machine, which he borrowed from his in-laws, over
to our apartment. I found work making fancy blouses and was paid 44
cents for a completed blouse. After finishing a dozen, Nick and I realized
that it just didn't pay to continue and we returned the sewing machine.
Nick advanced at work. He did radio inspection and testing and received
a salary increase. I searched for another job and found one but Nick
wouldn't hear about it since it was in a match factory and he felt it
could be dangerous. We
had an opportunity to move out of the basement apartment up to an efficiency
apartment on the third floor. It contained a pull down Murphy bed. The
rent was $35 a month. Finally, I got a part-time job making lampshades.
It was convenient, just a short walking distance. I liked the people
with whom I worked. The owners were very nice to me. The money was helpful.
I liked working. I became pregnant but continued working well into the
ninth month. During
pregnancy I felt well and very happy. My childhood dream was to become
a mother, and to have children was coming true. On May 19, 1949, our
son Mark Jeffrey was born. It was a tremendous joy for both of us to
have the baby. I kept very busy and, to earn some extra money, Nick
brought parts from the factory to assemble radios at home. Nick worked
late at night. The lights were on and there was a lot of noise. With
all three of us being in the same room the baby was very much disturbed.
At
the first opportunity, we moved again; this time, down to the first
floor into a one-bedroom apartment. The rent was $55 a month. The location
was very convenient and the building was called "The King George."
My brother sent us a bedroom set and my uncle sent some living room
furniture as a belated wedding gift. We made quite a few friends. My
brother regularly visited us from Drummondville. He loved to play with
the baby. At my uncle's house we were always welcome. In
1950 there was an amnesty. It was most unfortunate that we were not
sure it applied to us. We had the baby and Nick had the job and we were
too fearful to make a declaration. That was a terrible mistake on our
part. Also, at this time, survivors were applying to Germany for restitution.
My first reaction was that I will not accept blood money. However, there
was a great need to get some extra help. So I picked up a form but then
read that I needed witnesses. I didn't think that I could approach anyone
who knew me and knew what happened to my family because of the name
change and also the age difference between my true age and that on record.
In
the end of 1950, I became pregnant. We searched for a larger apartment.
On 3931 Linton Street (corner of Legaré), we rented a two bedroom,
unheated, newly constructed apartment with an oil-burning space heater
in the hall. The monthly rent was $56. It was a pleasure to move into
a brand new building and to live in a bright, roomy apartment. We were
lucky we had wonderful neighbours. Next door was Florence and Alex Vineberg
and their daughter Ellen. She was four years older than Mark but she
liked him and they spent a lot of time together. Mr. and Mrs. Kraut
and their son Benny lived upstairs. He was also older than Mark but
they were good friends. So our neighbours became our friends too. On
Passover, my uncle invited us for the first Seder, and on the second
Seder we went to the Kraut's. We always had a wonderful time. The location
of our new apartment was also very good. It was close to my uncle's
place. Kent park was just minutes away, a short walk. Also, the Van
Horne School where I studied English at night through adult education
was close by. The
company where Nick worked, Electrical Products, relocated to Fullum
Street, which was still on the east side but somewhat closer to home.
It was renamed Fleetwood Manufacturing Company. Nick was promoted. He
became a foreman in the radio test department and his salary was increased.
He purchased a used little English car. It was called the Mayflower.
Having the car certainly improved the quality of our lives. On weekends
Nick drove to beautiful country sights in the Laurentian Mountains.
Sometimes the Krauts joined us. Nick loved fishing. I enjoyed watching
the scenery, playing with Mark, having nice company. We were happy.
On
August 22, 1951, baby Gary was born, healthy and beautiful. We were
thrilled. Mark was very happy with his baby brother. I managed very
nicely, found time to go to the park everyday. On the 9th of November
tragedy hit once again. I went to check on the baby. He wasn't breathing.
I called the doctor, he arrived in minutes. In the meantime, I tried
mouth-to-mouth resuscitation but there was nothing we could do. I had
to be sedated. My uncle and aunt rushed over and they did all the arrangements
for the burial. We sat shiva at their house. Mark
was two and a half years old and kept asking, where is the baby? I had
to tell the truth. It was an extremely difficult time. Luckily we had
Mark. We had to be cheerful and pretend that everything was all right.
Mr. M. Pollock, the owner of the company where Nick worked, called him
into his office and told him that if we would have another baby he would
pay all the hospital and doctor fees. We appreciated his offer but it
was just too soon. We couldn't think of having another baby yet. As
time passed I really didn't want Mark to be alone, an only child. The
following summer, Dr. Ben Scott, our family physician, who was a cousin
to my Aunt Freda, telephoned me. He told me that my uncle had a serious
car accident. I asked him how badly he was hurt. His answer was, only
God could help. At that point I was sobbing, I couldn't talk anymore.
But I did call him back and asked him, is he dead? He said, knowing
what you've been through I just couldn't tell you that word. My uncle
was driving back from Old Orchard. That's where my aunt was vacationing
with the children. The accident happened around Sherbrooke in the Eastern
Townships. Dr. Scott and Freda's sister, Betty, went to Old Orchard
to bring Freda and the children back. As she entered her parents' home
where the family had gathered there was dead silence. She looked at
me and asked, did we lose him? At that point tears were flowing down
my face. She said, I knew it. Nick and one of Freda's brothers-in-law
were called to identify the body. The
loss of my uncle was very painful. It also entered my mind that perhaps
I will not be able to keep up the close relationship with Freda and
I will not be able to see my cousins Harvey, Marvin, and Eileen as often
as I liked to. But that didn't happen. She felt very close to us and
our friendship and love for each other only grew. It was a special treat
for Mark to play with Harvey and Marvin so we visited very often. My
next-door neighbour, Florence Vineberg, suggested that I should join
a cancer research group. I did and I enjoyed it. In October 1952, I
became pregnant. Like before, I was in good health and happy. By 1952,
we were eligible to apply for Canadian citizenship. We were hesitant
because of the different names and ages and we postponed it. On the
4th of July 1953, our son Gerald Kenneth was born. Mr. Pollock kept
his promise: he paid all the medical expenses. It certainly was a big
help and it was very much appreciated. Mark was very happy with his
new baby brother, and since he was already over four years old he was
a great help for me. My
brother left his job in Drummondville and relocated to Toronto, Ontario.
