Chapter 4 Chapter 2 The Great Shift

The eight-day Passover is here.The weather was fantastic.Mom is busy in the kitchen.Churches are all closed.There was no need to irritate the Germans by gathering in private houses. Almost all rabbis' private homes became places of prayer. We drink, eat, sing. The Bible asks us to spend the eight days of Passover happily.We hope the festival ends sooner so we don't have to put on a show. On the seventh day of Passover, the curtain finally lifted: the Germans arrested the leaders of the Jewish community. Everything has accelerated since then.Genocide looms. The first decree: Jews are strictly prohibited from leaving their residences without permission within three days, and those who violate the order will be killed without mercy.

The curate, Mush, came to our house. "I warned you!" he yelled, and walked away before we could answer. On this day, the Hungarian police broke into the homes of all the Jews in the town from house to house: From now on, Jews are strictly forbidden to own gold, jewelry and any valuables.All valuables had to be handed over to the authorities, and anyone who violated the order would be killed without mercy.Father went to the cellar and buried all the deposits. The mother stayed at home and continued to run odd chores.Sometimes, she would stop her work and watch us in silence. Three days later, a new order was issued: all Jews must wear yellow stars.

Some seniors in the community asked my father, who was connected to the upper echelons of the Hungarian police, for advice, and they wanted to know how my father viewed the situation at hand.Dad doesn't think the situation is hopeless, maybe he just doesn't want to discourage those people and rub salt in their wounds: "Huang Xing? So what? It won't kill people, right?" (Poor father! Didn't you get killed later?) Then came the decrees: we no longer had the right to go to restaurants or cafés, to travel by tram, not to go to church, not to go out on the streets after six in the evening.

Then came the division of the Jewish ghetto. Authorities divided Szegad into two Jewish ghettos.The larger Jewish Quarter is in the center of town, about four streets long.The smaller Jewish Quarter is located on the outskirts of town, occupying several alleys.The street we lived on was called Snake Street, and it was included in the First Jewish Quarter, so we were able to stay in our own homes.However, because my house is located in the corner of the Jewish Quarter, the windows facing the street had to be sealed.Some relatives were evicted from their homes by the Germans, and we made room for them.

Life is gradually returning to "normal".The barbed wire is like a wall that surrounds us.However, we are not terrified.We feel good, we are with our own people after all, a small Jewish republic... People not only formed a Jewish police force, but also a welfare institution, a labor council, a medical clinic, appointed a Jewish administrator Commissions - There is a whole set of government agencies. People think this is a good thing.We don't have to look at those hostile faces anymore, we don't have to swallow our anger under the hostile eyes of others, we don't have to worry about it, we don't have to suffer anymore.We Jews live together as brothers...

Of course, there are always unpleasant things that happen.Every day, Germans would come looking for men to load coal for military trains, and of course no one wanted to volunteer.But other than that, the situation is surprisingly calm and reassuring. Most people thought we were going to stay in the ghetto until the war was over, until the Red Army came.After that, everything will return to the old way.It is not the Germans, nor the Jews, who rule the ghetto, but illusions. In the two weeks before Pentecost, the spring is beautiful, and people stroll the bustling streets in a carefree mood, greeting each other, and children playing games or juggling hazelnuts on the sidewalks.A few classmates and I were discussing a dissertation on the Talmud at Ejira Malik Park.

As night fell, about twenty people gathered in the yard of my house.Father told anecdotes and commented on the situation.He is a master storyteller. Suddenly the garden door opened and Stern, a former shopkeeper and now a policeman, came in and took his father aside.Although the sky was gloomy, I still saw my father's face turn pale. "What happened?" we asked. "I don't know, something must have happened if I was asked to attend a special meeting of the management committee." The story he left off is never continued. "I have to go now," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can and tell everyone what happened. Please wait for me."

We are prepared to wait as long as we can.The courtyard was like an antechamber to the operating room, and we stood, waiting for the door to open.Neighbors and neighbors heard the rumors and also gathered with us.We looked at our watches and the time passed slowly.Such a long meeting, what does it mean? "I don't think so," said my mother. "I saw some strange faces in the ghetto this afternoon. Two German officers. I think they're the Gestapo. We haven't seen a single officer since we all got here..." It's almost midnight and no one wants to go back to sleep.A few people went home to take a look, and quickly turned back.Although some people went back, they repeatedly told us to notify them as soon as our father came back.

