From Bilky To Jablonec: Helen Gedajlovic’s Story

This is the account of my circuitous journey through life, culminating in 1946 with my marriage to my dear husband, David Jacobs.

I was born and raised in Bilky, Czechoslovakia, the older daughter of two children from my father's second marriage to Pearl Katz, my mother. My younger sister's name was Yolan. She was one and a half years my junior. My father's first wife, Chanah Weiss, had passed away at an early age, leaving behind five daughters and a son. Their youngest child, Rita (Rezsi), was only five years old at the time.

We grew up in harmony unaware of any differences or preferential treatment toward Yolan and me. The meaning of half-sister or half-brother was unknown to us. In order of age, my siblings were: Rose, Lea, Esther, William (Willy), Fanny (Feiga) and Rita (Rezsi). The sisters got along welL despite the differences in ages. Rose and I were sixteen years apart in age, Lea, fifteen years older, while the youngest, Rezsi, was seven years my senior. When I was four, tragedy struck our family when my very favorite sister Rose died suddenly after having been ill for only three days. Complications stemming from pneumonia were the suspected cause. These days, pneumonia is so easily curable with penicillin and other wonder drugs. I can still vividly recall this tragedy. I loved her dearly. Rose was a very good soul. She was the one who took good care of Yolan and me from the time we were babies. With my mother having to look after a large family, there was little time left for her to give special attention to any one of us. It was Rose who put me to sleep and told me bedtime stories. She used to take me along on visits, and proudly show me off. I missed her very much and was very heartbroken for a long time.

In 1932, only seven years later, tragedy struck again when my sister, Lea, died during childbirth with her second child. Her baby could not be saved. Lea left behind a husband of only a few years and a two-year-old son, Wolf. The child, a beautiful boy, was our father's pride and joy. He was the only grandchild at the time. Wolf stayed with us in BiLky for the next two years, until his father, Sander remarried and brought him back to Volove to live with his new mother. Wolf came to us every summer for a short stay and was picked up by his father in person. Our relations with Sander were always friendly. He was especially fond of my mother. They sometimes had long discussions, lasting late into the night.

As I grew older and could observe and grasp more, I noticed the often-strained relationship between my mother and the older children. As I think back, I cannot help but admire the courage of my mother, for marrying a man with a ready-made family. Nor can I forget her devotion to all of us. Even with help from my older sisters, she worked long days. She was a good-looking woman, from a better class family. I often wondered why she had children.

My sisters did not carry an equal burden. They all missed their mother, which is natural. But they all accepted and appreciated Mother readily - all except Rezsi, who must have felt the loss of her mother very deeply. My brother Willy, also, was not very happy with his stepmother. Since he was usually attending Yeshiva in Bratislava, he did not feel it so much. When he was home, he spent little time in the house and more time helping our father.

We girls had no animosity toward each other and never thought for a moment that we were anything less than full fledged siblings. It was the same for Willy, who soon married and settled in the nearby town of Sevlus. After the arrival of his first child, my sister, Esther - the good soul that she was - spent considerable time with them. She helped with the household chores, since Willy's wife was sickly. When the second child was born, Esther was needed even more. My sister, Fanny, also left home to attend a teacher's academy in Uzhorod. When she graduated, the government posted her to a school in a small town some distance away from home. She came back to Bilky only during school holidays at Christmas, and of course, during the summers. Slowly, our big house emptied. Fanny met a young widower, a reasonably well-to-do merchant, with a beautiful daughter named Erika. They fell in love, married and she moved to Hungary, her husband's home. It was a very happy marriage. They later had a son together named Peter. She visited us occasionally and Father traveled there whenever time would allow. He always came back happy, with the knowledge that his daughter had chosen a good husband. In the beginning, he had not been happy to see his daughter move to a distant place, married to a man he did not know. Nevertheless, after getting good references about his future son-in-law, he had reluctantly consented. His fears now dispelled, he was happy. Upon his return, he would report to his family, "They live in harmony and prosperity."

As the older sisters left home, Rezsi and I became very good, close friends. I became her confidante. There were no secrets between us. She had a great talent for designing and sewing, specializing in ladies' suits and dresses. To further her skills, Rezsi took special courses and soon became very proficient, so much so that her teacher told her "You have mastered all that I can teach you. There is nothing you can gain by staying with me any longer. You should open your own salon, preferably in a big city." She could have done so right in her hometown, but she just yearned to get away.