He worked for Henry Birks Company and dated Sara Grace. They came to
visit us in Montreal. At first sight we liked Sara very much. She felt
right at home. She was very friendly and considerate. They decided to
get married. We traveled by train to Toronto and took Mark with us.
We met the family. It was a beautiful wedding. We were very happy for
both of them. Our
circle of friends grew. Through my late uncle we got to know Lilly and
Herman Herscovitch. They were very special people. It was always a happy
occasion to get together with them. They loved our children and the
children called them Auntie Lilly and Uncle Herman. At every chance
we got, we tried to escape from the city life to the country sights
together with the children. Our trips included Coteau Landing and Chambly.
We made picnics and went fishing. Even before my brother moved to Toronto,
we rented a summer cottage together in Rawdon for two weeks. In 1954,
we spent two weeks at Lac Gagnon. In
the fall, we took a trip to the Ottawa region. It was evening by the
time we arrived at Rideau Ferry. The children were getting restless
and we decided to look for a place to stay overnight. We drove by a
very charming country Inn. A man stood outside. We asked if he would
know if there is any vacancy. His first question was, are you Jewish?
Of course, we said yes. He said, I don't think they will rent to you
because the guests don't like to mix with Jews but since it's the end
of the season you might get a cabin. We had to consider the children
so we stayed in the cabin overnight. We were shocked and disappointed.
We certainly did not expect to hear this prejudice in Canada. We were
told that previously in the St. Adele and St. Agathe area on some of
the hotel signs it was posted, No dogs and no Jews allowed. In
February 1955, we were expecting our third child. Nick was promoted.
He became a foreman on the black and white television assembly line.
He traded his Mayflower for a larger car, a used Ford. We spent the
summer vacation at Motel Beaurivage in St. Donat by Lac Archambault.
It was a beautiful place. On the 6th of November 1955, our third son,
Paul Allan, was born. Needless to say, all of us were thrilled. Due
to the restrictions and the lack of freedom for the children to play
outside of our apartment building, we searched for a land to buy in
the Laurentians. In 1956, we purchased a piece of land in St. Agathe
North. The price was $600 in twelve monthly installments of $50 (no
interest). We called Mr. Duval, a local construction man, to give us
a quote on how much a small summer cottage would cost us to build. He
measured the land, smiled, and said, Mr. Stone, the land you bought
is too small to build a house on. There was no place for the well and
cesspool. We remembered that the people we bought the land from also
had a little cottage for sale. We checked out the house. It was big
enough for us but we found the land very mushy and wet. We were reassured
that all the water was due to the melting snow from the hills. They
seemed honest and we accepted their explanation. The land deal was cancelled
and we purchased the summer cottage. The price was $3,000 ($50 monthly,
no interest). It included lake rights to Lac Magnan, a walking distance
of about 100 feet. When school finished we went up with the children
to stay for the summer. There was a lot of water on the land. The
people we bought the house from, Mr. and Mrs. Pincus, they had it filled
with some earth. The house contained a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms,
a sunroom, bathroom, and a balcony. It was furnished. It had an icebox
and a wood stove in the kitchen, a propane heater in the living room.
It also came with a wooden rowboat. It was a Jewish community and the
people were very friendly. We all loved the place. That
summer we met Ann and Sam Spindler and their son Larry. We became good
friends. They were renting a room from Mrs. Pincus. Friends of theirs
were telling us that they purchased a duplex and had to move. We became
interested to rent the duplex they were vacating. The rent was $98 a
month. It was a lot of money but the children were allowed to play in
the backyard. The place was on Birnam St. in Park Extension. There was
a lot of work to be done. In the fall of 1956, Nick painted the whole
place. Shopping, school, and parks were close by. We had friendly neighbours.
Since our rent was very high, Nick worked at night doing radio and television
repairs. It was nice to live in the duplex on Birnam. We had more room
and the children had more freedom. In
the spring, our landlady suffered a stroke. The owners decided to sell
their duplex. They wanted a small single family home. Two couples bought
the duplex and they wanted us to move. They were willing to pay us some
money to break the lease. We were tired of moving. What we really would
have liked was to buy a single family home. In the city of Montreal,
prices were too high. Nick felt that we should be looking in the suburbs.
We searched in many areas. The most reasonably priced and well-built
three bedroom home we found in L'Abord des Plouffe East, at 577 70th
Avenue. Later the island was renamed, as the city of Laval, and the
area, L'Abord des Plouffe, became Chomedey. We
had problems like not having enough money for the down payment. Nick
approached Mr. Pollock and asked if we could get a loan. He offered
$1,000 without interest. We had no one else to turn to except my brother.
I hated to ask but I did call him and I explained that we found a home
that we would like to buy but we were short $1,000 and we would like
to borrow. He was very happy to hear that we found a house to buy. He
said, I will mail you a cheque. It's a gift from us. It certainly was
very much appreciated. It was a very big help for us. By this time my
brother opened up a jewelry store on Younge Street in downtown Toronto
and owned a very nice home on Cavottti Crescent in Downsview. The purchase
price of our home was $12,650. On the $10,000 mortgage balance, the
interest rate was 6%. It was a 25-year mortgage. For families with children,
there was a 3% government rebate. Our monthly payments came to $56 plus
heating, property taxes, and insurance. This was in 1957. By
this time, we had been in Canada ten years. There was no hope that we
could change back to our original names so we decided to apply for citizenship.
We were called for a short interview. Nick asked the immigration officer,
Mr. Robitaille, to add the name Stone in brackets as it was in our marriage
contract. He became furious and shouted at Nick, "You didn't come
here to change your name, you came to change your nationality."
A few weeks later we went to receive our citizenship documents. Mr.
Robitaille called Nick into his office and told him that he will have
to give a talk to the new Canadians on the topic of "How I feel
to be a Canadian." It was completely unexpected. Nick asked him,
Why me? He said, in this group, you've spent the longest time in Canada.
