My Great-Grandfather

Recently, my grandfather translated his father's (my great-grandfather's) journal from Hungarian to English. Both of my grandparents on my father's side were born in Hungary and migrated to the U.S. after World War 2. During World War 2, my grandfather and great-grandfather lived in Budapest (the capital of Hungary). Hungary was occupied by German soldiers during WW2, and the German's were taking Jews and sending them to concentration camps. One day, German soldiers came to the Jewish neighborhood that my great-grandfather lived in, and demanded that all Jewish men between the ages of 16 and 60 to pack a bag and line up on the street. The people were then herded off to dig trenches and eventually sent to concentration camps. Fortunately, my grandfather was able to escape, and walked back to Budapest while trying to hide from Nazi soldiers. When he finally returned to Budapest and his family, he decided to get over the trauma of his experience by writing down the stories of his travels in a diary, which is the book that my grandfather translated.


Once my grandfather had translated the journal, he sent me a PDF copy to read. I was hesitant at first, because I was uncertain about what it would be like. Last week, I finally sat down and read the book. It is about 50 typed pages, and starts from when he was forced to leave his home with no idea where he was going, and ends with his escape and eventual return home. The journal was choppy, with short sentences and often grammatical errors from translation, but this made it seem more real, without any added fluff to change it.  I had known the general story before, but reading the words and his thoughts along the journey was a whole different experience. I have included below some of the quotes from the journal that spoke to me the most.

The following is an excerpt from the first couple pages of the journal:

"We are starting to march. We do not know to where or for what. Everybody is occupied with the difficulty of the march. ... So far we received no food and so there were no problem with this. Everyone is eating what he has. But there is a problem with water..."

When they were taken away from their homes, they had no idea when, if ever, they would be back. They had no idea where they were going or what was going to happen to them.

"Slowly we learn the technique of marching and carrying the back packs. We change the position of the straps, changing the weight distribution by leaning forward at stops and bending knees. Carrying the weight was made lighter by the thought that it had been packed by loving, worried hands and that what we carried on our backs represented a piece of home. Something that still connects me with Bözske, János and Éva and the rest. This cannot be heavy, for it is a small piece of home."

(Bözske is his wife, János is his son (My grandfather), and Éva is his daughter)


Throughout the journal, my great-grandfather often repeats that he did not give up hope, and how he kept thinking of his family. The above quote is from three days into the forced march, and the pack he is talking about was packed by his family.

"Younger girls sit next to us.  Four girls are in our row and the row behind us.  Slowly we start to talk.  They tell us their experiences so far.  They too were digging trenches, same as the men. Their main complaint is that they are hungry. They haven't had food distributed for three days. They are 21. I give my neighbor a cookie from home. She splits it in four and shares it. This togetherness I like very much and I name them the "family". We start to march. Along the street, people bring us food. Some bring a pot of vegetables and portion it out among us. But there are also hostile remarks. The girls are happy with the vegetables and also the bread that they received. They share it all as sisters. They offer me some, but I refuse, they need it more."

This quote is from when he meets with a group of women also being marched to concentration camps. The small act of giving one girl a cookie and having them split it into four amazes me. These people have lost everything, yet they stay with each other, and are still willing to share whatever they have, no matter how small it is.

"We have a choice, between the stables or an open attic.  We decide on the stables.  I find a place next to a horse box, because there are already six packed in the box, squeezed tightly together.  Six men in the place of one horse. ... I told the Lt. colonel that the stable was occupied, but he said 'first come the horses, then a big nothing, then the gypsy, then again nothing, and then the Jew!"

Quotes like this are repeated throughout the book, and show the opinion the escorts had of the Jews. Many times in the journal, prisoners are beaten because of this prejudice. The below quote is from right before my great-grandfather escaped.

"Imre" I say "let us walk for a while, it would feel good."
He shakes his head.
"I am happy to be on the cart, we would not be able to get back on. You should not get off either Ernö."
he says. But I am already gathering myself and jump off the cart. Stretching feels good. I go back a little to the cart behind us and I talk to those sitting on it. Around my neck on a string hangs Imre's medical bag. I take it off and during the conversation am untying the string. Our soldier escort, as if he feels something, warns me
"Nobody should stay behind or I will shoot him."
"Don't worry officer, nobody wants to stay here! He wouldn't have
anyplace to go"
I say, and continue to untie the string.
Finally the bag is free. I put it under my arm as if I were visiting a patient. I go back to our cart -- they are still standing. I feel that the opportunity is here. Meanwhile I talk to Imre,  "Come why don't you get off too. You will see how much better you will feel."  

I cannot make it any clearer and I do not know to what extent he understands me. I am meanwhile looking for socks and handkerchiefs, but cannot find any. Imre is unwilling. He has many excuses: he cannot walk, he would not be able to get back on the cart, he objects, and does not seem to understand, or does not want to, from my stubbornness, that perhaps there is something else involved here as well. The carts start suddenly and conversation stops. They begin to move faster and leave me behind a bit, I wave to Imre and hurry, seemingly taking a short cut through some bushes to catch up faster. But I stop behind the bushes and do not emerge on the other side.

This quote is a conversation between my great-grandfather and his friend Imre. He was good friends with Imre before they were taken, and they stayed together up to this point. However, Imre refuses to try to escape, so my great-grandfather escaped without him. Imre was never seen again, and probably died later on the journey or at a concentration camp. After his escape, my 51 year-old great-grandfather traveled over 100 kilometers without any money eventually making his way home safely. This may sound cliche, but reading this journal made me realize once again how lucky we are that we live in a peaceful place and time without war.