Father, of course, would not hear of it. Sending a young girl away from home without any valid reason was just not done. Rezsi persisted. One of our cousins settled in Brussels, Belgium, and wrote us glowing letters of the opportunities Rezsi would have there. She mentioned that the only drawback was loneliness. How wonderful it would be if Rezsi could join her! They could live together and she would look out for her. Father finally gave his consent.

In 1934, at the age of twenty, Rezsi left home and stayed in Brussels until 1938. She returned when the political situation became precarious and the danger of war loomed over Europe. Our cousin stayed behind and managed somehow to survive, and marry right after the war.

While in Brussels, Rezsi developed a taste for smoking which led to serious health problems. She had smoked about fifty to sixty cigarettes a day and managed to cut her consumption in half, but could not completely kick the habit. Again, Rezsi and I became good friends. While she made good money, she confided in me that the two girls never cooked regularly since the cousin was constantly dieting and Rezsi, a chain-smoker, did not eat properly. There was a price to be paid for that in later years.

Until the age of six, my younger sister Yolan had a normal childhood. She was always a good-natured child. Her brother and all her sisters loved her. Even my brother Willy used to play with her at times. At the age of six, Yolan became very ill. It took time and many visits to doctors in a number of larger cities to finally diagnose her illness. She had a rheumatic heart. Yolan's condition was complicated by a mysterious swelling near the walls of her heart. The doctors did not give her long to live. Maybe it was one of those rare miracles, but she surprised everybody, including renowned doctors, by surviving and managing to live a normal life. Yolan missed a year of school, but was a very good student and caught up quickly.

With the older girls gone, Yolan and I grew even closer as we grew up. Our relationship went beyond normal sisterly love. Our lives now paralleled each other. The exception was that my after-school activity centered on the house while she took an interest in Father's work and helped at the mill.

Before I continue with my own account, I will introduce you now to my family, starting with my father and his siblings. At the time I was born, my grandparents on my father's side were no longer alive and I really know little about them except what I heard here and there. Grandfather's name was Wolf. His wife, my grandmother, was named Sara They were born in Bilky, as were several generations before them. Grandfather was a landowner. He also owned a mill where sunflower seeds were pressed into sunflower oil. After they died, their children received equal shares of the properties. Some of the children enhanced their inheritance by their own efforts, while others established themselves in other undertakings.

My father had three brothers and two sisters. All of them lived in Bilky to the very end, with one exception - a sister who married and moved to Szighet in Rumania. The four brothers lived on the same street near the river, starting with my father, then Uncle Elye, followed by Gedalye and Shmiel. Their sister, Rifke, lived on the main street just across from the Rabbi's residence, a building owned by my father.

My father was a tall, good-looking man, with an imposing appearance, always meticulously dressed, sporting a well-kept beard. He was greatly respected and known far and wide. My father was the President of the Jewish Community of Bilky, a post he held for many years. This honorable position kept him quite occupied. In addition to his business, which often kept him away from home, the affairs of the community also required that my father travel a certain amount. He did so at his own expense, as the community tills were mostly empty. My father was a man of no nonsense.

Uncle Elye was a partner in the mill, inherited jointly with his other siblings, except for the section that produced the sunflower seed oil. Uncle Elye was married twice and all his children, except one (Wolf who perished in the Holocaust), came from his second marriage. It is noteworthy that all my father's brothers lost their first wives and remarried. All but one of Uncle Elye's children survived the war and now lives in Montreal Canada. They all have families. The oldest son, Yankel, died shortly after the war. My sister, Rezsi visited him in 1945 when he was hospitalized in Budapest. Unfortunately, he was weakened beyond help. Another son, Nathan came to Canada in 1938 as an illegal alien. He managed to become a citizen and brought out his surviving siblings, Moshe, Ernest, and Fanny. Nathan was helpful in getting visas for my husband and me to emigrate to Canada, for which we generously repaid him. Nathan had a hard time in Montreal.

