We were walking toward the garrison. Soldiers with bayonets crowded the street. The huge building of the garrison was policed by the regular militia. In the backyard, military vehicles stood in readiness. The lower windows of the building were open. Strange, excited voices could be heard. There were four, five times as many soldiers as usual. We turned and walked toward the city. Many young men with suitcases or rucksacks carrying their belongings, all going opposite ways, toward the garrison. When we reached the Galago and passed several banks, we noticed soldiers crowding the banks as well, making their last transactions. Around the main police department there was a new crowd: policemen with shiny new guns and pistols. Cars and motorcycles ready to take off at a moment's notice. The air was menacing. People frightened and numb. They do not dare ask questions. But I hear a four-year-old: "Mominko bude vojna?" (Mummy, will there be war?) People are still walking along the sidewalks of the Galago, but there is no rhythm in their steps. They only drag themselves apathetically as if to say: What else can we do in this uncertainty?

I reach home. Before I enter I see my friend Moskovic Bozsi and her mother, their eyes red from crying, sadness enveloping their entire bodies. "What's happened?" I ask. "My brother and brother-in-law were called up without warning. Children and wives left behind in a vacuum. Where are they? No one knows. This uncertainty is just unbearable. We simply don't know what to do or who to turn to!" "I didn't realize that they enlist older married men. It has been at least five years since they served in the army, hasn't it?" "Yes." What does it all mean? I couldn't go home. I said good-bye to them and walked toward the little "Savanyu-viz" park where I often found Mother with Mrs. Klein on a park bench.

Cars are honking. I hear a group singing. Who could be in the mood for singing at such a time? Now I see it. Two huge army delivery trucks filled with soldiers, who sing on orders. My eyes fill up with tears, a great sadness envelops me. From the depths of my being a cry arises--no, not a cry, an animal's howl--"No, no, no!" I look around. There is stillness. My inner voice is not heard by anybody else. "Please stay among us and let there be peace and not war! No, we don't want war. Do you hear me?"

Just then another vehicle crowded with unfamiliar soldiers passed me. And they were singing on the orders of a superior officer. One of the soldiers noticed me. He waved good-bye. I waved back. What do you feel now, unknown soldier? Whom did you leave behind? Mother was sitting with Mrs. Klein (Rozsi Neny). Her Gyula had also been conscripted. The unknown soldiers suddenly have faces--faces of friends and relatives.

Bicycles and motorcycles are racing past us, all rushing into the unknown. What does tomorrow hold for us? No one knows. But I am full of fear, full of dread and premonitions. I recall my friend Waldman's words: "Rozsi, you will be nursing us, taking care of us yet." Oh no, no, wasn't the First World War enough? For four years Father was in the army. Does every generation have to go through the terrors of war? Father's terrible stories are still fresh in my mind. Oh, G-d, make tomorrow a peaceful day, take away the threat of war! Oh, please G-d, help us!

September 15, 1938

Do you hear the sirens? Listen! The shrill sirens cut through the air. What is it? What does it mean? An air raid? Mobilization? Proclamation of war? People are running from all directions toward the sound of the sirens. The tension is such that everyone fears the worst. I'll be different, I promise, and continue on my way. Why don't I do the same as others do? I am no different from anyone! The sound of the sirens increases in volume. I turn around and run with the other late comers. I don't have to reach the scene; I've found out. The rubber factory is on fire. Why do I continue running, instead of turning back? I reach the factory. A crowd stands watching the firemen at work. A huge black cloud of smoke is rising above our heads. I watch it moving with the wind and I am lost in my thoughts. My G-d, how strange this whole thing seems to me. There was the sound of one loud siren, but my ears hear hundreds, even thousands. One factory was on fire, but I saw hundreds, even thousands burning before my eyes, in my imagination houses, whole towns, cities, entire countries were burning, more and more, enveloping the whole of Europe. But the fire still didn't stop spreading. It crosses the oceans, destroys everything in its path. I watch. The fire, yes the fire is destroying the whole world--Oh my G-d, help!! Don't you hear the sirens? "Help, please help!" I shout--but no one hears my cries, the commotion is too big!

People, my fellow men, where are you? You who ran to the rubber factory when it started to burn, where are you now when you are needed? Don't you see the world on fire? Where did you all so suddenly disappear to? And you, firemen, where are you? Don't you hear the shrieks of a thousand sirens? You came and saved the rubber factory, where are you hiding now? Now, when we need you more than ever!

I look around. Where am I? I find myself on a deserted street, with not a soul around me. Only my voice is echoed by the emptiness of the tree-lined street. I touch my eyes. What was that? A dream? A hallucination? We are not at war yet, what caused my anxiety? Why did I scream and shout just now?

There is no war, no war. For how long? For how long will I be able to say it: "No war"? I feel the threat of war in my bones, in my whole being. It's in the air everywhere. It's coming, it's coming soon, enveloping us, killing us all!