Nick felt that the speech was a disaster. It was very upsetting that
we were not able to use the name Stone legally because by this time
it was the only name that we used. On our children's birth certificates
the father's name was signed John Stone. Once
again Fleetwood Manufacturing moved, this time to Paré Street
in Town of Mount Royal, and it was renamed Fleetwood Corporation. Nick
was promoted to Supervisor on the color television line. We moved into
our new home. It was magical. I just loved it. A beautiful corner property
with a huge land and a gigantic tree in the back yard. It seemed so
perfect. There was a lot of work to be done; the landscaping, the driveway.
But that had to wait. We
purchased a new sewing machine. I made pretty curtains for all the windows
except in the living room. My aunt Freda used to give us clothes for
the boys that her children had outgrown, and clothes for myself from
her sister. They needed some alterations so it was handy to have the
sewing machine. We managed to buy used appliances: fridge, stove, an
old wringer-type washing machine. With all the furniture that we had
in the duplex the house looked presentable. The location of the house
was good: shopping, school, park, medical facilities were all close
by. Access was easy; to go up north to our summer cottage, also to go
to work for Nick. Our
next-door neighbours were the Levesque family. The man was cordial,
the woman smiled, but I noticed the woman wasn't happy when our children
and theirs got together to play. Perhaps there was a language problem.
Our children spoke English, theirs French. However, within a few days
they put up a fence. In the property behind us were the Alberts. They
had a little boy. Sometimes he walked over to the end of our land to
watch our children play, but the mother rushed over and took him away.
One day as I walked home after shopping, I met one of my neighbours
across the street. We talked about the community. She said, no one wants
to talk to us, they think we are Jewish but we are not. Well, I very
proudly told her that we are Jewish and I told myself that those who
don't like us don't have to bother with us. As time passed I got to
know some very nice people on our street and in the neighbourhood and
so did our children. Once
our summer cottage was open for the season, it was a routine to spend
the weekends there. By the time Nick got home from work everything was
packed and ready to go. When school finished I stayed up for the entire
summer with the children. After work, almost every day Nick drove up
to spend the night with us and to do some fishing, but by 6:00 a.m.
he had to leave to head back to Montreal and go to work. By the second
summer we knew that our cottage was built on low swampy land. The front
of the land had to be filled in with earth and we knew that it was only
a temporary improvement. Someone
at the plant gave Nick a beagle puppy. We named him Brandy. He was a
welcome addition to our family. We bought a Chrysler five-horsepower
outboard motor for the boat. That turned out to be a very good investment.
We not only were able to enjoy our beautiful Lac Magnan but we navigated
through the channel into Lac des Arpin, a much bigger lake. From there,
we found another small channel that led to rapids. There was a huge
stone at the rapids that the boys loved to climb upon. There were many
rocks and a path to walk on and lots of blueberry bushes. The country
place was a havenæbeautiful, scenic. In
mid-summer I had a frightening experience. At dawn I was awakened and
told to vacate the property because the lakefront house that Mr. and
Mrs. Pincus owned was on fire. Mr. Jasmin, the man who ran door to door
to wake up the community, told us that the fire could spread. Even the
bridge could burn down. I woke the children. We dressed quickly and
hurried to cross the bridge and walked to our nearest neighbour, Mrs.
Marjorie Green, who was there with her daughter Susan. They were great.
They made us toast and coffee and comforted everyone who came over.
Once the danger was over we returned home. The lakefront property burnt
down to the ground but none of the other homes nor the bridge were damaged.
In
the fall, Mark attended the Prince Charles elementary school. I kept
very busy. My day began at 6:00 a.m. That's when I got up to prepare
breakfast and lunch for Nick. Attending to the children, cooking meals,
keeping our house spotless, doing the shopping--it was a full-time job.
However, after the Holocaust, these were the best years of my life:
the pregnancies, having the children, playing with them, watching them
grow. Of course there were difficult times too, like when they had contagious
diseases, when Paul had a very bad case of croup and burnt his foot,
or when Gerald had lymphocytosis. Thanks to my wonderful husband, no
matter how busy he was at work he was always there to help. His family
always came first. As far as the children were concerned, they had been
exceptionally good. Whenever I needed help they were always there to
help me; whether it was dusting, washing dishes, putting the toys away,
or feeding the dog. Being with the children was always a pleasure for
me. In wintertime on weekends Nick usually drove up to the Laurentians
to a ski hill to do some tobogganing. Of the many hobbies that Nick
had one of his favorites was photography and making home movies. And
so, we have many happy occasions recorded. When
springtime in 1958 arrived, we got the landscaping, the drive way, the
walk way with a steel banister completed, plus we had a fence put up
at the end of our property. During the landscaping a few of the Albert's
shrubs got damaged. The man was furious. He gave me quite a scare. I
was walking with Paul in the stroller when he drove so close to me that
I was terrified. I recognized his car but I had no witness. There was
nothing I could do. However, Nick did go over to talk to them and we
paid to replace the broken shrubs. The atmosphere remained cold and
we never spoke to each other. Eventually
quite a few Jewish families moved into the neighbourhood. Mark studied
Hebrew after school with Cantor Kroll. In order to enjoy the summer
cottage, a cement foundation had to be built. The icebox was replaced
with a used fridge; the wood stove was replaced with a small electric
stove. The open porch was enclosed with a screen and sliding windows.
By this time the initial $3,000 investment was costing us $8,500 but
it was well worth it. My brother and sister-in-law, Sara, came to visit
us from Toronto with their two children, Martin and Doreen. It was so
nice to be together with family. My neighbour's daughter, Susan Green,
was teaching me to swim. I did learn and I love to swim. There was always
a lot of activities for the children and ourselves, and a lot of nice
company. We bought a used pinball machine and in the evening the youngsters
gathered at our house and had a lot of fun. Nick
advanced to Method Engineer. It involved simplification of the product
and preparing setup procedures. We purchased our very first brand new
car, a Vauxhall imported from Britain. I took some driving lessons and
got my license. It was very useful. In the fall when we returned to
our city home, the landscaping was beautiful. All the different flowering
shrubs and the white double lilac trees had grown. Next door, the Levesque
family moved away. The family that moved in were manufacturing kitchen
cabinets. It was very noisy from the sawing and there was interference
on the radio. An inspection was done by the city and they were stopped
from working there. Their house was sold to the Fortin family, an elderly
couple with four grown children. These people were very polite and nice.
This was a welcome change for us. In
1962, Mark's Bar Mitzvah was held in a bungalow that was used as a synagogue.