He came over as a stowaway on a coal ship with Sara, whom he married soon after their arrival. They raised four children, all married now. They have a number of grandchildren, some of marrying age. Moshe managed to escape to Russia during the time the Hungarians and Russians had a common border, from 1939 to 1940. He survived Vorkuta, a work camp in Siberia, and returned with Dora, his new wife whom he had married there. They brought up three children. Two daughters are living in Montreal. One is married, with no children. A son now lives in Paris with his wife and two children. Dora passed away just recently.

None of my father's brothers or sisters survived. Of Aunt Chayah's family, only her daughter was left. She is the cousin in Brussels with whom Rezsi stayed before the war and who we met in 1948.

My maternal grandparents, Abraham and Lea Katz lived in the little township of Zavidov, near Mukacevo. They made their living of a grocery store, run primarily by my grandmother and her son Chaim. Grandfather was an easy going, jovial man, who smoked a long pipe and learned the Torah.

Every year, my mother, Yolan and I used to enjoy a two-week vacation in Zavidov with my grandparents. I have very pleasant memories of the times spent there.

My maternal grandparents had four daughters and three sons. My mother was the second youngest. Of the seven children, two sons, Chaim and Aaron stayed in Zavidov until their deportation. The third son, Moshe, left Zavidov at a young age, and settled in Prague, the capital of Czechoslovakia. He was employed by a large printing company and he seemed happy there. As I recall, he visited our home in Bilky on two separate occasions, during visits to his parents in Zavidov. We lost all contact with him during the war and never heard of him afterwards. The Red Cross could not find out anything about his fate.

Of my four aunts, I best remember Yita. She married and moved to Tiacevo, where she raised a large family. I visited there quite often. She was widowed at an early age and ran a grocery store with the help of her son, Aaron. Of her six children, they all managed to survive, except daughter Sara. Rachel and Aaron now live in Rechovat, Josef in Haifa, and Margaret in Jerusalem. They all have families of their own, but we only know Rachel's daughter, Sarah, and her two children. During our visits to Israel, we managed to bring them together for an afternoon. Yita's youngest daughter, Pearl lives in New Jersey and has one son, Martin whose wedding we attended. Another of my aunts, Miriam, went to America, married and lived in New York. Her two children, Evelyn and Bernie, keep in touch with us during our stays in Florida. Except for the cousins I've mentioned, all my uncles, aunts and their families perished in the Holocaust.

I was finishing middle school and seriously considering what to do next. Since I have always loved children very much, I was leaning toward becoming a kindergarten teacher. But, I reached that decision only after taking a two-year sewing apprenticeship!

It took much persuasion on the part of my sister Fanny to get my father's approval. It meant leaving home. My father was vehemently opposed to any of his girls not living under his roof and his direct supervision. Fanny did manage to move my father to consent, but this was not to be. In 1938, the city of Beregszaz was ceded to Hungary. The teachers' seminary was no longer accessible, as Bilky remained part of Czechoslovakia for the next few months.

The political situation from 1938 onward, starting with the occupation of Austria, has already been described in previous chapters. It was now evident that our part of the world was no longer a safe place, especially for Jews. We all got together and tried to persuade our father to make an effort to leave the land of our birth, and emigrate to what was called Palestine. It was a vital discussion not only in our house, but in many a Jewish household. My father, a religious man but not a fanatic, was not a Zionist. He was a great friend of the Rabbi. The advice from this most learned authority was to stay put and wait for the Messiah right where we were. "You were born here and your families lived here for many generations. We overcame our troubles in the past and with God's help, will overcome again," he said. And so we all remained.

In 1941, during the deportation of the so-called "Polish citizens" we were taken to the assembly place in our synagogue. We could prove our citizenship and were dismissed. Many of our neighbors were deported in spite of having lived there for many generations, because they were not able to gather the necessary evidence in time.

Only three years later, proof of citizenship meant nothing, if you were a Jew. We were herded into a brickyard, which became our ghetto for the next five weeks. Only my parents, Yolan and I were home at the time of transfer into the ghetto. Rezsi was trapped in Budapest, where she had gone for a visit. She was unable to return home, since Jews were no longer allowed to travel. My sister, Esther, was in Sevlus with our brother, and they were all deported from there. Fanny and her family were deported from Hungary. I will not describe our deportation to Auschwitz, as this was detailed in a preceding chapter. My parents, though still fairly young, were not worried so much about themselves, but repeatedly wondered what would happen to their children. "We had our lives, but you are only starting," they said to us. My mother's hair changed from black to completely gray in two days.