The door finally opened, and my father came back, his face pale.People quickly surrounded him. "Tell us, tell us what's going on! Tell us quickly..." We were all anxious at the time, wanting to hear some encouraging news, even just a few words of reassurance that, say, it was just a regular meeting to discuss welfare issues and health care issues in the community...but just look at the look on my father's face , everyone knew something was wrong. "The news is terrible," he said at last, and all he could say was, "Transfer." The entire ghetto had to be emptied.Starting tomorrow, people will have to leave, street by street.

We want to know everything, know the details.We were dumbfounded, but we had no choice but to obey. "Where are they taking us?" It's a secret.No one except the chairman of the ghetto management committee can know.But he didn't say it, or didn't dare to say it.The Gestapo threatened to shoot him if he dared to reveal a word. "There are rumors," my father stammered, "that we're going to be sent somewhere in Hungary to work in a brick factory. We seem to be too close to the front here..." After a moment of silence, he added: "Each person can only bring their own personal items, a backpack, some food, and a few pieces of clothing. No other things can be brought."

There was another silence. "Go and wake up the neighbors," said the father, "they must get ready..." The surrounding figures all moved, as if being awakened from a deep sleep.Everyone scattered away without saying a word. Only our own family is left.Suddenly, Bhatia Resh, a relative of my family who lives with us, came in. "Someone's knocking on the shuttered window, the one looking out!" he said. It wasn't until after the war that I found out who was knocking on the window that night. It was a Hungarian sheriff, a friend of my father's.Before we entered the ghetto, he said to us, "Don't worry, I'll let you know if there's any danger." If he had told us the truth that night, we could have escaped... But when we opened the window, it was too late , there is no one outside. The entire ghetto was awakened.We saw through the window that the lights of each house were turned on one after another. I went to a friend's house of my father's and woke up the head of the family.He had a big beard and stared at me sleepily, his back a little hunched from years of studying at his desk. "Get up, sir, get up! You must get ready for the road, tomorrow you will be deported. You and your family, and all the Jews. Where? Don't ask me, don't ask. Only God can answer! My God, Get up quickly..." He didn't understand what I said and probably thought I was losing my mind. "What did you say? Going on the road? On what road? Why? What's the matter? Are you crazy?" He stared at me sleepily, full of panic, as if expecting me to burst into laughter, and said to him, "Go on and sleep. Sleep, dream, nothing happened, this is just a joke." My throat is dry, my lips are numb, and I can't speak, and I have nothing to say. He finally understood.He turned over and got out of bed, put on his clothes, like a doll.His wife was sleeping, and he walked to the bed and stroked her forehead with his hand.She opened her eyes, and I saw a sleepy smile on her lips.Then he went to wake the two children, and they all woke up suddenly from their sleep, and I ran away. Time passed quickly, it was already four o'clock in the morning.The father was busy inside and out, exhausted. He kept comforting his friends and checking the news with the Jewish Management Committee, hoping to revoke the order suddenly.Until the last moment, people still cling to a glimmer of hope. Women boil eggs, roast meat, prepare flatbread, and sew backpacks.The children were afraid of disturbing the adults, so they wandered around like headless chickens, not knowing what to do. Our backyard is like a grocery market.Valuables, costly rugs, silver candlesticks, Bibles, and shrine objects littered the dusty floor—poor relics that seemed homeless no more, all exposed to the light of day. At eight o'clock in the morning, we are all exhausted, and our veins, limbs and brains are like lead.I was praying when suddenly there were shouts in the street.I quickly undid the phylactery, and the Hungarian police entered the ghetto and were yelling in the nearby streets: "All the Jews, come out, quick!" Behind them came the Jewish police, who stammered to us: "The time is up...you must leave, abandon everything..." The Hungarian police, armed with gun butts and batons, drove the elderly, women, children and the disabled indiscriminately. One house after another was vacated, and the streets were full of people with rucksacks.At ten o'clock, everyone was kicked out.The police began to roll their names, once, twice... twenty times.People's hearts were heavy, and their faces and bodies were covered with sweat. The children cried and clamored for water. water!There is water in nearby houses and backyards, but people are not allowed to leave without permission. "Mom, I want to drink water, I'm thirsty!" Several