It was called the Shaar Shalom. It turned out to be a beautiful celebration
with our relatives, friends, neighbours from the country, and co-workers
from the company where Nick worked. We were very proud of Mark. He did
very well. After paying all the expenses, we managed to buy Mark a beautiful
green wooden canoe. He enjoyed it very much and it was a welcome addition
at our country place. We
derived tremendous happiness from our children. At school they all did
their very best. At home they did their share of work, mowing the lawn,
taking out the garbage, cleaning up their rooms. Since the boys were
growing up quickly, Nick made a plan to finish our basement. It contained
a large recreation room and two extra rooms. The balance remained unfinished
for storage and laundry. Having the basement finished was certainly
appreciated by all of us. Once
the boys were at school, I looked for some part-time work. I became
a representative for Beauty Counselors. I gave demonstrations of the
products and sold them. I liked the work but it took up too much of
my time. It was worrying not to know whether I will be home before the
boys got home from school. We sure could have used the extra money.
However, Nick and I decided that I would give the job up. As
time passed the west side of Chomedey became a very large Jewish community
and two synagogues were built, the Shaar Shalom and the Young Israel.
We became members at the Shaar Shalom. I also joined the sisterhood
where I met a lot of new people. The activities and meetings I enjoyed
very much. Fleetwood
Corporation expanded. They owned two manufacturing plants, the one on
Paré Street and a new warehouse in Laval. Nick became Manager
of Industrial Engineering. A great title, it sounded real good. In reality,
though, it was a lot of work, a lot of stress, with very little money.
Having this position he was able to bring Mark into the plant for a
summer job. Later, Gerald and Paul also got summer jobs there. In
October 1965, I was expecting our fourth child. Once again I was thrilled
and Nick shared my happiness. One day Gerald and Paul got into an argument.
I wanted them to stop their bickering so I told them, listen carefully;
I have something to tell you. I am expecting a baby and I would like
you to behave and be considerate. There was silence. We could have heard
a pin drop. Minutes later, Mark came after me and said, "You told
Gerald and Paul that you are pregnant because you wanted them to stop
arguing, right?" I said, "No way. I am expecting a baby."
His eyes filled with tears. I had to reassure him that there was nothing
to worry about and that a new baby would bring a lot of happiness to
all of us. On
July 8th, 1966, David Robert was born, also at the Jewish General Hospital.
My gynecologist, Dr. Glickman, said, I'm sorry to disappoint you, it's
another boy. I wasn't a bit disappointed. I told him, when the boys
will get married I will have daughters. After the brith, on the ninth
day when I brought the baby home, Paul stood on the stairway and asked,
"It's a good one?" I reassured him that the baby was one of
the best. Just as I predicted, David brought so much happiness and pleasure
into our family. On
September 10, 1966, Gerald's Bar Mitzvah was held at the newly built
Shaar Shalom synagogue. After the services a high kiddush followed.
It was a beautiful affair. We were very proud of Gerald. He did very
well. Our new baby David was also with us. Since the babysitter refused
to follow my instructions we decided to take him along. It was certainly
a very happy and memorable event. In
1967, Expo was held in Montreal. This was called Man and His World.
It was held on Saint Helen's Island. Nations from around the world participated
by building their pavilions and explaining their culture. This was a
happy year. People flocked to Montreal from all over the world. There
was cooperation and kindness, people were polite; no violence, no hatred,
it was wonderful. Leaders of nations came to visit the sights. However,
with the arrival of General Charles DeGaulle, the leader of France,
and his famous proclamation "Vive le Québec Libre",
the Quiet Revolution became more noticeable in the province of Quebec.
In
fall of 1968, Paul's Bar Mitzvah was held, also at the Shaar Shalom
synagogue in Chomedey. Paul's performance was excellent. We were very
proud of him. It was a joyous celebration. Everyone was pleased. At
our summer residence, changes took place. The waterfront property where
the house had burnt down was sold to M. and Mme. Martin. No more were
we allowed to use the entire waterfront. We were given a three-feet
wide passage to get to the lake. Needless to say, the situation made
us very unhappy. We planned to sell our cottage and we hoped to find
a lakefront land to build a house on. In
January 1969, we went to Florida for the first time. David was two and
a half years old and we took him along. We flew to Tampa and from there
we went by bus to St. Petersburg. The beautiful oceanfront hotel was
called the Schrafts. The place was a dream. The white sandy beach, the
plush carpeting, all the luxuries that one could imagine. It was the
first time that David and I traveled by plane. The special price was
$149 each for return airfare including meals and accommodations for
seven nights and eight days. There was no charge for David. What a bargain
that was. We visited all the tourist attractions in the area. We had
the most wonderful time. In
1970 there was political unrest in the province of Quebec. During the
October Crisis, a British Trade Commissioner, James Cross, was kidnapped.
Also, Quebec Cabinet Minister, Pierre Laporte, was later found murdered.
Some mailboxes were blown up. The Prime Minister, Pierre Elliot Trudeau,
brought in the army to restore order. Many people including some of
our friends and relatives left Quebec to relocate elsewhere in Canada.
Nick's job was secure. We didn't think of leaving Quebec. We loved the
Laurentians, the beautiful lakes and mountains, and our home in Chomedey.
Our sons had their friends and they were busy with their studies. In
July 1971 we found just what we were looking for. We purchased a beautiful,
uncleared lakefront lot from Mr. Laurendau on Lac Magnan, which is the
same lake for which we had lake rights. We knew the people around the
lake. We had many friends. So we were very happy. We were looking forward
to building our new country home. Nick rented a chainsaw and cut the
trees out that were necessary to remove. The boys were always there
ready and willing to work hard to help out. Mr. Champagne bulldozed
the tree stumps out, took them away, and got the land ready to build
on. To stay within our limited budget, we chose a Viceroy prefabricated
model. It was called the Hunter. The following summer, Mr. Duval built
the foundation and the basement, and he drilled the well and installed
a septic tank. Incidentally, it was Mr. Duval who knew the land was
for sale and persuaded us to buy it. In the fall of 1972, within one
week, our Viceroy cedar cottage shell was built, and also a field stone
fireplace by Mr. Raymond. In the spring, the plumbing, electricity,
and the heating system were installed. We
sold our old summer cottage with a loss but we needed the money to continue
with the building. We had no regrets. It was time to move on but for
seventeen years we very much enjoyed living there. After an inspection
was done by Hydro, the next step was to finish the insulation. Once
again our sons were there to work with their father on weekends. The
insulation was completed and the gyproc walls and ceilings were partially
done. When school was finished Paul could have gotten a summer job and
earned some money but he decided to stay up north with me and David
and work on the house. He completed all the gyproc work and finished
the ceilings beautifully with stucco. A sub floor was built and the
entire house was paneled and carpeted. Nick did all the ceramic work
in the bathroom. Kitchen cabinets were installed. Finally, the doors
were put up by Mr. Michauville. We
used the old furniture from the summer cottage. We purchased a blue
second-hand stove and fridge. The stove was excellent but the fridge
never worked and we had to replace it. There was much more work to be
done but it had to wait. There were times I wished that we had never
started to build, like when Nick lifted a power generator by himself.