Peace, peace, peace!!! I scream again and again. The streets are empty, nobody hears me. Peace and never, never war! I beg. But the people don't hear me, they are all deaf from the noises of the military airplanes overhead, from the armoured trucks and other inventions of the Devil himself. They do not seek, because their eyes are covered with a black cloud. They do not feel, because they have lost all shred of humanity.

But you, my G-d, you hear, see and feel. Please save what little humanity is left on this earth and please, G-d, guide us from this uncertainty toward a true liberation.

Little did I realize how prophetic was my foresight.

October 14, 1938

I sincerely believe that in world history one will find but few days filled with so many events and political changes as these days of last week, and the particular day I wish now to describe. It started with Lord Runciman's trip to Prague, our capital. The problem: minority. Lord Runciman went back after an unsuccessful attempt to bring clarity, order to a complicated matter. Soon afterward, Chamberlain flew to Berlin to meet personally with Hitler and straighten out his demand for Sudentenland, where Germans were a majority. This was soon after Hitler proclaimed at Nuremberg that he would not abandon the 3 1/2 million Germans, a minority living in utter disgrace in Czechoslovakia. His declaration of "liberating" his fellow Germans was a clear attack on our country, and so as to be sure he meant every word, he greatly offended our president as well. The Germans in Czechoslovakia are better off than the rest of us, this is an exceptionally free and democratic country. Hitler's statement was pure provocation, and now we all feel something is going to happen soon to our beloved country, something horrifying and frightening--unless our allies, England and France, come to our rescue--and we doubt this will happen.

Well, Chamberlain visited Hitler again, but to no avail. His regal bearing, with his tall silk hat and ubiquitous umbrella, seemed ridiculous next to Hitler's menacing appearance. That fool Chamberlain gave up Sudentenland with one stroke of a pen, mutilating our beloved homeland and proving to Hitler the weakness of his enemy. I wept to see this. Inexperienced as I am in politics, I was terribly frightened for our future.

Our Prime Minister, Hodza, resigned, and a military government, led by Syroog, took over. We all feel that war is inevitable. Posters are everywhere, calling on young men to be alert "in case your country needs you." Everyone is hoarding food, blankets and clothing, and of course, gas masks. There is no doubt that our money will be devalued. Everyone is shopping, buying even unnecessary things, after all, it's better than money!

On September 24th, general mobilization. Every man aged 40 or younger must become a soldier once more. People have become confused. Houses are empty, everyone seems to congregate in the streets. People, people everywhere. Frightened, timid, ill-tempered peasants and cultured white-collar workers, all asking, guessing, hoping; what will be next? We have all known since yesterday that something would happen since Chamberlain could not agree with Hitler and angrily went back yesterday to London. What did Hitler demand of him? Voices are becoming louder and more excited as more and more people congregate.

November 3, 1938

Another day to remember forever in our history. This is the day when Hungary, after twenty years, and without a gunshot, got back the so-called "Felvidiki" territory: Kassa, Munkacs, Ungvar and surrounding areas suddenly became Hungarian territory. As I got up today and intended to go to work, as usual, the streets again were filled with curious and anxious people, thirstily hoping to find out more about our precarious situation. I reached the Czech high school. Everywhere students who were not allowed to enter their classrooms were sent home by their teachers. I observe the red, white and green flags (Hungarian) on several building, and suddenly, on every side, I hear only Hungarian spoken. People are embracing and weeping openly for joy: Hungarians are proudly proclaiming their new-found liberty. I cannot take it. I, who was brought up in Czech schools and learned to love the gentle, open-hearted Czech people, could not be indifferent to that scene. I was quite shaken by it. No, I can't go into the office just yet. Turning around, I notice a large crowd of Czech people standing in line in front of the bank, hoping it will open earlier today. There the faces are not jubilant. Their eyes are red from crying, their voices low and uncertain. What a contrast to the Hungarians! At 18 I know little about politics. Why do such unjust things happen? I was intimate with the Czech people, have met many of them at school and in business. They're honest, sincere, very human and culturally way above the Hungarians! Our city has been enriched by their presence here and they have not oppressed other nationalities. There was a freedom even for the Jews in the last twenty years, and some of our co-religionists have prospered. The Galago, a beautiful new modern section of our town, built and inhabited by Czechs (mainly bureaucrats), is now emptied out. The Czech police are still guiding the traffic, even though somewhat automatically.

The streets start to fill up with people wearing the Hungarian tricolour. Seeing this causes me great pain. Where do I belong?

I had to go collecting bills "before they leave," my boss instructed. First I enter the Legio Druzstro. The manager hands me the cheque, then with a sudden jerky movement he pushes the invoice away. "For the last time," he says. "We are packing and leaving, you are staying." "You had it all right here, didn't you? Do you expect it will be better for you?" He was obviously too upset; his bitterness was oozing out of him. "Why is he blaming us? Is Chamberlain Jewish?" I left him and went into the bakery. Here the manager also paid his bill in full and sadly, but in a friendly way, said good-bye to me. The place was a shambles: boxes everywhere, signs of moving in a rush.

