Hungary is a small country in Eastern Europe, bordering Austria, Slovenia, Yugoslavia, Romania, Ukraine and Slovakia. The present population of ten million live within her 93,000 square kilometers. The country is 528 kilometer long East-to-West and only 280 kilometers wide.

She has major rivers: the Danube with the total length of 1750 kilometers, originating in the Black Forest of Germany, and ends in the Black Sea. Hungary has only 580 kilometers of it. The river Tisza is 1240 kilometers long, but Hungary has only 410 kilometers of it. The country has one sizable lake, called Balaton, with 70 kilometers of length. On both sides, there are nice hotels, motels, beaches and lots of vineyards, producing good quality vines.

On March 15 1848 there was a successful student revolution with the leadership of Lajos Kossuth. Hungary gained independence again for a very short time. One year later with the help of the Russian Army, Hungary became part of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. World War One ended in 1918 with the defeat of the monarchy. In the Treaty of Trianon, Hungary lost 2/3rd of her territory.

The German culture and language had a great influence on the higher and middle class population. Hungary was the "bread basket"and Austria (and Germany) the major industrial centers. Later Hungary developed her own light and heavy industry.

There are many museums, concert halls, and theaters in Hungary. Her contribution to the global cultural and scientific environment has been noteworthy: with many famous painters, artists and composers: Liszt, Kodaly, George Solti and many others.

Before the War, the Jews were not allowed to own land, bank or become a doctor, lawyer, engineer, or work in a Governmental department.

Slowly, they were able to establish small factories, buy small parcels of land, and become artists, medical and law professionals. Many were and are in the entertainment business. Anti-Semitism had deep, historical roots in the Hungarian people, supported by the German influence. The official and unofficial discrimination was visible in every field. The "irony" was: many, many Hungarian Jews tried to be Hungarian, rather than a Jew.

The 1941 census registered 725,000 Jews and 100,000 converted Jews. In 1946 the count was only 225,000, a third of it women. Budapest had 119,000 survivors. The total loss of Hungarian Jewry was 686,000 people. Presently, most of the small cities have no Jews at all.

My father Alexander (Sandor) Winkler was born in 1902 March 15. He was the second son in a large, poor family. His mother died at a very early age. His father remarried. Out of his first marriage, he had sons: my father and Albert. Out of the second marriage came three more boys, Samuel, Dezso and Frank. My grandfather died before the last son Frank was born. The oldest son, Albert immigrated to USA around 1937 with his wife and a young daughter.

My father had four sisters: Margit, Lena, Paula and Frida. Margit never married and lived with a taxi driver until he died in 1966 from lung cancer. She was also a heavy smoker and died the same way.

Frida was the youngest sister. She moved to Budapest before she was 18 years old and worked in a factory. She earned good wages, but spent all of her money on clothing and make-up. She loved parties and had many affairs. Interestingly, my mother had a younger brother, Miklos, who married Frida in Budapest. She did not change her way of life even after marriage: money was always in short supply, but not so for some men around the corner. She died in Budapest in 1970.

Lena and Paula immigrated to USA in 1920. The youngest boy, Frank spent his time in and out of school, also working as a kid in an ice cream factory for a few pennies a day.

My step-grandmother raised the family mostly with the help of Jewish charity organizations, and from the very little income earned by doing housework for others. The firstborn son Albert left for America.

When my father passed second grade, his stepmother became ill. He had no choice, but to go to work. He learned the shoemaking trade, how to repair and how to make new footwear. He started to work in the village of Ajak. He was a very handsome man, with good singing voice and he was a good dancer, too, especially after a few glasses of drink. My father was a very organized, clean-cut man. His working area was spotless and we all had to follow suit. With his work and his clothing, he was a perfectionist. I learned a lot from him.

During mealtime, my mother served the food to everybody. This was the meal, never any "second" or asking for more. Interestingly, even today I would never ask for second serving. Whatever my wife, or anybody else puts on my plate: that is my portion!

He married my mother in March 1923. When I was born 11 months later, they moved to the city of Kisv‡rda to have more customers, and to make a better living. He was a good tradesman, and in a short time, he was able to make new ladies shoes and small boots for a large store.

The owner of the store was a religious Jew -called Reisman- who was a believer of his faith and someone else's money. He paid my father's first shipment in cash, the next shipment in 10 days and then 30 days, later 60 days. He was a crook; he started to pay with I.O.U. (I Owe You) papers. My father had to sell those papers with 20 or 30 % discount to pay his suppliers, and to buy grocery, pay the overhead. One day Mr. Reisman declared bankruptcy, and did not pay his debt. My father lost almost everything.

One month later, the store was reopened with a new owner: Mrs. Reisman, and the whole game started all over again. The same system, the same method of non-payment, and shortly the same bankruptcy.- My father lost everything again. Having no other choice, he sold his belongings, and we moved to Budapest in 1937. I will write about it later.