I was afraid he'll get hurt. Or while building the sub floor, he tried
to pull a nail out and fell backward. However, this is all behind us.
The address of our new four-season home was 5519 Rue Val des Lacs, St.
Agathe Nord. In
the fall while driving up north, it was breathtaking to watch the changing
colors of the leaves. I was mystified by the beauty of nature. We all
loved the house. It was cozy and comfortable. With a fire slowly burning
in the fireplace, we would have fun playing cards or a game of Scrabble;
going for long walks, getting together with neighbours. The winter was
a dream. From the street, to drive into our driveway the land was flat,
but we had two slopes that led down towards the lake. We were able to
go cross-country skiing right from our basement entrance. Down the slope
across the lake, or go on paths into the forest. Our new home proved
to be a very good investment. To
supplement our income, Nick was able to get sub-assembly work to do
at our home. I always found some time to work in the evening and so
did our son, Paul. The extra money certainly helped. Fleetwood Corporation
was sold to GTE Sylvania. The new management later transferred Nick
from Manager of Industrial Engineering to Manager of Plant Services.
It included overseeing the maintenance, the security, the equipment
in three buildings, plus the building of production-line facilities.
He didn't like the change. Mr.
Henry Galler, who was formerly the president of finance at Fleetwood,
left the company. He took over the Hitachi marketing of consumer electronic
products and later manufacturing. He asked Nick if he would be interested
to join his newly formed company, Belbois Ltd. At that point he was
happy to make the change after working twenty-seven years at the same
place. He was hired as Plant Manager. It was a cabinet manufacturing
company, a subsidiary of Hitachi. By
this time, Mark worked at Fleetwood as an incoming inspector. He attended
the Radio College of Canada at night. Later he became supervisor and
for five years he studied Marketing at McGill University. When GTE Sylvania
took over, he worked in the marketing and sales department. During
the summer, the cement floor in the basement of our country home was
set. Mr. Champagne did a beautiful job completing the landscaping. Just
as we enjoyed the winter, summer was great fun. The one hundred feet
of lakefront was appreciated and enjoyed by all of us, including relatives
and friends. Of course, by this time Mark, Gerald, and Paul were young
adults. They all worked hard and paid for their own education. In 1975,
Gerald graduated from Concordia University in Montreal with a Bachelor
of Arts degree majoring in Communication Arts. In 1976, Paul also graduated
from Concordia University with Honours in English. Both of them worked
in the library at Concordia University. I
was able to stay up north with David, and there was plenty of work for
both of us. David was clearing some land and he searched for beautiful
small spruce trees and planted them. I loved to attend to our little
flower garden and work on improving the waterfront, removing weeds and
rocks. Of course, there was plenty of time for fun too: swimming, boating,
canoeing, and hiking. Nick tried to come up north almost every night
so we made sure he had enough minnows in case he wanted to go fishing.
Gerald
and Paul both found the traveling time from Chomedey to Concordia University
too long so each one rented an apartment in the same building on Stanley
Street. Paul planned to continue a Masters degree and eventually teach.
At this time, Mr. René Levesque founded the Partie Québecois,
which sought sovereignty association. It meant that Quebec would become
an economic partner with the rest of Canada but otherwise would be fully
independent. The prospect of finding a job in Montreal to teach English
wasn't promising. Therefore, Paul decided to study accounting. It became
a very depressing time, with the restrictive language laws, the difficulty
of finding jobs in Quebec without the knowledge of perfect French. In
1977, Gerald traveled in Western Europe and Israel for six months, three
of which were spent as a volunteer at Kibbutz Ga Aton in the northern
Galilee. I was very happy and proud of him but when I heard on the radio
that rockets were fired into the area where he used to go to buy his
sunflower seeds I sure worried and wished he would be back home with
us. Everything turned out fine. It was a successful trip. Also
in 1977, we sold our home on the east side of Chomedey. It was a time
when properties were being sold at give-away prices. A lot of people
were leaving the province of Quebec, especially young people. I did
feel sorry to sell it. I loved that beautiful corner property with that
huge land. However, we would have liked to relocate to Toronto, Ontario.
We rented a three-bedroom upper duplex at 4812 Notre Dame Blvd. on the
west side of Chomedey. The entire duplex had to be repainted. Paul came
to the rescue. He did practically all the work by himself. Soon after
we moved in the duplex got sold. The new owner wasn't cooperative. Our
dog Sheba was not allowed into the backyard. We tried to make the best
of the situation hoping it wouldn't be for too long. Nick
did get a job offer from Toronto. However, the company where he worked
convinced him not to make the move. He was told that if the political
situation would worsen, the company would move out of Quebec and he
would be transferred. He decided to stay and our search began for another
house to buy. In 1978, we purchased a split-level bungalow at 1422 Normandie
Terrace in Chomedey West. The location was a dream: a small, quiet crescent
in one of the most desirable areas in Chomedey. It was a four-level
home. The exterior was covered with beige bricks and white stones and
some wood. The interior contained three bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen-dinette,
a finished basement, one and a half bathrooms, and a garage. The land
was just perfect too, plenty of space. All of us loved our new home.
We knew that there was a tremendous amount of work to be done inside
the house and outside. On
September 8, 1979, David's Bar Mitzvah was held at the Young Israel
synagogue in West Chomedey. Just like his brothers, he performed excellently
and sang beautifully. The luncheon was delicious. Rabbi Spiro called
all of us up to the stage. He introduced us and gave a welcoming speech.