Purma of the delicatessen declared he was staying, as did Bata. Outside, Czech soldiers were gathering in groups. I overheard one saying, "Where is truth? The God of Hungary is carrying it." At noon the city was crowded with all kinds of vehicles: trucks, station wagons, bicycles. Most carried furniture and personal belongings. I could hear people buying up important items for just pennies. My G-d, how can one profit from the misery of others? Now they demand more, these awful Hungarians! Nyitra and Bratislava, all of Slovakia. Volosin, the second Ukrainian Prime Minister, has resigned, as did Tisza, Prime Minister of Slovakia.

November 9, 1938

"Bet sich aus alles gits." A greeting one hears on the eve of Yom Kippur. In our office the mood is truly the same as before the "Day of Judgement-Yom Kippur." The streets are deserted, silence greets one everywhere. Here and there, one or another last straggling Czech citizen appears. Then quiet again. Fresh announcements on wall posters read: "Citizens, come out and greet with joy our Hungarian liberators!"

The abandoned streets are scary. But I am not afraid. The guns I hear from quite close by have no effect on me. Yet I rush, I start to hurry, faster and faster, for suddenly I realize that at home my dear ones might be worried about me. I was not mistaken. I smile happily in the midst of my family. It's a false safety, but I feel loved, and somehow I always wanted to be very deeply loved. It's a very important realization for me.

November 10, 1938

National holiday: free day Friday. Instead of going to the office, we go out to see "the Entrance of the Hungarians." The white, red and green flags adorn every house. Some windows lit with candles, flowers and Persian rugs hang from others. Instead of the familiar Czech uniformed policemen, I see ridiculous-looking Hungarian policemen with their towering fancy hats and feathers. So many flowers everywhere! Youths carrying enlarged pictures of Horthy (their president)--the streets have become gardens full of flowers and colourful, expectant people.

Suddenly, new, strange cars appear, each carrying banners: "Eszak felÈ menetel¸nk, testvereink hivnak-megy¸nk." In translation: Marching eastward to the call of our brethren, we are coming! The mob is getting bigger and bigger. I have never seen so many people! Everyone is in the streets. Everyone wants to have a glimpse of the incoming Hungarians. "How many more hours do we have to wait?" asks a citizen impatiently. We hear all kinds of slogans, including praise for Hitler and the Duce. I shudder.

Suddenly one voice starts to sing, then another and yet another. I listen. "I-ten ald meg a Magyart." I recognize it: "God bless the Hungarians," their national anthem. Yes, from now on this shall be our national anthem too. We wait still another hour. Finally, about three thousand soldiers march in to the music of "R·kÛczi indulo." I do not wait for the speeches of the welcoming committee, I feel too tired and worn out. It's almost eleven o'clock, time to go to sleep.

December 21, 1938

For weeks I couldn't write. Often I sat before my diary and no words came out. Every word, every letter is dictated from the depths of my being. At times I must express my feelings. The paper is patient, it listens while I complain. What made me write today? Braun Laczi came to the office and innocently remarked, "You are not the same person, Rozsilas, that you were two years ago. You used to be cheerful and full of pep; but there is only sadness and suffering in your expression now. Even your walk has changed. You are dragging yourself like an old lady. Yet I know how young you are; after all, we went to school together." As I went home, walking slowly in the drizzle, I thought about Laczi's words. "How old am I? Nineteen going on fifty. Why do I feel so depressed?"

Suddenly I recalled my childhood. At first I was a beautiful child (so my mother said). I recall only a thin, pale, freckle-faced little girl-child, who at ten already dreamed about loving "boys." For in reality no boy I knew would look at me. I knew many and liked many, but no one liked me! So I stayed home, while other girls were on the run, and entertained myself with books. I loved to read. My second passion was my doll. Hand-made from rags and with painted features, it was ugly, but I loved it very much at 13. Secretly I visited my doll in the attic: talked to it, praised it, dressed and caressed it. Before leaving it I always gave it a good-night kiss.

At fourteen my looks were still the same. I felt ugly and undesirable. I couldn't understand how my family could love me. But I wanted so badly to be pretty! My G-d, why did you create such an ugly duckling that no boy is capable of loving? At this point I became a loner. Avoiding adults and peers alike, my only interest was school. I threw myself into my studies and became a top student.

I knew I was different from other girls. Gossip was not my cup of tea, and secret meetings with boys held no interest for me either. I wanted to be a "creator": to create something lasting, something which would remain after I am long gone. To become immortal was my goal. At sixteen I attended business school. Still a good student, I drifted in other ways. I wondered what the future would bring. I read a great deal, occasionally saw a movie.

