THE SATCHEL

It looked like a doctor’s bag with two woven leather handles and contained all our documents. It was always by my mother’s side, the first thing to be grabbed whenever we had to rush to the cellar. When she left the building, my grandmother became its guardian.

When? Where?

This satchel was our most important possession throughout the occupation and for many years afterward. It would have been prepared and used while at home at Kossuth Lajos Street 17.

THE CELLAR

At Kossuth Lajos Street 17, we rushed down the back stairs, from the third floor to the basement, into the old coal cellar: my mother, my aunt Lily, my grandmother and I. We sat on chairs that were brought down from apartments and waited for the bombs.

When? Where?

We lived in probably six buildings during the occupation. They each had a cellar. Were these cellars large enough to accommodate the increasingly crowded and deprived Jewish population?

MY FATHER APPEARS IN THE CELLAR

We sat in this dark cellar lit only by a candle in its anti-chamber. There was a bedraggled man standing at the entrance, bearded, with dirty, longish, uncombed hair, wearing a wrinkled dirty suit and mud-caked shoes. “Daddy,” I cried and tried to get up and run to him, but my mother held me back. She didn’t recognize him. It was my father, back from a forced labour battalion. He told us that the battalion’s commander remembered him from working together under my father’s supervision. He helped my father escape. My father came to see us before he went into hiding.

When, where?

He knew where we were, or was able to find us -

We were in a cellar, there was no electricity

Men were taken into labor battalions

My father went into hiding

An SS Officer saved us

There was a short, narrow passage between two rooms. On each side of this passage was an alcove—maybe for built-in wardrobes or china cabinets that were no longer there. The alcoves were barely wide enough for a narrow mattress on the floor. These alcoves were our allocated space in the apartment. Aunt Lily and grandmother Regina shared one mattress, and my mother and I shared the other.

With all the people that were crowded into the apartment, we didn’t realize that a German SS (?) officer was coming through, trailed by another man in civilian clothes. His translator? The officer came into our passage, stopped, and looked at my mother and me. He asked in German “Whose is this child?” My mother answered, in her perfect German “Mine.” He pondered momentarily before announcing his verdict: “Then you can stay.”

He didn’t even glance at Aunt Lily or my grandmother before moving on to the adjacent room. The man followed him, closing the door behind them. They soon reappeared trailed by two women.

When? Where?

There were only the three women and I. My father wasn’t with us.

Germans could move through a building, an apartment, at will.

Germans could select and take people from an apartment.

We were probably in a “Yellow-Star” building.

This was probably before the Arrow-Cross [ Nyilas ] took over.

This was probably before or at the very beginning of the “Safe houses.”

We didn’t have a “schutzpass.”

WE NEED AN APARTMENT

This must have been an unusual situation, because generally it was the Jewish Council that allocated housing. Maybe it was a bomb or simply the Germans deciding that they needed more space, but we were apparently on our own. No place to go to, and we had to be off the street by curfew.

My mother Margit was ready to go up to the German headquarters on Gellért Hill to ask for a placement. Aunt Lily intervened. “No, you have the child, I will go.” And she left. None of us knew if she would ever come back.

She returned with an assigned place for us.

Note: This information was placed into Lily Bolgar’s narrative and adjusted.

GATHERED IN THE STREET

There was a large group of us, all the Jews from the building, gathered in front of the main gate (kapu). Only a few men with guns watched us while their leader argued with a well-dressed man. They argued for quite a while until we were told to return to our apartments.

I don’t know who the well-dressed man was—maybe Carl Lutz, Raoul Wallenberg, or another imposing figure insisting that we were under the protection of his country. Whoever he was, I am grateful. We owe him our lives.

I remember my mother was with me, but I don’t know who else was there.

Where? When?

No weather information

This would have happened in the period of the “Protected Houses,” possibly during the “Arrow-Cross” period. I don’t know of any reports of a civilian (even a diplomat) able to deter the Germans had this happened at a “Yellow-Star” building. Therefore, this would have been in the period of the “Protected Houses.”

THE 2 LILYs ARE TAKEN TO THE ÓBUDA BRICKYARD

Seven or eight women and I were standing in a semi-circle in the living room, facing a German officer. He selected two women: my aunt Lily and my cousin Lily. “Schnell, schnell,” [ Hurry, hurry ] he bellowed at them. They rushed to put their clothes on and pick up their knapsack packed for such an eventuality. I noticed that in her rush my aunt picked up my knapsack, but I was too afraid to say anything. They left.

A few days later both my aunt and my cousin returned. They were able to sneak into the building and the apartment. She brought back my knapsack, unopened. My aunt Lily told us about how a soldier helped them escape and how they managed to find transportation back to Budapest without being stopped or shot. After that brief visit, they went into hiding.

My cousin Lily confirmed the story.

Where? When?

We were probably at Szervita tér 5.

A FROZEN POTATO

I remember the three of us in the small, cold room. Mother was squatting by a tiny fire in the fireplace trying to roast a frozen potato skewered on a stick. She had traded a piece of a gold necklace for frozen potatoes. My father was lying on a cot by a window, sick with dysentery (vérhas).

When, where?

Probably after the Russians occupied Pest

Don’t know where - there were no fireplaces in our old apartment on Kossuth Lajos street. Probably in the last safe-house where we stayed.

There was a city-wide shortage of food and food had great value. Bartering with whatever valuables we had was necessary.

My father was with us, not in hiding.

The window had glass in it. The room was not damaged by bombing and artillery.

Was there a working toilet nearby?

WAITING FOR BREAD

The early morning light hasn’t reached us yet on this cold grey day. My father had the front panels of his overcoat wrapped around me to keep me warmly bundled against him. His coat collar was turned up, his hat pulled down  I wore my winter coat, had my cap and mittens.

We were standing in a long bread line, carefully holding on to our ration cards. Since children had preferential treatment, I had learned to wait patiently whenever we waited in line. Did he hold my hand for comfort? I don’t remember. When the air raid siren sounded he nudged me against the wall and stood in front of me, sheltering me with his body. We didn’t run to an air raid shelter, we would not leave the queue. My father didn’t move until the “all clear” sounded.

When where?

Air raid sirens, possible bombing

Bakeries had bread

People lined up for bread at dawn

My father was openly in the street. Not worried about being picked up