In Auschwitz, our destiny was decided speedily. Mengele was waiting. I was on the right, mother in the middle and Yolan on the left. The Angel of Death, Dr. Mengele, motioned Yolan and me to the right, but my mother to the left. My father, having been previously separated from us, stood with all the men nearby. He managed to spot us, and he waved.

It was the last time we saw our parents. It did not take us long to find out their destiny. After going through the standard procedure of hair-cutting, disinfection and showers, we were given some old dresses, whatever size came to the distributor's hands. My sister, Yolan, looked for me. Although I was standing only a few feet away from her, she did not recognize me in my outfit and without hair. Our cousin, Fanny, had been with us all along. We managed to stay together during our internment and were liberated together.

We spent the next three months in Auschwitz, in the section called Vernichtungs Lager ("Destruction Camp") doing absolutely nothing but standing for hours in Appel, rain or shine. Our life in the block was as miserable as the Block”ltester. Her Stubendienst helpers were ruthless. The selection upon our arrival was not a final one. Mengele continued to honor us with his magic cane on unexpected visits several times during our three months' stay. On one occasion, he noticed some boils on Yolan's foot and sent her to a block from which she would be taken to the gas chambers. She told me to stay put. "Do not follow me. Hopefully, I will come back to you." Somehow, she managed to escape from the closed block and return to me. She was noticed by one of the helpers and some spark of humanity did touch this otherwise cruel woman. She did not send Yolan back, but instead hit her face so hard that it was swollen for the next forty-eight hours.

On two separate occasions, we were taken to the gas chambers, under the pretext of getting a bath. We were standing under the hot sun the entire day. In the evening, we were returned to our block. The gas chambers were simply overcrowded and could not accommodate an extra load. We were taken out a second time, and again stood there the whole day. We knew what was waiting ahead, but all three of us just simply did not care any longer. Life had simply lost any meaning for us, and we just could not see any hope of ever being free again.

What was the use of suffering any longer? Again we were returned to our "hotel". The same evening, one of the Stubendienst, a Slovak girl, told us, "You will be taken to "Lager D" and from there, you all will be transported to a work Camp."

We were in Camp "D" but a few days. Finally, we were taken to a camp near Hamburg to work in a munitions factory. The conditions were somewhat better than in Auschwitz, but the work was physically exhausting. The food was better than in Auschwitz, but not sufficient, considering the hard work demanded of us.

I got lucky and was selected to work in the kitchen, running a canteen. An older SS man, the commandant of the camp, selected me for that post. I had to pass a written test to ascertain whether or not I could write German. This was important, as I had to fill out forms and account for coupons received as payment for merchandise sold there. The coupons were given to prisoners for work above the prescribed quota. The merchandise included cans of sardines, extra portions of bread, and some other small food items.

The canteen was open only in the evening, after working hours, and the commander ordered me to work in the kitchen. This gave me an opportunity to help Yolan and Fanny. Of course, the rest of my block also benefited from my position. I doled out soup in the evenings, and when some was left over, I shared it with the girls in our block. There was, of course, some danger involved in that. I was stopped on several occasions by the SS girt who asked me what I was carrying in the can. My standard answer was, "Hot water to keep clean." She believed me.

Our head cook, a girl from Tiacevo, wanted to place a relative in my position. She approached the SS commandant with her request during one of his visits to the kitchen. I was not aware of this manoeuvre and was very surprised when the commandant came over to me as I cleaned one of the large soup kettles. He called over the head cook and in my presence told her, "This girl is working too hard. You have much stronger girls who could do this work. You will not replace her, or anybody else, without my permission. This girl here is not to work so hard." After that, I was not bothered and my work became somewhat easier.

We managed to keep ourselves clean and did not experience any outbreak of maladies as in some of the other camps. As winter was coming to an end, there were rumors of a possible end to the war. Our spirits lifted and we started to dare to hope that there might be a chance that we would survive and be liberated. In the spring, bombing by the Allies intensified to unheard-of proportions. Hamburg was an important target, and there were days when the camp had no chance to get the work groups to the factory, due to constant air raids. On such occasions, the inmates had to stay in their blocks.