We had no radio, and television had not yet been invented. Life seemed boring. What is more, I became very shy, especially with the opposite sex, and ran away from boys for fear that I might say something ridiculous.

At sixteen my appearance started to change. Where I had been flat before, I became round. My voice took on a singing lilt, and people began to notice "my good figure," "beautiful eyes," or "pleasant disposition." All this was new to me, and I basked with pleasure in the many praises suddenly being heaped upon me.

In 1936 school finished abruptly. "You must go to work to support the family," my mother told me. And so, at sixteen, only two weeks after finishing school, I entered the office of the "M¸malom" (flour mill) as cashier, bookkeeper, typist and secretary. Another four weeks passed and I was in love with one of my two bosses, a man fourteen years my senior. Was it really love? Let's say I liked him a great deal. A serious, highly intelligent, cultured young man, and I found him extremely bright and well informed on every subject. I also liked his "correct" behaviour with me. He was always respectful toward me, never authoritative as a superior. He was almost twice my age: 30 to my 16 years, and he was everything I ever wanted in a man. His even temper and low voice excited me; his "secret smile," as I called it, unbeknownst to me at that time, covered his own embarrassment.

No, it couldn't have been love; it was only infatuation for, later, when all my interest in him had waned, I perceived the same interest in him toward me. Yes he started to like me very much, but I did not care anymore. I was hurt and disappointed. As a cashier at the company, I handled thousands and thousands of koronas. One day my cash didn't balance. Later he found the mistake. But before he did, he blamed me and questioned my honesty. That turned me off.

Every day brought us new sorrows. New anti-Jewish laws were every day occurrences. Higher education was long ago forbidden to us. They called it Numerus Clausus. Lately public high schools became unattainable for us as well. We had a curfew. By 8 p.m. we had to be off the streets. Since I was working till 6 p.m. and mother expected me for supper, it gave me only very limited time to spend with Lulu. Time which became very precious to both of us.

More and more Jewish stores changed hands from one day to the next. Jews were forced to sell their businesses by an allotted time. This meant that on the last day before closing the price they got for many years of labour amounted to very little.

Before going to the ghetto we had to wear the "yellow star." Funny, but I was proud to wear it. It declared openly: I am a Jewess.

One day, coming home from work, I saw a gathering of young men. I knew them all. All Christians. Some were neighbours, some friends from school. I straightened out, looked at them triumphantly as saying: "How do you like my star? I got it for bravery!" As I hastened my steps, to my horror they all turned away so as not to meet me face to face. Cowards! All cowards! None would acknowledge me. "You bastards, Hungarian cowards!" I muttered silently. I will show you yet!

Beside being partner in the mill, Lulu also inherited the family grocery store, which his mother was managing. A large sign above the store declared his real name: Israel Weiss. One day I was passing by when two German solders were making fun of it. One threw a stone in the window and indignantly said to the partner: "Can you imagine a name like Israel Weiss still existing?" "Not for very long," answered the other. I was heart-broken.

I hope that my children and grandchildren will never know sorrow and pain, will not face the degradation of a second-class citizenship, or worse, for hatred and loathing, for no other reason than being a Jew, almost as bad as no place to go, no place to hide!

My children will be free of persecution and proud to be Jewish! This is why our sufferings are a thousand-fold. There must be a reason for it! I never hurt anybody, neither did Father or Grandfather! Why, oh why are they hurting us?

Ungvar, March 15, 1939

A national Hungarian holiday. Everyone must celebrate. Home from work, I recall the huge placards about the fireworks and requesting all citizens to gather at the main square in solidarity with the nation.

But instead, this is what happened: around 6:00 p.m. we hear heavy mortars from guns, artillery and sub-machine guns, a steady frightening noise recalling war, not celebration. What is happening? People become panicky and run for cover. I turn on the radio as soon as I get home. Slovensko has declared its own independence, Tiso has become its prime minister and president. Dr. Hacha, who was the Czechoslovakian president, is leaving for Berlin. The Hungarians in Ungvar, fearing for their position, are attacking the dissenters. Mobilization once more. Darkness has fallen on our city in more than one way. Windows have to be darkened, so that the approaching enemy airplanes won't find the city. We listen, and fear grips us. Ungvar is a border city and the sound of heavy artillery does not subside. The family has gone to bed and is pretending to sleep. I cannot sleep. I am anxious. I turn on the radio but I don't want to disturb my family, so I read the newspaper instead.