Everyone was impressed. It was truly a very enjoyable celebration. We
were thrilled and very proud of David. When it was over many of our
guests came over to our house to take some pictures and spend some more
time together. By this time, a lot of improvements on our house had
been made. Some of the windows were replaced. An additional room that
the seller built next to the dinette, which made the place dark, was
demolished and a huge cement balcony was built instead. The old-fashioned
dinette door was replaced with a sliding door. Incidentally,
it was also in 1979 when Nick said to me, "I could need you at
work." He reassured me that he would explain everything to me and
I will have no problem. I was hired. My job included keeping inventory,
packaging parts, answering the phone, and some purchasing. I enjoyed
working. Whatever little money I earned was very helpful. In 1980, Gerald
graduated from McGill University with a Masters in Library Science degree.
There were no job opportunities in Montreal. He went to Ottawa and worked
on contract as a cataloguer for the Department of Agriculture. GTE
Sylvania closed the division where Mark worked, and he found work with
Electrovert. When his doctor advised him to stay in bed with a back
problem, his job was terminated. I was at work when Mark called to tell
me that a former colleague had called him regarding a marketing position
with an electronics firm in Toronto. I asked, when do they want you
to go there? He said, they would like me to go today but I don't want
to leave you and Dad. I had to do a lot of convincing but he did make
the move. This was in 1982. In
the same year, Paul married Santina Fazio on June 27 at the Spanish
and Portuguese synagogue. Rabbi Howard Joseph officiated. It was a beautiful
wedding. We were thrilled. My brother, Sara, and Doreen came in from
Toronto. A cousin of mine, Leonard Schönfeld, and his wife came
from New York. Every simcha was overshadowed by the Holocaust. There
was not much family from our side. The
next day, I was talking with my brother and somehow retirement came
up. I told him that Nick would not get his pensions because, according
to our documents, we were four years younger. My brother and I were
also in the same situation. We also would have liked to have our names
and birthplaces corrected. It also affected me. I wasn't able to apply
to Germany for compensation. After thinking for a moment, my brother
told me that he knows a lawyer who regularly travels to Hungary. Perhaps
he would be able to obtain the original birth certificates. Several
months later my brother did receive them. An appointment was arranged
for the three of us at the Immigration department in Toronto. We had
statutory declarations from witnesses who knew us from Hungary. We also
had to make a declaration. We received our citizenship cards with both
names. Thanks to my brother's effort, after thirty-six years of uncertainty,
this was a tremendous relief for us. Too bad it was not explained that
we could have signed our original names; we signed, Stone. All our official
documents had to be corrected to remove the name Schoenfeld. There were
times when we thought that we would have been better off to remain in
the United States where the HIAS offered us substantial help. Then again,
having sons, who knows what could have happened with the Vietnam War.
At
work, Nick always did his very best. He was creative and enjoyed what
he did. There was always conflict, mostly due to his lack of communication
skills in flawless English and without knowledge of the French language.
Aiming always to achieve the best result was very strenuous. He was
getting severe backaches and numbness in his leg. Sometimes he had to
use a cane. Surgery was considered. Miraculously, with physiotherapy
the numbness disappeared and surgery was not required. In
the fall of 1983 my eyes felt painful. At work I had difficulty filling
out the purchase orders. Dr. Boxer referred me to Dr. Kaback at the
Jewish General Hospital. I was told that I had glaucoma in both eyes.
The next day, he did laser surgery on both eyes at the St. Mary's Hospital.
The day after, he examined my eyes and told me that the surgery was
unsuccessful. He must operate again or I would lose my eyesight. The
same day, he operated on my left eye and two days later on the right
eye. Three weeks later I returned to work but my eyes were painful for
a long time. In
1983, Gerald began working at the National Archives of Canada, where
he was active in developing descriptive standards and systems for archiving.
On the 20th of February 1984, Santina and Paul became the proud parents
of a beautiful baby girl. Our first grandchild. She was named Devorah.
Paul gave up his job at the Concordia University library and took on
work as a product coster at Belbois Ltd. Having
all the necessary documents, I was given an appointment with Dr. Stern
at the Canadian Jewish Congress. An application was filed on my behalf
to Germany for restitution. Even though the reason was clearly explained
and proved, it was refused because of a missed deadline. I felt terrible.
On
Jan 1, 1985, we went on a two-week vacation for the first time to Barbados.
David came with us. We stayed at the Sichris Hotel. Across the road
was the beautiful Rockley Beach. We toured the island. It was a very
enjoyable vacation. We hoped to return again soon. On
March 17, 1985, Mark married Shelley Roff in Toronto. What a beautiful
wedding that was. Unforgettable. Everyone attended from our family;
my brother, Sara and their family; cousins and friends came from Montreal.
It was a wonderful simcha. In
January 1986, our hopes became reality and we returned to Barbados for
the second time. We stayed at the oceanfront Seabreeze Hotel. We loved
the ocean and we met nice people. The food was excellent. All in all,
a perfect holiday. In
1986, Nick turned sixty-five years old. He went into semi-retirement.
At the same time I stopped work. He continued working two days a week
for another year. In all, he worked for forty years in Canada. In
1987, Gerald married Cindy Jacobson from New York, NY. The wedding was
held at her parents' home in Whitestone, NY. It was a beautiful affair.
Everyone attended from our family, including cousins from New York that
I hadn't seen for the longest time. I was very happy to see them. On
March 1, 1987, Shelley and Mark became the very happy parents to their
first-born beautiful baby boy, Aaron—our second grandchild. In
the same year, Cindy and Gerald also became the proud parents of a beautiful
baby girl, Rachel. After all the excitement, we returned once again
to Barbados and stayed again at the Seebreeze. Just like before, we
enjoyed every moment. On August 24, 1988, Santina and Paul had their
second child, a baby boy named Michael. He was our fourth grandchild.
