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| My Mother at 16 |
My mother was born in 1924 in Békéscsaba. Her childhood could not have been any more different from that of my father's. Her father was well to do, her mother was well educated. The only similarity was that they both were Jewish, born in small towns and moved to Budapest at an early age. Her family was not religious, she converted to Calvinism shortly after the introduction of the first Jewish law. She made her parents celebrate Christmas just like many of her Christian friends did.
My mother studied languages, she spoke three fairly well by the age of 14. She went to good schools, had perfect grades. She vacationed in Switzerland.
In fact, when World War Two broke out, she was in Switzerland, but my grandfather made sure she came home promptly. There were talks that they should all leave, take their money to the Swiss banks, but these plans were never serious, not then not later, not ever.
My mother's friends were intellectuals, left leaning intellectuals. She, not like my father, did read and understood the theory behind Communism, his boyfriend was a leftist. He was captured and killed, whether it was because of his political beliefs or just being Jewish that caused his death, difficult to say. Perhaps either would have been enough, but the two together proved to be deadly.
My mother's friends were intellectuals, left leaning intellectuals. She, not like my father, did read and understood the theory behind Communism, his boyfriend was a leftist. He was captured and killed, whether it was because of his political beliefs or just being Jewish that caused his death, difficult to say. Perhaps either would have been enough, but the two together proved to be deadly.
Life quickly became difficult for the adolescent girl in the early 40s. Her mother could not cope with the stress and her father was away most of the time. Her brother, too young and immature, was not much help. Money, while was not everything, made life a bit easier. But the decision making fall on my mother's shoulders during the hardest times. They acquired Swedish papers, which gave them protection for a while. They moved to a "Swedish House" but during one of the air-raids it got hit. To make matters worse, an Arrow Cross officer paid them a visit next night. There was a portrait of my mother hanging on one of the walls painted by István Csók, (a renowned Hungarian painter), the officer entertained himself by shooting both eyes out of the painting. My mother decided to leave the building next day. By night, all the Jews were taken away never to be heard from again.
Money, luck and good decisions saved their lives.
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