Trash. War news and anti-Jewish articles. They will soon legalize anti-Semitism. Tomorrow in the parliament the "Jewish Paper" will be on the agenda. How to clip the Jews' wings? How to control their entrance into universities and businesses? How to share their wealth or rather to rob them of everything including their dignity? Officially yesterday one transport left from Berlin for Eretz. Many of my friends were among them. Good-bye Braun Laci, Friedman Julius, Klein Smilu and my other schoolmates, may G-d protect you! Good luck and may you find compassion wherever you will be, may G-d's protection hover over you until you reach our beloved Eretz Israel-Palestine. And please tell Klafter and the others there to cheer up and never to lose their optimism, even though their hard work tilling the land and carrying guns for safety is not easy. They must believe that change is in the air, that we will all soon be free from their unbearable galut. And you, my friends, do not forget, upon your arrival, to kiss the earth, our dear land, embrace the orange trees and the ancient olive trees. Go to the river Jordan and see your image in its crystal-clear water, and travel far and wide in this precious country, carrying our messages everywhere. And when you reach the abandoned Western Wall in Jerusalem (the only sacred remnant from our Second Temple), touch the old stones tenderly and let your emotions take over. Cry, cry fearlessly, not only for yourself and your families, but for all of us, for every Jew left behind in the galut, for our memory is long, and we recall Jewish freedom before the Second Temple fell in ruins! Before the Jews were forced into the diaspora. Declare it aloud, that we trust, we pray--what's more, we know, that soon our nation will be free again. Our bent shoulders will straighten up and we will know liberty once more.

The next day I anxiously turn on the radio. Dr. Hacha (the Czechoslovakian president) was forced to give over Moravia and the rest of Czechoslovakia to the Germans. At 10:00 a.m. German soldiers stood guard before the Hradcany in Prague. The beloved flag was torn down, in its place Hitler's Hackenkreuz was hoisted. "Heil Hitler," "Sieg Heil," I hear thundering. No, it cannot be true! My G-d! What will happen to all our fellow Jews? Will Hitler repeat here too what he did to the Jews in Germany? I am stunned, a suffocating feeling overwhelms me; I have to run out. I walk the streets aimlessly--I who was brought up as a Czech citizen, with Czech schooling, teachers and friends, and indoctrinated with democracy over the past twenty years. It was like tearing my own flesh apart, when Czechoslovakia was grabbed from all sides by the enemy.

When I came home, the radio was blaring loudly. I recognized Pet–fy's "Freedom" verse being recited over the radio. "To the God of all Hungary we swear, never to become slaves again, we swear!" Am I seeing right? My mother repeats the verse with the voice in the radio, her eyes misty with tears and recollection of the past. I watch her wordlessly--no, I will not disturb her. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asks me.

I would like to scream, to shout: "See, look at my mother and dare to say that Jews are not good Hungarians! You can persecute them, hate them openly, bring anti-Jewish laws against them, but the Jew who was born and raised in this land, who attended Hungarian schools, who loved Pet–fy, Madacs, V–r–s, Marty, Ady Endre and the rest of the poets will never be anything else but Hungarian!" She is not the only one, there's a whole generation of Jews one meets, who know that no decree or rule against them can ever uproot them, for they will never stop loving this land they call "home." I was truly wondering: do the real Hungarians feel as fiercely "Hungarian" as the Jews here do?

The Hungarian troops are reaching the Polish border, according to the latest news. The creation of a Polish-Hungarian block is expected. Czechoslovakia has ceased to be, I hear over the radio. Soon Hitler will arrive to oversee his new victories. Fear grips us anew. Surely the Germans will follow up with their anti-Semitic, anti-Jewish laws in their new territories. What will become of us?

And what will happen to the many thousand Jews who already left their homes in anticipation of such an event and congregated in Brune and Preshov in order to be nearer to a port, to an ocean, to reach Palestine? All caught unexpectedly? Will there be no end to Jewish suffering? I dread to think of tomorrow; what is yet in store for us?

March 16, 1939

The Hungarian troops are marching toward the Russian borders. The hospital is full of wounded people and more and more are dying. Rubin's wife was hit by shrapnel when she was hanging clothes in her own backyard. At home seven tiny children left orphaned, crying for their mother. The Hungarian troops are moving slowly. When they reached the territory occupied by the Ukrainians, they met the enemy face-to-face. Even the women fought. The Ukrainian women are famous for their courage. Little do they know of the German force, of that of their allies. In Hungary the mobilization is up to age 52, that is almost every able-bodied man--and the fight continues.

Tisso, the prime minister of Slovensko, asked for Hitler's help. Thus, Slovakia too fell under Germany's protectorate.

The Hungarian parliament voted to adopt the new Jewish Laws. Of course, we knew it was coming, yet we never believed it would happen. There is just no end to Jewish trust and optimism. My colleague Waldman says: There are two kinds of Jews. The pessimists, who by now are all overseas, and the optimists, who are in concentration camps or who will land in concentration camps.