Toward the end of April, rumors reached us of a possible evacuation by train to Hamburg. We would then board a ship, but to where? Indeed, a day or two later, we were herded into freight wagons, according to the established procedure, with hardly any space to even sit comfortably. The train moved a few miles, then stopped. It moved again, but right back to our starting point. The guards told us they could no longer move to our original destination. The route was closed by the advance of the British troops.

Again, our train moved and again stopped. We waited for days. We lost all sense of time. Food was very scarce. We had sufficient provisions for the planned evacuation, but not enough to last through all the delays. Even the SS guards were going hungry.

We were also faced with another very serious danger. The Allied air forces were bombing our train. They scored a direct hit on one of the wagons occupied by fellow prisoners. They were all killed.

At this time, the SS guards left us alone and ran into the nearby forest. Our trio, Yolan, Fanny and I, decided that the next time the planes approached, we would jump from the train and hide in the forest. It did not take long. Soon we heard the loud whistle of the engine, a signal of an air attack. By that time, we had been on the train about nine or ten days, the last three spent near that forest. We were hungry, desperate and very much afraid. This gave us courage. The SS guards left again and so did we. The girls in our wagon followed and the girls from the other wagons, seeing us jump out and flee, followed suit.

Later, after the air raid was over, we were surrounded by our guards and ordered to get back on the train. Nobody moved. We were no longer strong enough to fight for our survival. We just gave up any hope. The SS realized that they would not be able to order us back, so they just stayed in a circle around us for the next two days. During that time in the forest, many of our comrades died of hunger and exhaustion. My sister, Yolan, became ill and ran a high fever. We were very much afraid for her life. It was still cold at night. The ground was damp, and all we each had was a blanket. There was some water from a small stream running in our midst, but no food. By the third day, the SS were gone and the task of guarding us was taken over by local Germans. They wore civilian clothes and we had no idea who they were. There were many of them and they had weapons. The shooting intensified. This time we could hear what sounded like rifle shots all around us. The civilians left and the first soldiers of the British Army showed up shortly thereafter. It was the 9th of May 1945.

We received immediate help. The British had a tremendous task on their hands. They handled us with care and understanding. We were taken to a nearby summer resort in Luebeck where we received immediate medical attention. Food was no longer a problem, but we were still poorly dressed, in tattered rags. The British took us to a warehouse full of material and each one of us was allowed to pick something. Those who could sew, did so by hand. My two years of sewing lessons came in handy. Those who were not able to make their own clothing were helped by the girls who could.

Yolan recuperated, thanks to medical help. Soon all of us started to look more like human beings. But for many of our comrades, help came too late. Many had died of hunger on the train. We had lost one full wagonload through bombings, and many of our girls died in the forest, while waiting to be liberated.

We were kept in Luebeck for about three to four weeks. Finally, a Czech officer arrived with a group of Red Cross workers. They registered all Czech citizens for repatriation to Czechoslovakia. Busses soon arrived and took us to the city Pilzen, near the German border. The city was filled with returnees from camps. The government took very good care of us. We were housed in a huge place that had served as quarters for German officers. Medical attention was given to those in need.

On my second day in Pilzen, I was told of a man, a complete stranger, who kept asking around about anybody from the Gedajlovic family. He left the address at which he could be found, and I went to meet him. He handed me a short note from my sister Rezsi, who was in Budapest. She had managed to survive. She had asked the man, who was going to Czechoslovakia in search of his family, to also inquire about anybody from the Gedajlovic family. The good man complied. I immediately set out for Budapest. I left Yolan and Fanny in Pilzen with the understanding that they would stay put until I returned. It took me two or three days to reach my destination.

The reunion with my sister was something I cannot even begin to describe. It is a memory for a lifetime. We stayed up the entire night and kept telling one another what we had experienced during the preceding months. There were tears of sorrow and tears of joy. Her story is, in itself, an amazing account of how a young girl, alone, managed to survive the hostile environment of Budapest after Szalasi came to power.

In a nutshell, here is Rezsi's account of her fight for survival.