My mother, Ilona Weinberger was born in 1903 in a city, which was part of Romania at that time. This gave us lots of problems later, when my father applied for the Hungarian citizenship for the whole family.

-My Mother had an older brother, Victor. He was a decorated hero of the 1914-1918 war. He emigrated to the USA in 1919, and died of polio in 1954.

-Another brother, Alex married in Kisvarda, and also emigrated to the USA in the summer of 1936. He died in 1993; he was almost 90 years old.

-Miklos, who married my father's sister Frida was working in our factory until 1942. He was sent to a forced labour camp, then to the Eastern front, where he died.

-Erno was the youngest kid in the Weinberger family. He learned a certain operation of shoe making. He was in and out of the army, then labour camps. He was engaged to Annus for eight years. After the war, they were living in Kisvarda, and had their own shop. He died in Hungary in 1991.

My mother was twenty years old, when she married my father. They lived in the village of Ajak, having a hard time to start a new life perhaps because of insufficient income, or my father's violent nature. It was a very stormy beginning.

When I was six months old, the relation between them was so impossible, my mother ran back with me to her mother, never to return.

Three days later my father showed up at the front door, claiming back the family. The answer was no. He said -and was ready- to burn the whole house, if my mother did not return with him. Back in Ajak for another six month, then we moved to Kisvarda, there was more opportunity, more customers.

My mother loved to read. When she had a few free minutes, she opened a book. Thanks to her influence, I have been reading throughout my life. Even, when we were short of money, we bought second-hand books. I remember, when my father closed the light around 9 pm to save on the electricity bill, my mother lit a candle, put it on the floor, and leaned over from the bed to read. I joined her, sitting on the floor and reading. This way we did not disturb the "Boss."

Even now I love reading, so do my wife, my son and his family.

I finished four elementary grades in Kisvarda; I was first in mathematics, arts, literature, last in gym, and history. With great financial effort, and with my mother's help I continued my studies in the Bessenyei Gyorgy gymnasium, also in Kisvarda. This is like high school in North America. I completed three years there. With diligence and hard work, I became a good student, again on top in mathematics, science and arts, not so good in Latin. I was very good in the art classes, my instructor asked me to join his after-school private courses. I told him I would like to, but do not have money for extra studies. The instructor seeing my potentials, offered free supply, and waived the fees for the courses. I really appreciated his generous and unusual gesture.

A baby boy was born after me, but died when he was only four months old. Barbara, my only sister was born in 1927, she lives in Israel now, with a large family, having four children, twelve grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren.

After Barbara, three more babies came, but they died before they were six months old. I was unable to find out why they died, my mother never wanted to talk about it, and my father said, that it wasn't my business.

I would like to write about a few incidents, to demonstrate the family relation, the way my father was shaping his future, and that of every member of his family.

I had a good friend; his name was John Klein, son of a farmers' merchant. He had a sister; we were of the same age. We played together most of the time. One Saturday afternoon, we started to build a small river, and a lake. We took the water from a big barrel, full of rainwater. Lots of water started flowing in the front yard, and out to the street.

Their grandmother came home, and she kept on not just yelling, but also chasing us away with a broomstick. To avoid the punishment, John and me ran to the back of the yard, and started climbing over the fence. He had lots of experience how to avoid the rows of barbwire. He made it all right, but on the way down, I ripped open my palm, and one of my fingers. Seeing lots of blood, we ran to the grandmother's house for a white towel. She almost fainted to see me, and we ran to the hospital emergency room.

I was lucky in a way, because there was a surgeon on call, and he closed the wounds with a few metal staples. (That time it was something new). I lost a lot of blood. They walked me home. My mother almost fainted to see my hand, blood all over me and the bandages. The second worry of hers was: What my father will say about the situation. Her worry was justified!

Very soon, my father came home. The first thing he did; he landed a big slap on my face. The second: took out his belt, and started one of his many punishments. My mother was yelling at him, my sister peed in her dress, I was crying for his pardon, but of no avail. In one minute, I was able to free myself, ran outside and hid in a shed. During the next hours of hiding, I heard arguments, my mother's crying, begging, and the sound of slapping.

These hours are still etched very deeply in my memory.

Responding to my mother's call, I went back to the house to say a big SORRY to my father. He accepted it, but that evening I could not have supper, and for days I was not allowed to attend school.

One more event will stay with me forever, too:

It was a hot summer. I was about nine years old, when I went somewhere.

Along the way, I was looking into a candy store, and wished to have a few pennies to buy an ice cream. Very seldom we had this kind of luxury. As I was looking in, a man stopped beside me, watching for a while. I started to walk away, but he asked me if I would like to have an ice cream. With a red face I said 'Yes, but I do not have any money'. He took my hand, walked into the store, and paid for a chocolate ice cream. He was a stranger with a warm heart, unlike my father.

I shall always remember it, and will never stop to repay it with my help to other people.