March 20, 1939

I am extremely nervous, an accepted state of mind for all of us. I simply refuse to think, I pretend I have no feelings and thus I might be spared from more pain. If I start to think, a rage gets hold of me, I am so embittered. I am hardly responsible for what I say these days. Please G-d in Heaven, open up a better future for us. There is just no way out that I can see. I pity my generation which never knew what it is to be young. The past years will never ever come back. I am approaching my twentieth year, but I haven't even lived yet! Until now I was full of hope. But today even that is gone, the political situation is worsening every day, I dread getting up in the morning for I don't know what to expect any more. I was planning to vacation in Bratislava, but the Germans arrived there before I did. Besides, the trains aren't running any more, there's no mail, no telephone service, no newspapers. Better yet, I often wish there were no radio either. I am sick of listening to Hitler's lies! The louder he is, the more people believe him, follow him. Lies, lies, lies. How can anyone believe so much evil about the Jews? His voice haunts me, there's just no place to hide! If I could only fall asleep until the end of the war, and get up to a new, purified world! Silly wish, unattainable craving!

There was a mass funeral Saturday for the fallen heroes: all 23 and 24-year-old boys. They lost their lives for the "patrie" their homeland. "Your names will be remembered forever," said our mayor. And what about you, Roth, Klein and Silberberg? What about all the Jewish heroes lying wounded in hospitals? Who cares about you? They do not accept you as "one of the boys," the patrie does not need you! Your blood is being shed in vain. Only the Jews care about the Jews. The streets were black with people--Jewish people--when we buried our own dead. Did anybody else care? Of course not! Good-bye, Roth and the others. Sleep in peace. It's better that you should not know what I overheard from a Hungarian bystander at your funeral: "We need a hero to throw a bomb into this crowd. That way we would lose quite a few Jews." How far can bestiality reach? Humanity does not deserve that the sun should shine on it. People are so rotten. Surely the end of the world is in sight. G-d, do not be silent. Enough! Please stop the world from utter destruction!

March 26, 1939

One week before Passover I am very depressed. Before me some English books to study. I push them aside. What for? I will never reach England or America. The Evil Forces will swallow us here. Who needs the English? I try to mend some stockings. So many have accumulated lately. Years ago, Mother used to pay me one crown for three pairs. Since I didn't get any other spending money, I used to mend until my eyes hurt me. Since then, mending socks for the whole family has become my job! But today I find it boring.

April 29, Wednesday

I went to the movies for a change: Forbidden Roads, a French film. Well, today again our city was bombed. The wounded were taken to the already overcrowded hospitals. The dead were buried. Yet we are not at war--officially. Not yet! Hitler has reached Memel; now Danzig and Poland are feared to be next.

Manya has received her affidavit. She could have gone now officially to America--except it is too late!

May 1, 1939

How can one change so thoroughly? I have become apathetic to everything. My sadness is now permanent, I have forgotten how to smile. I wanted to smile today! So much is happening, but I am unable even to do that. The mill is quiet, no one is buying. The Jewish Law has become reality. Who knows, I might lose my job, too. There is even a chance that the mill will close for good. No, I cannot write, I am too deep in despair.

Sunday, May 14, 1939

National Holiday. The hand of St. Istvan is carried around the city with great pomp. Yet they have forgotten what he preached 900 years ago. The new slogan, "Beat the Jew," comes to the forefront now.

May 15, Shevuot

My brother Ern– arrived for the holiday, but I haven't had a chance to talk with him alone. I love Shevuot for many reasons. Our shul and homes are decorated with flowers and the giving of the Torah is emphasized. And of course it is ushering in spring.

But the weather was fall-like and in my mind I repeated the remark, often heard lately: the last spring. We are at the threshold of a new world war. Will the sun ever shine upon us again? Will there be new springs for us? New hopes? New beginnings? And what is this physical pain I have been feeling lately in my right shoulder blade? Before my eyes a long-forgotten event has come to my mind. Danyi (Lulu's partner) is walking slowly, dragging his feet in the courtyard of the mill, with an X-ray picture in his hands. I watch him through the window. He is only 25, but for a few years now he's had tuberculosis. Entering the office, he shows me some travel brochures. Davos, Rome, Milan, how do you like it? There is a saying that Rome is so beautiful, that seeing Rome, one can die peaceful. He paled and hurriedly replied: "No, no, no. I'd better skip Rome, but I would choose life, if it were up to me!" I felt embarrassed; what a stupid remark it was for me to make.

I don't like Danyi, for he is autocratic, coarse and domineering. He is my other boss, partner to Lulu. But lately he's been losing weight, looks sickly, and I feel very sorry for his condition.

Lately I myself have also been losing weight, am extremely nervous, and my shoulders and back hurt me. Tuberculosis is a dreaded disease, a highly contagious one. How many times in the past did Danyi come so close to me that I could almost feel his breath? I knew he did it on purpose, and I didn't want to offend him by pulling back abruptly. Now I am afraid that he was the cause of my present condition, and I just know I am going to die of tuberculosis.

May 26 1939

I visited Dr. Kleinbinger. Nothing wrong with my lungs. I am simply overworked and overtired.