Jewish policemen quietly fetched jars of water.My sisters and I were put in the last pull, so we could still move around, so we helped each other out as much as we could. At exactly one o'clock in the afternoon, the order to start finally came. A burst of relief, yes, a burst of relief.People were stranded on the sidewalk, among the bags, and endured the scorching sun.It must have been thought that being tortured in God's hell would be no worse than being here, and that going anywhere would be better than being here. They started to move without even looking back at the street behind them, the dead, empty houses and gardens and tombstones... Everyone was carrying their bags, and everyone had tears and sadness in their eyes.The team walked heavily and moved slowly towards the gate of the Jewish Quarter. I stood on the sidewalk, unable to move, just to watch the people file past me.The chief rabbi came, his back hunched, his bag on his back, and he looked a little weird because his face was clean-shaven.His presence in the queue gave the whole scene a surreal quality.The scene was like a living page torn from a book—a page from a historical novel that might have written about the fall of Babylon or the Spanish Inquisition. People passed by me one by one, among them were my teachers, my friends, and some people I used to fear, or people who I thought were ridiculous... Whoever they were, all these people, I have lived with them under the same sky for many years. But now, they are walking like this, without the slightest room for resistance.They just carried their bags on their backs, dragged their respective lives, and walked aimlessly, leaving behind their beautiful homes and childhoods. They walked past me like a pack of defeated dogs without even looking at me.They must be jealous of me. The line disappeared around the corner.The ground was littered: suitcases, suitcases, pockets, knives, dishes, bank checkbooks, papers, faded portraits.They originally wanted to take these things, but in the end, they left them all behind.They no longer matter. All the houses were open on the empty streets.They once belonged to someone's family, but now they belong to no one.Anyone can come in and it becomes an open tomb. The summer sun was still high in the sky. We haven't eaten all day, but we don't feel hungry, just exhausted. My father accompanied the exiles all the way to the gate of the Jewish Quarter.Like cattle, they were taken first to the synagogue, searched up and down, and not allowed to take away gold, silver, and valuables.Someone was making a hysterical row, accompanied by severe beatings. "When is our turn?" I asked my father. "The day after tomorrow, unless... there is a turning point, a miracle, maybe..." Where do those who are taken away go?Does anyone know?No one knows, everything is a secret. Night fell.We went to bed early that night.Father said, "Sleep peacefully, children. Nothing will happen until the day after tomorrow, which is Tuesday." Monday passed like a summer cloud, like a dream before dawn. We don't think about anything, just prepare the bags, bake the bread, and make the bread.Everything has already been decided. That evening, my mother asked us to go to bed early.She said, in order to accumulate strength. It was our last sleep in our own home. I awoke at dawn and thought I would say a little prayer before setting off. Father got up earlier than all of us, and he went to town to scout for news.At eight o'clock he came back with the good news that we were not leaving town today but were moving to the ghetto.We will wait there and leave with the last of the group. At nine o'clock, the scene that happened on Sunday was reproduced.The policemen waved their batons and shouted: "Jews, come out!" We got ready, and I was the first to walk out the door, not wanting to see my parents' faces, not wanting to cry.We were sitting in the middle of the street, just like the group had been two days earlier.The same hot sun, the same thirst, but no one gave us water. I looked at my home, where I had spent years, searching for God, fasting to implore the Messiah, and imagining what life would be like later on.Yes, I am not sad, my heart is empty. "Stand up! Roll call!" We stand up.After roll call, we sat down.Stand up again, roll call again.Ordered over and over again, we got impatient and just wished it had been taken away sooner.What are they waiting for?The order finally came. "Let's go - let's go!" Father wept bitterly.For the first time in my life I saw him cry, and I always thought he couldn't cry.Mother walked, wearing a mask on her face, she was silent and thoughtful.I looked at my little sister, Zipolo, with neatly combed blond hair and a red coat slung over her arm—a seven-year-old girl.She was overwhelmed, but gritted her teeth because she knew it was useless to complain.The policemen waved their batons and shouted: "Hurry up!" I had no strength, and as soon as I started on the road, I felt my legs were weak... "Come on! Come on! Go, you slackers, you bastards!" howled