I told a sad story about my friend John and myself. Now, I would like to recall a funny one:

He had every type of children diseases: chickenpox, rubella, and the whole gamut of it. If not him, then his sister had it. My mother asked me not to visit him, for being in close contact; I might catch it, too. You do not believe it: I was not only visiting him, or her, but I climbed into his bed, playing games, and not one of his diseases I was ever able to catch. Since then, I have never had any child disease, but my sister Barbara had the whole array of it.

My friend John and the whole family died during the war.

Another anecdote from my picture gallery:

There was a worker in the factory; his name was Paul, a devout Baptist. Whenever he had a few minutes' free time, lunch or coffee break, he played

the violin. I liked the instrument, and many times, I listened to the music, not knowing these were religious songs.

He asked me if I would like to learn playing the violin. I was very eager to do so. After a few trials, he gave me another violin; a smaller one and I started learning it by the ear, following his notes. A few months later, he asked my father's permission to take me on Sunday morning to the church and join the small orchestra. My father was laughing, not believing that I would be able to play in front of so many people. However, I did, and was the only Jewish person in the congregation to play a Jesus song.

Paul was teaching me some other music too; some Schubert, Liszt, and Strauss. Presumably, I was playing well enough, but when my father was approached to buy the violin, he not only refused to buy one, but forbade me also to play it again. He also fired Paul for his 'misdeed.'

That was the end of my musical career.

Let me bark once more:

I am afraid of dogs, any dog. Why?

On the way to school, there was a very large estate with a special fence around it. When I touched different parts of the fence during my walk, the metal made a very funny noise, like a drum. I liked it.

It was a very quiet day, when I "let my fingers do the walking," or I should say the noise. Suddenly big dogs jumped on the fence and bit my hand very badly. The bigger damage was not the bleeding palm, but the shock I experienced. Since then, when I see a dog I cross the street, even if the dog is small. If suddenly a dog barks behind me I sweat, my face becomes pale. Nevertheless, when I am in the company of a dog in the same room for a while, I can relax, and get friendly with the dog.

As you can see, times made me a tough nut, but this is not the real reason why I do not eat hazelnuts.

I know it is not nice just to take a bite out of a cake and leave the rest on my plate saying, "I am sorry! I do not eat hazelnuts."

Here is my related story:

When I was about seven, or eight years old I was playing in my grandmother's garden with my friend, Andrew, climbing on the trees. There were lots of fruit, and many hazelnut trees. My grandmother told us not to eat any fruit, or hazelnut, because they were not ripe yet. We would become sick, if we ate any of them.

Did we listen? Of course, we did, but we started to take down some hazelnuts, still in a green shell. We opened some, and inside we found a soft shell. When we opened it, there was a grown hazelnut. We ate a few with a bit of after-taste.

In the evening my face blew up, getting big, bloody blisters, mouth and tongue were red and swollen. For three days I was unable to eat and for days to sit; guess why?

For me, no more hazelnut! (My son, George does not like it either).

My mother told me many times to watch other people's good table manners; to use the fork in the left, knife in the right hand, to be polite and always greet people the nicest way possible. These things are still in my mind. But she did not tell me about women when I was 13-14 years old. I learned it the hard way.

I always had infections in my throat in the springtime. One day my Mother took me to a hospital in Nyiregyhaza - about an hour train ride from our home - to remove my tonsils. That time it took a full week's stay in the hospital. The end of the fifth day the evening nurse came in. She leaned over me to adjust the bed sheet on the other side of the bed. I grabbed her with my hands in the wrong place. She yelled at me and reported my outburst in my chart. Next day my mother had to take me home, because the director of the hospital kicked me out.

For a week, I had a hard time to talk, and thanks to my father's punishment, to sit either.

I was 8 years old, and a student in second grade. Sitting in the middle of the classroom, I had problems reading the blackboard. My teacher realized my difficulties, and many times moved me to the front row. She suggested to my father to see an eye specialist, who prescribed corrective glasses to wear. Since then, I am wearing them.

The school had an active, good soccer team, in which I played defense. One day we played against another team, when the ball hit me hard between my eyes, and broke my glasses. I was lucky; it did not damage my eyes. This was another end to my soccer career.

The early years ended in Kisvarda, and then we moved to Budapest. I did not have many friends. I do not know why I do not even remember my teachers', or any of my schoolmates' names. I never visited the house, where I was born. I did not want to see it, or visit any of the places where we were living in Kisvarda. I never attended any Class reunion.

The Jewish population of Kisvarda numbered 3770 in 1941, In 1945 only 804. The survivors slowly moved away to larger cities, or other countries. In 1953 there were 355 people and in 1999 no Jews in the city.

My father applied for Hungarian Citizenship, but ran into difficulties: my mother was born in Nagykaroly. At that time, the region was part of Hungary, but in 1920 became Rumanian territory. The Hungarian Government tried every trick not to grant citizenship to Jews. This was a good reason to reject my mother's and the children's application.

It took some money and three years waiting to become the citizen of Hungary.

Was it worth it?