August 30, 1939

Oh, there was plenty to write, but instead of my diary, I wrote lengthy letter to my brother Ernest. He understands me, and to him I can pour out my misery. I am getting more and more estranged from my mother. I complain and "Ern–" understands. Or does he really? He is a boy, mostly away from home. How does he know what I have to go through every day? But once I can put my pain down on paper, it's out of my system, and life continues, or rather renews itself.

On July 30, 1939, Manya's wedding took place. Lulu came to the chupa. I felt very grown up when he congratulated me. I needed a rest. Three days after the wedding I left for Hust where my older sister Louisa lives. I had hardly settled in when a telegram arrived: "Come back as soon as possible, Mr. Weiss (Lulu) and Krohnemer were mobilized for forced labour."

I had a good time in Hust again. I saw Cin a great deal. He told me he likes me very much, asked if I would consider marriage. This frightened me. I didn't think he was that serious! He was fun to be with, but I don't even like him. I certainly could never love him! Maybe it is a good thing that I am leaving Hust after only a three day visit. I must go back to work.

Since Manya's wedding, to be exact, I've been noticed in a young man's company more and more often. People are talking. Lulu, how strange it is! My neighbour wanted to know whether you will marry me. How nosy they are! You and I know that we get along well and enjoy each other's company, but that's all. Lulu will marry someone else. He met her a few years ago when I was only an adolescent. I know he loves her and they correspond. Should this hinder me? Should I refuse to go out with him for this reason? Isn't that ridiculous? I enjoy his company. He is older, smarter, brighter, more intelligent than any boy I know; I like to talk with him. And he? "She's grown up before my eyes," he said to Krohnemer, "what a treasure. Why didn't I notice her before?" So our friendship is growing, and in his company I forget my mistakes.

World-shaking news: the Russians and Germans agreed not to attack each other: a strange "peace" agreement; how long will it last? Hitler demands Danzig and the Polish Corridor. Poland refuses his demands. The whole of Europe is mobilized and stands ready for the coming events. A nerve-wracking show. For over a year now there's been talk about the "war." These uncertainties make everyone sick.

September 6, 1939

It will be a week this coming Friday that the war between Germany and Poland began. Poisoned cigarettes and poisoned candies from the German airplanes killed many innocent people, mainly women and children. The Germans are steadily advancing. Already they've reached Katovice. They are bombing indiscriminately--even abandoned farms. England and France finally intended to intervene. They were Czechoslovakia's allies as well. If only they had kept their promises and met Hitler when he first attacked Czechoslovakia! But politics make strange bed-fellows. Surely those countries don't care about Poland either--but now they see that Hitler has to be stopped somewhere, or else he will occupy England and France as well. People are dying by the thousands, and it seems petty to me to ask for a raise in such uncertain times. But we have to eat and I am working extremely hard. In the past, they raised my salary without my having to ask. This time Danyi insisted: 10 peng– will be a nice addition, and Lulu raised it to 15. I need every cent now, what with Manya married--which means she doesn't contribute any more to our household. Father earns very little, not enough to live on, and I give Mother every cent. She takes this for granted and still treats me like a slave. If I wish to leave the lights on after 10:00, she shuts them off. "Enough reading, electricity costs money!" Whose money? I often wonder. I am the bread-winner. But I keep still--after all, one must respect one's parents.

September 11, 1939

When did it really start? As I recall it was at Manya's wedding when my heart started to beat fast, and faster, as I saw Lulu approaching. In my elegant navy and white dress, I knew I looked good, and there was something provocative in his eyes also, as he approached me: "Now that Manya is married, you have become the 'big girl.' Today you even behave like one!" What did he mean? Well, I like him and I also derive personal satisfaction from knowing that my affection for him is not one-sided anymore. I admire his intelligence and his sharp judgement of people, and his wide knowledge of any subject at all. I learn constantly from him. Besides, there is no other boy in the city whom I care for. Lately I've had a desire for a steady boyfriend who would wait for me every day at the office and accompany me home, one with whom I could share my inner thoughts and who would understand me. My position at home is different from that of my elder sisters in this respect: if I were lucky enough to find a nice boy, my parents would surely give me permission to bring him home. Louisa and Manya were not permitted to meet with boys, so they did it secretly. Manya went so far as to meet a German soldier in secret! I knew Father would kill her if he found out, and so, even though I was against it, I had to cover up for her several times.

I am almost twenty years old, but I haven't met a suitable young man yet. All right! I wasn't looking for one! Sitting home all the time hasn't even given me the chance to meet any boys. Besides, I compare everyone with Lulu and well, I still like him best. What would a graphologist have to say, when I admit that even my handwriting has become just like his? I can sign his name and there just is no difference! By now, I know him quite well, and from his expressions I am almost able to read his thoughts.

