SPRING 1944 . Splendid news from the Russian Front. There
could no longer be any doubt: Germany would be defeated. It
was only a matter of time, months or weeks, perhaps.
The trees were in bloom. It was a year like so many others,
with its spring, its engagements, its weddings, and its births.
The people were saying, "The Red Army is advancing with
giant strides...Hitler will not be able to harm us, even if he
wants to... "
Yes, we even doubted his resolve to exterminate us.
Annihilate an entire people? Wipe out a population dispersed
throughout so many nations? So many millions of people! By
what means? In the middle of the twentieth century!
And thus my elders concerned themselves with all manner of
things—strategy, diplomacy, politics, and Zionism—but not with
their own fate.
Even Moishe the Beadle had fallen silent. He was weary of
talking. He would drift through synagogue or through the streets,
hunched over, eyes cast down, avoiding people's gaze.
In those days it was still possible to buy emigration certificates
to Palestine. I had asked my father to sell everything, to liquidate
everything, and to leave.
"I am too old, my son," he answered. "Too old to start a new
life. Too old to start from scratch in some distant l a n d ... "
Budapest radio announced that the Fascist party had seized
power. The regent Miklós Horthy was forced to ask a leader of
the pro-Nazi Nyilas party to form a new government.
Yet we still were not worried. Of course we had heard of the
Fascists, but it was all in the abstract. It meant nothing more to us
than a change of ministry.
The next day brought really disquieting news: German troops
had penetrated Hungarian territory with the government's approval.
Finally, people began to worry in earnest. One of my friends,
Moishe Chaim Berkowitz, returned from the capital for Passover
and told us, "The Jews of Budapest live in an atmosphere of fear
and terror. Anti-Semitic acts take place every day, in the streets,
on the trains. The Fascists attack Jewish stores, synagogues. The
situation is becoming very s e r i o u s ..."
The news spread through Sighet like wildfire. Soon that was
all people talked about. But not for long. Optimism soon revived:
The Germans will not come this far. They will stay in Budapest.
For strategic reasons, for political reasons ...
In less than three days, German Army vehicles made their
appearance on our streets.
ANGUISH. German soldiers—with their steel helmets and their
death's-head emblem. Still, our first impressions of the Germans
were rather reassuring. The officers were billeted in private
homes, even in Jewish homes. Their attitude toward their hosts
was distant but polite. They never demanded the impossible,
made no offensive remarks, and sometimes even smiled at the
lady of the house. A German officer lodged in the Kahns' house
across the street from us. We were told he was a charming man,
calm, likable, and polite. Three days after he moved in, he
brought Mrs. Kahn a box of chocolates. The optimists were jubi-
lant: "Well? What did we tell you? You wouldn't believe us. There
they are, your Germans. What do you say now? Where is their fa-
mous cruelty?"
The Germans were already in our town, the Fascists were al-
ready in power, the verdict was already out—and the Jews of
Sighet were still smiling.
THE EIGHT DAYS of Passover.
The weather was sublime. My mother was busy in the
kitchen. The synagogues were no longer open. People gathered
in private homes: no need to provoke the Germans.
Almost every rabbi's home became a house of prayer.
We drank, we ate, we sang. The Bible commands us to rejoice
during the eight days of celebration, but our hearts were not in it.
We wished the holiday would end so as not to have to pretend.
On the seventh day of Passover, the curtain finally rose: the
Germans arrested the leaders of the Jewish community.
From that moment on, everything happened very quickly.
The race toward death had begun.
First edict: Jews were prohibited from leaving their residences
for three days, under penalty of death.
Moishe the Beadle came running to our house.
"I warned you," he shouted. And left without waiting for a
response.
The same day, the Hungarian police burst into every Jewish
home in town: a Jew was henceforth forbidden to own gold, jew-
elry, or any valuables. Everything had to be handed over to the
authorities, under penalty of death. My father went down to the
cellar and buried our savings.
As for my mother, she went on tending to the many chores in
the house. Sometimes she would stop and gaze at us in silence.
Three days later, a new decree: every Jew had to wear the yel-
low star.
Some prominent members of the community came to consult
with my father, who had connections at the upper levels of the
Hungarian police; they wanted to know what he thought of the
situation. My father's view was that it was not all bleak, or per-
haps he just did not want to discourage the others, to throw salt
on their wounds:
"The yellow star? So what? It's not l e t h a l ..."
(Poor Father! Of what then did you die?)
But new edicts were already being issued. We no longer had
the right to frequent restaurants or cafes, to travel by rail, to attend
synagogue, to be on the streets after six o'clock in the evening.
Then came the ghettos.
TWO GHETTOS were created in Sighet. A large one in the center of
town occupied four streets, and another smaller one extended
over several alleyways on the outskirts of town. The street we
lived on, Serpent Street, was in the first ghetto. We therefore
could remain in our house. But, as it occupied a corner, the win-
dows facing the street outside the ghetto had to be sealed. We
gave some of our rooms to relatives who had been driven out of
their homes.
Little by little life returned to "normal." The barbed wire that
encircled us like a wall did not fill us with real fear. In fact, we felt
this was not a bad thing; we were entirely among ourselves. A small Jewish republic...A Jewish Council was appointed, as well
as a Jewish police force, a welfare agency, a labor committee, a
health agency—a whole governmental apparatus.
People thought this was a good thing. We would no longer
have to look at all those hostile faces, endure those hate-filled
stares. No more fear. No more anguish. We would live among
Jews, among brothers...
Of course, there still were unpleasant moments. Every day,
the Germans came looking for men to load coal into the military
trains. Volunteers for this kind of work were few. But apart from
that, the atmosphere was oddly peaceful and reassuring.
Most people thought that we would remain in the ghetto until
the end of the war, until the arrival of the Red Army. Afterward
everything would be as before. The ghetto was ruled by neither
German nor Jew; it was ruled by delusion.