Our
youngest son David graduated in May 1989 from Concordia University with
a B.A. Honours in Psychology. On April 25 of the same year, Cindy and
Gerald had their second child, a baby boy named Ariel. In 1990, we went
to Cuba for two weeks. We have been to beautiful beaches. In Havana
we visited many historical sights. We stayed at Villa Playa Giron. We
enjoyed nightly entertainment. It was an interesting trip. The same
year, Santina and Paul had their third child. Another boy, and our sixth
grandchild. His name is Jonathan. Less than two weeks later, Shelley
and Mark had another boy named Jordan. On
August 16, 1990, David left home to do his Masters degree in Psychology
at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. Our hopes to have
our family always close to us were shattered. We knew it was to their
advantage to relocate and we were happy for them. However, to see our
sons leave was never easy and they too had a hard time to leave us.
Santina and Paul and their children are still in Montreal. It's so nice
to have them close by. In
the winter of 1991, we went to the Dominican Republic for a one-week
vacation. It was fun. We tried sailing on the ocean. By this time, we
found the winters in Canada very harsh. Driving up north on the slippery
roads was hazardous. Cross-country skiing, which we always enjoyed,
became too risky. Both of us had back problems. Our family didn't have
time to visit us during the winter. Just the two of us, we felt quite
lonely and not very safe. To keep up two homes year round with our low
pension was too expensive. The work involved in up keeping the homes
was getting too difficult. We debated what we should do. Summers were
never lonely. Our sons and their families came during their vacations
to visit us, and also sometimes on weekends from Montreal or Ottawa.
Our greatest joy was to see everyone happy and having lots of fun. The
following winter we rented our country home for three months and went
to Crest haven, West Palm Beach, Florida, where we rented a villa. We
enjoyed the beautiful warm weather. We searched to buy a condominium.
In Century Village, West Palm Beach, we bought a one-bedroom unfurnished
condominium. On March 4, while we were away, Cindy and Gerald had their
third child, a baby boy named Adam. He is our eighth grandchild. Upon
our return from Florida, we were considering to sell our city home.
It was a difficult decision. I very much liked our home. However, all
our savings went into our homes. The improvements included a fireplace,
new roof, new kitchen, heat pump, all the windows, and the list could
go on and on. We wanted to cut down on expenses and upkeep. In April
1992 we sold our home. We looked into buying a condominium in Ville
St. Laurent but we found the prices too high. At this point, we decided
to move up north and see how we like it. Paul helped us move whatever
we were able to use. The rest was given away or donated. We had lived
fourteen years on Terrace Normandie in Chomedey. It
happened several times that our country home was burglarized. To be
on the safe side we had an alarm system installed throughout the house.
We also bought a washing machine and dryer. But it didn't take us long
to realize that, at our age, our country home would not be suitable
for a principal residence. We needed a central location, close to doctors,
the hospital, airport, shopping centers and so on. We had a real estate
agent try to sell our house for two months. In the meantime, we checked
out an advertisement that we noticed in the Gazette but we found it
too small. Just by chance we met another agent who showed us several
condos. We liked one very much in Cote St. Luc and we made an offer,
which was accepted. On August 21 the deed was signed. A cleaning company
was called out and all the necessary work was done. All our personal
belongings were transported to our condo by a small truck. We bought
new living and dining room furniture and new vertical blinds were installed.
Up
north, the contract with the real estate agent expired. A young couple
approached us saying that they are very interested to buy our home.
On October 16, 1992, the deed was signed. Our beautiful country property
was sold, fully furnished with all appliances, boat with motor, canoe,
garden furniture—too numerous to mention everything. After twenty
years of work and memories, to sell this house was heartbreaking. I
was thinking of our family and tears were flowing down my face. In
November 1992, David received his MA in Psychology from the University
of British Columbia. It was a hectic year. Selling two homes, buying
two condos. At the beginning of November we left for Florida. We rented
a car there for a month. We checked into the Days Inn hotel. It was
very close to our condo. Arrangements were made with a painter to get
the entire condo painted. While the painting was getting done, we searched
to buy furniture. All the carpeting, plus the kitchen floor had to be
replaced. The first thing we received was a mattress and box spring
set. After that, we were able to stay in our condo. Next, the most important
were all the appliances, dishes, pots and pans, cutlery, and linen.
It took some time but our apartment got done beautifully. Before we
returned our rented car, we bought a small used car to keep in Florida.
Century
Village is truly an ideal place for retired people—excellent security;
all types of activities that one could think of; heated and cold pools
both indoors and outdoors; a beautiful clubhouse with shows, movies,
and dancing; a synagogue on the premises; good bus service; friendly
people. West Palm Beach is a very nice city with beautiful beaches,
museums, theatre, and the Jewish Community Center nearby. There are
also good hospitals, doctors, excellent restaurants and shopping centers.
Gerald
and Cindy and their children were visiting her parents. They don't live
too far from us, so they also came to visit us. David came from British
Columbia to spend some time with us. It always makes us happy to see
some of our family. Our first winter in our own condo was truly enjoyable.
Once we were at home, we noticed that the wood floor was lifting up
under the carpet. What a disappointment. We just bought the place. We
reported it to the manager and they came to look at the problem. We
were told that they had nothing to do with it, it is our responsibility.
Nick pulled the carpet away from the wall. The following day, there
was a huge rainstorm and we noticed water seeping into the living room
from under the molding. I called the manager again and this time they
had no excuse, it was their responsibility. It was a lot of inconvenience
for us. One section of a wall was cut open where the air vent from the
roof was leaking. The problem got fixed, the wall repaired, the living-dining
room repainted, and a brand-new wood floor was installed. For several
days we had to stay in a hotel until the floor was finished and the
furniture put in place. In
the summer of 1993 we had a lot of free time. We began to miss our country
home so we rented a waterfront property on Golden Lake in Val David.
Everyone from our family came to visit. Two of our grandchildren, Devorah
and Michael, stayed with us for a short while. It was a wonderful summer.
A
significant date I missed in the year 1992. Our son David legally changed
his surname from Stone to Mandel. Thank you, David. We truly appreciate
it. In
March 1994, while we were in Florida, our building manager called. She
told us that there was a fire on the third floor in the stove vent.
The flames went all the way up and the fireman broke the living room
wall joining the kitchen to get to the vent. She reassured us that everything
will be fixed once we are back home. On April 15, we returned. What
a mess we had to deal with. With time and a lot of aggravation, the
wall got repaired. A brand new ceramic kitchen was built. We had to
pay for new appliances and kitchen cabinets. It was costly but we do
enjoy having the new kitchen. After
all the work got done, we planned a trip to cross the Canadian Rockies.