If I want to be realistic, I know I could never become his wife. Why not? I know he respects me, even likes me as a person, but he is in love with another girl, who has his promise for marriage. She doesn't live in my city. She comes from Raho. Lulu met her when he served there in the Czech army and they now correspond. I certainly would not stand in the way of his happiness. I could never spoil his chances if he truly loves her. Tonight he and I promenaded for hours. I couldn't believe it was nine-thirty when I finally got home.

Why do I pity Lulu? So sad, so depressed, so without hope was he tonight! Lately, he's claimed he's lost his faith as well, life seems empty, without meaning; he feels intensely the suffering around him. My G-d, is he tormented! I try to reason with him, but to no avail. He likes me, says I am the only person he can pour out his heart to. He has no friends and never opens up in his home surroundings. He is really always silent with his family. If I could only change him! Yes, if I could shake him up and let him see the world a little bit more optimistically, if I could only somehow make him regain our faith. Please G-d, give me strength to accomplish this seemingly impossible task! Even if he won't be too religious, at least make him a believer as he was before! He always had a great talent for writing. At one time he wanted to be a newspaper reporter. Maybe it would be better if he followed his natural ability and pursued this desire. I know he wanted to write a novel. He succeeded in writing for a while, but lately nothing interests him. Even the book "The Second Job" is a pessimistic view of life, suffering galore in it. Is this why it was rejected?

Presently we made an agreement. We will see each other as much as possible but only as "friends." Never mind if people talk--as long as we have a good time together--as long as my parents do not forbid it. I would like to comply with his wishes. But I am afraid. Suppose I get used to him and fall in love with him once again? I would only hurt myself. He wants to marry another girl, and I will only be a friend. Yet I cannot deny myself the pleasure of his company, come what may. Never do I want to marry as Louisa or Manya did; I could never marry without love! I want to care, and share and love to the extent that it hurts, but to know that I am alive, that I am possessed, that whomever I marry, I will give myself without restraint. But what will happen if, instead, I keep steady company with Lulu?

September 26, 1939

Just arrived from Munkacs, where I was operated on for removal of my tonsils. I stayed a week in the hospital. While the taxi slowly approached my home I occupied myself with the following thoughts: No one knew the truth. I told them it was an emergency. When the doctor said I would eventually need an operation, I took a chance to have a quiet week in the hospital to recuperate mentally and physically.

There was a time when I was happy with the knowledge that I was well-liked, generally speaking. Today such generalities don't satisfy me. I need more. I cannot sacrifice my life for Lulu, but I cannot marry just anyone either. I can see my future. All my friends are married. I continue to work and lead the life I am used to.

I changed in the hospital. I have a clearer view of life now. In the past I was a romantic believer in utopia. Now I know for certain that I will have to compromise. So my life will be work, work, work. And I will smile, so that no one will be able to detect my unhappiness. I will take life as it comes. I will be friendly and try not to offend anyone, not to argue. And the years will follow each other, until one day I meet someone who will pass--not the man of my dreams, but someone with mutual interests. By then people will be saying, "She's not so young anymore," and knowing that Prince Charming exists only in fairy tales, I will consider his proposal, if it ever does come at all. Isn't this every woman's fate? Didn't my sisters, my mother, my grandmother follow this pattern? This is what is expected of every female, is it not? Oh, they tell me, you will be happy, you are capable of working out a fine marriage, make a man and children feel wanted. But what about me? Don't I count? I am a person too, besides being female! I don't, I don't.

Ungvar, Sept. 1940

By now we were a steady couple. I was very much in love with him and could hardly believe my good luck, that my feelings were reciprocated. Presently marriage was out of the question in these turbulent times. The war against the Jews was on, our boys were taken to forced labour one by one. No Jewish family was left intact.

My family was not too happy when they discovered I was going steady with my boss. "People are talking," my mother told me, but I didn't care. I begged father not to forbid me to meet him, for if he would, I would find a clandestine way to do so. Father relented. Within weeks he too had to leave for "forced labour." Some of our boys at first were stationed close to our city and some even received "passes" from time to time to visit their families.

In the meantime we heard of concentration camps--unbelieving the horrors described. Each family suffered a great deal when their sons left for the unknown. We didn't really live; we only existed from day to day.

I went to work and moved automatically. All I lived for were the letters I received from him. As long as he was only about 50 km from Ungvar, a place easily approachable, if only my father would let me visit him.

We were all frightened. I heard about his friends, all being conscripted by the Hungarian army (as soldiers without guns) in the Forced Labour Units being sent to Russia. The Jewish units arrived before the regular army. They had no ammunitions. They were the "live ammunition" used for cover with the approaching enemies. Thousands of our boys lost their lives by picking up live mines, or simply froze to death in this terrible winter of 1940. I worried and worried. Only Lulu's letters sustained me. While he was pessimistic and hated the forced labour camps, there was still a fragment of hope for our future together. Here follows a few of his last letters and excerpts from his diary, which I found in the attic of his house which I twice visited after the war.