Unable to return home after the German occupation of Hungary, she realized that her money would not last long. In order to survive, she would have to start earning a living. Rezsi moved out of the hotel and rented a room with a Hungarian family. Her landlady was a kind person. Upon learning that Rezsi could design and sew, she soon gave her some work. She even recommended Rezsi to many of her friends so that, for the time being, Rezsi's immediate money problems were solved.

The situation in Hungary did not remain stable. Deportation, arrests, and even shooting of Jews on the streets became common occurrences. The Nyilos Militia was worse than even the most cruel SS men. In Hungary, every person had to be registered with the police. At the time, Rezsi's only official identification was as a Jew. She realized that she would not be able to survive with her identification. She had to get false papers as a gentile and quickly! I no longer remember the details of how she managed to get her new identity papers, but I think her landlady was instrumental in helping her.

For starters, it was necessary to report her as "no longer living at her recorded address". Her new address was now given as "returned to Bilky". Next, it was important to find a reliable place to stay, a place where not too many questions would be asked. Among the former landlady's friends, she found a willing helper, a kind lady whose husband was a high officer in the army. The lady was willing to shelter her in the basement of a huge apartment building where she had a large, fully-enclosed locker. It was not exactly a luxurious room, with only a small window opening into the yard. In order to protect herself in case of interrogation, Rezsi forced herself to learn every known Catholic prayer. Many Jews with false papers were uncovered by this method. If one did not know the prayers in this Catholic country, one had to be a Jew. Jewish men were very easily identified by their circumcision. Rezsi did housework since she no longer had a place to do her sewing.

Two Jewish girls were hiding out in a nearby basement. Somebody must have become suspicious and reported them to the authorities. The girls were interrogated right there in the yard. Rezsi had the misfortune to walk by as she was returning from work to her basement room, which had an entrance through the same yard. She was stopped and her identification checked. The authorities knew of Jews hiding with false Christian identification papers and applied the common test, which was to recite some prayers. Whatever prayer they thought of, she knew. Her hands were, by that time, well worn from hard work, which proved to be a good omen for her. They even checked her blond hair to see if it was natural. If dyed, the roots would be a dead giveaway. She passed all the tests. However, the two girls from the other side of the yard were shot on the spot. At night, her benefactor, the officer's wife, came down, embraced her and while crying said to her, "I did not think I would ever see you alive." Well Rezsi survived and was liberated by the Russians in February of 1945. Her life was no longer in danger as before, but the Russians were not like the British or Americans. Each day brought such horrors as rape, looting and even shootings. She still had to be very careful. The damp basement and her excessive smoking during a year of such extreme tension left a permanent scar not only on her physical but also on her mental health.

I stayed in Budapest only two days and rushed back to Pilzen to pick up Yolan and Fanny. Another pleasant surprise awaited me there. Fanny had found her brother, Ernest, or the other way around, Ernest had found Fanny. He was a soldier in the Czechoslovakian Western Army. Ernest managed to get leave for three weeks. All of us began our return trip to Bilky, through Budapest, where we met Rezsi. Rezsi chose to remain in Budapest. She was just not sure whether there was anything to return to. At this point, the Czechoslovakia of 1938 was reestablished. That meant Carpathia would rejoin the Republic. But there were rumors circulating that the Russians would not relinquish Carpathia.

We arrived in Cop, the border town between Slovakia and Carpathia. If it was under Czech rule, it certainly wasn't apparent. Russian soldiers were everywhere, supplemented by local militia in support of the local Russian-oriented government. The writing was on the wall. Czechoslovakia would not get back this part of her territory.

We finally arrived in Bilky. Our house was standing, intact, but the furniture was missing. Our miller, a Russian, was nice to us. He brought back some of our furniture. He told us who took some of the other furnishings. Soon we were able to get our house in good shape. Fanny and Ernest stayed with us, as their house was damaged for some reason, with its roof torn off. Inside the roof, which lay in the yard, Fanny found about $150 in American currency, hidden before the deportation. During my two weeks' stay, Russia officially declared the annexation of the former Carpathian territories, henceforth to be called Zakarpatska Oblast. Not surprisingly, it was all framed in a fancy declaration by both the Czech and Russian governments. They proclaimed in the brotherly agreement that any citizen of Carpathia had the right to opt for either citizenship. But the Russians closed the borders shortly thereafter.