the Hungarian police. That's when I began to loathe them, and my loathing continues to this day.They were the first to oppress us, the first to show the face of hell and death. They ordered us to run, and we had to.Don't they think we're all able-bodied people?The townspeople stood behind the windows and watched us through the shutters. We finally arrived at our destination.We dropped our bags and fell to the ground. "Oh, God, master of the universe! You have a big heart, have pity on us..." Small Jewish Quarter.There were still people living here three days ago.But now, their stuff is used by us.They were expelled.We forget everything about them. It's messier than the Great Ghetto.It was obvious that the original inhabitants had been taken away suddenly.I visited the room where Uncle Mandel's family lived.There was half a bowl of soup on the table, there was a piece of dough ready to be baked, and books were strewn all over the floor.Does my uncle want to take them away? Here we are settled (how can such a word be used!).I went to find firewood, and my sister went to light a fire.Although my mother was exhausted, she was still ready to cook. She kept repeating: We can't give in, we can't give in. Everyone's mood is not so bad that it is hopeless, and we are beginning to adapt to the changes.Some even said something encouraging.The Germans, they said, did not have time to deport us...too miserable, too late, for those who were taken away.As for us, they'll probably let us live on this poor thing until the war is over. There are no guards in the Jewish Quarter, and people can come and go as they please.Maria, who had been my family's nanny, came to visit us, sobbing and begging us to come to her village, where she arranged for a safe hiding place for us. My father refused. He said to me and my two sisters: "I want to go with you. I will stay here with your mother and little sister..." Of course we don't want to be separated. night.No one prayed, no one wanted the night to pass as quickly as possible.We are scorched by a fire, and the stars are sparks from the fire.When the fire is finally extinguished, there will be nothing left in the firmament but dead stars and vacant eyes. We have nothing to do but go to bed.The owner of the bed may be on his way, and we sleep in their bed.We need to rest and recover. After dawn, the depressed mood eased somewhat.People regained a little confidence, chattering and saying: "Who knows? Maybe it's for our own good that they took us away. The front line is getting closer, and soon the guns will be heard. The people must evacuate..." "They were afraid that we would join the guerrillas..." "As far as I'm concerned, the deportation is nothing more than a farce. Don't laugh! They're trying to steal our valuables and jewels. They know we've buried things, and to get them you'll have to dig them yourself. Let the masters out On vacation, it is more convenient to do it with your hands..." vacation! People pass the time like this, and no one believes it.We've had a pretty good time these past few days, relatively peaceful.We all hit it off.There is no longer any difference between us, rich and poor, prominent and ordinary.We are all a group of people meeting a fate that is still uncertain. Saturday was the day of rest, and this day was also established as our day of exile. The night before, we sat down for a traditional Friday dinner.We chanted the traditional blessing over the bread and wine, and then ate in silence.We felt that this might be our last dinner together.That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, reminiscing about old events. At dawn we gathered in the street, ready to leave.This time, the Hungarian police did not show up, and they agreed that everything would be handled by the Jewish Management Council. We walked towards the synagogue as if we had abandoned our own town.But friends from yesteryear may well be hiding behind the shutters, looting our homes when the time comes. The church is like a giant railway station, full of luggage and tears.The altar was smashed, the curtains were torn, and the walls were exposed.There are so many of us that we can barely breathe.We were there for twenty-four hours, and it was a horrible time.The men stay downstairs and the women stay upstairs.It was Saturday—the Sabbath—and we seemed to be here for a religious service, but no one was allowed to go out.People had to defecate in corners. The next morning we walked towards the station, where a cattle train was waiting.We boarded the train under the supervision of the Hungarian police, and packed eighty people into each car.They handed us some bread, and buckets of water.They check that the rails on the windows are nailed tight.All carriages were sealed and a person in charge was designated for each carriage.If anyone escaped, that person was shot. Two Gestapo officers walked along the platform with their heads held high, smiling, everything thoughtful, everything going well.There was a shrill siren in the air.The wheels rattled and we set off.