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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 serious…” 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, 9
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- 10
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 lethal…” (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