Yolan and Fanny decided to stay in Bilky. Ernest had to return to his army post and I decided to leave with him. With the Russian soldiers raping any girl they found, especially those alone, I was happy to have Ernest with me on my return to Budapest. We had some difficulty getting out. But by posing as a married couple, and Ernest being in uniform, we were able to get across to Slovakia and Hungary. Fanny and Yolan realized their mistake and came out six weeks later, with great difficulty. They had to be smuggled across the border to Slovakia with the help of a professional smuggler.

I arrived back in Budapest where I met an old schoolmate friend of mine. Her sister was married to a Czech policeman, a gentile, who had managed to protect her throughout the war. My friend invited me to stay at her sister's place until we got established in our own home. I was reluctant to do so, and accepted only when I was assured that the invitation was with her sister's consent. They were exceptionally nice to me and of course, I reciprocated by sewing some dresses for them. In the meantime, Rezsi met friends going to Jablonec who promised to let her know if there were any good possibilities for resettlement.

Soon, I received a letter from Rezsi, saying she thought the city of Jablonec was promising and that we should settle there permanently. She was going there immediately and I should come as soon as possible, which I did. To my great surprise, a complete stranger greeted me at the station. Rezsi could not make it to the station, I was told, and since he came there everyday anyway, he volunteered to bring me to Rezsi's place. I was told by Rezsi that this was not our apartment, but belonged to this stranger whose name was Tibor. He had found an apartment for the Bernsteins, Rezsi's friends, who had urged her to come to Jablonec. Rezsi said it would not be easy to get our own apartment. Maybe Ernest could help. In the meantime, Tibi promised to stay with the Bernsteins and we would get his place, until the rental board approved a place of our own. Yolan and Fanny came shortly afterwards, and the four of us stayed together in Tibi's place. We all had to start doing something, even if we had to start over from scratch. We had nothing. Tibi turned out to be extremely helpful in every possible way. When we told him we could make a living with our sewing but had no machine, and none were available to purchase, he got one for us. He was no stranger to the city. He had absolutely amazing connections. His father was well known before the war.

Tibi found us jobs, but Rezsi stayed home to look after the household and did some sewing. Business picked up so much that all four of us had to help in the evenings and on weekends. I had a job at one of the best salons in town, but had to help Rezsi at night, working sometimes until two o'clock in the morning. Tibi kept us company almost every night. Eventually, it would become too late for him to go to the Bernsteins, so he would sleep in a little room, with no bed, just a sofa He said that was fine with him, as long as he had his radio near him, and admitted he was very happy to have an adopted family, as he had been very lonely and depressed upon returning home and living alone. Tibi asked Rezsi whether he could join us at mealtimes. He would pay his share. We could hardly refuse after all he had done for us. I, for one, was not very happy in the beginning. I said to Rezsi "It seems to be trouble for me." She looked at me and said, "How could you even say a thing like that? We are four of us and he is so very helpful to us."

Tibi's interest in me intensified. He had his way of surprising me. When I was walking home from work he would suddenly appear at my side. It was not long before Tibi made up his mind that he liked our family and wished to be a part of it. I was not ready for marriage and still quite depressed, while Tibi did not have any responsibilities at all. He roamed the city and occasionally picked up a load of cigarettes from one of his many friends to sell at a profit. As long as the money lasted, he did not do anything else. That type of life was not for me and I told him so. I could see a very capable individual in him and told him, "You can do anything if you set your mind to it. You do not have to be in the black market business." He promised to look around, investigate some serious connections and get something going in the field of his father's business. New licenses were not being issued, but he managed to get around that by getting permission to operate under his father's license.

It was not easy to break through, especially considering that he did not know much about costume jewelry and crystal cut glass. But, with the help of his father's good friend, Otto Fischl, he managed to learn fast and run a very successful enterprise.

To make a long story short, he gave up his black market connections. We got married on the March 16, 1946, at City Hall and exchanged vows again at our synagogue, on the 24th of March. I did not want to wear a white gown. My boss, a friend of my husband, presented me with a beautiful suit and gorgeous white blouse, made in her salon.

After two years of marriage, the Communists overthrew the government. There was no future for us there. By then, I was pregnant with our first child, and we were on the run again.