When our suitcases were packed, we received a call from Mark. He told
us that my brother was in the intensive care unit of the North York
Hospital with pneumonia. My niece, Beth, had called Mark to let him
know. We were shocked. The next day, Nick drove to Toronto. We stayed
at Mark's place. When we went to visit, my brother was very sedated.
I just didn't have the heart to wake him. We hoped to be able to talk
to him on our next visit. Unfortunately, the same thing happened again.
A nurse told us to wake him up but we just couldn't do it. He seemed
so peaceful and we were still hopeful that he will recover. We returned
home. My sister-in-law Sara was just wonderful. She kept us up to date
on how my brother was doing. Sadly, there was no improvement. His condition
only worsened. How I wished I would have woken him when the nurse told
me to. He would have at least seen me there. On August 19, 1994, his
suffering ended. He was seventy years old, my only brother, and my only
immediate family member who had survived the Holocaust. We always loved
each other. He was so special and good-hearted. To me he was a hero,
but to him it was just natural to save Jewish lives and give help when
there was a need. After the funeral, I sat shiva with Sara and the family.
I cherish every moment I spent with my brother and all the memories
I have. I watch his photograph every day in my bedroom. I miss him so
much. The
following year we did take the tour across the Canadian Rockies. As
we arrived at one of the beautiful hotels, there was still some Christmas
decorations in the lobby. Our tour guide asked me if we have a big family
celebration for Christmas. I told her that we are Jewish. We celebrate
Chanukah. As for the big family celebration, I told her that my family
and I were taken to Auschwitz. There we got separated and I never saw
my family again. She was speechless, white as a sheet. After a few seconds
of silence she said, "I have goose bumps all over my body. I never
spoke to anyone who survived the Holocaust." She wanted to know
if it would ever be possible for me to forgive or to forget. My answer
was, no. I have no right to forgive. The six million helpless victims
cannot speak for themselves. As far as to forget, never. I could be
attending an excellent live show and I am very happy. Suddenly, it comes
to my mind, why couldn't my sisters enjoy something like this? My eyes
fill up with tears. I try very hard not to cry. Getting back to our
trip, we enjoyed it very much. The beautiful scenery, good food, nice
people. When we arrived in Vancouver, David was waiting for us. We rented
a car, toured the city and Victoria. The best part was spending another
week with David. Every moment was precious. In
the spring of 1996, I underwent surgery on my left eye. At the Jewish
General Hospital, Dr. Kezner did a lens implant; he operated for glaucoma
and for cataracts. There are improvements. However, there is a blurriness.
Legally I am allowed but I don't feel comfortable to drive a car, so
I stopped. I used to enjoy walking, now it's more difficult. I will
have to undergo another surgery. I am hoping there will be improvements
at that time. In
November 1996, David received his Ph.D. in Psychology from the University
of British Columbia. From 1996 to 1998, he was a Postdoctoral Fellow
in the Department of Psychology at Stanford University in Stanford,
California. In
1998, finally, my application for a hardship fund was accepted by Germany.
Nick and I both applied to Hungary for restitution. It seems to us that
their program was designed to boost their economy, create jobs for themselves,
and wear down claimants with their deadlines and documentation requirements.
For the loss of one of my sisters in Auschwitz, I was awarded the equivalent
of $93 Canadian. As for myself, I was incarcerated for one year in Auschwitz
and slave labour camps. Proof was sent, yet my claim was refused. According
to them, I was in Russian labour camps. Even the little amount of money
they awarded had to be claimed in Hungary and could not be taken out
of the country. The whole procedure simply added insult to injury and
was a hoax. The money they offered wouldn't cover the cost of the certified
copies at the Hungarian consulate and the postage that we paid to complete
the claim. In
July 1998, David moved from Stanford to London, England. He chose to
lecture at the Department of Psychology at the University of Hertfordshire.
The reason was to be closer to his girlfriend, Irina, who works in Paris.
On January 1, 1999, Irina and David came to visit us in Florida. We
all had a wonderful time, lots of fun at the ocean, sightseeing and
so on. Irina invited us to visit her in Paris and David wanted us to
visit him in London. In
the late spring, we decided to go for a two-week trip to visit David
and Irina. Our tickets were purchased, everything was settled. On June
6, we were looking forward to going out to supper with Paul, Santina,
and the children to celebrate my 72nd birthday. As usual I got up in
the morning, put my shoes on. I wanted to walk to the kitchen but it
was impossible. I just kept falling. Luckily, Nick was in the room.
He managed to help me back into the bed and called an ambulance. While
we waited for the ambulance to arrive, David, Irina, and their friend,
Sarah, called to wish me a happy birthday. I was only able to speak
to David for a few seconds to tell him not to worry and that I love
him. He said, of course I worry, I love you. My blood pressure was 200.
I was taken to the Lachine General Hospital. The diagnosis was labyrantitis
plus the high blood pressure. Two days later I was home. Our trip had
to be cancelled. By
July I felt well enough to spend some time in the Laurentians. Again,
in Val David, on Golden Lake, we rented a summer cottage. Everyone came
to visit from our family, including David and Irina. We are very fortunate
to have such caring family. No matter how far they are, we are not forgotten.
It was a wonderful summer. Ourselves,
we are into our fifty-third year of married life. Our love for each
other never diminished and only grew. We have mutual respect, caring,
understanding, and appreciation. During the forty years of hard work,
responsibility, and stress not once did Nick forget to call home to
find out if everything is all right with me and the children. He is
a devoted life partner and father. May we have many more wonderful years
together. Now
it is October 1999. We are getting ready to spend the harsh winter months
in Florida. I am concluding my memoirs. It has been very difficult to
write. I am drained mentally as well as physically. It is impossible
to come to terms with this indescribable tragedy that mankind allowed
to happen. In spite of all my suffering, I am thankful to the Freed
girls from Vár utza, Kisvárda. They lifted me up and encouraged
me to keep walking from Birkenau to Auschwitz. They had their great
losses, yet they did care for another human being. As we enter into a new millennium, I am hoping for good health, peace, and prosperity; freedom to all religions; equality for all. |
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